THE FORCED EMBRACE

The morning didn’t feel like it belonged to a war. The sun was coming through the gaps in the tent, drawing long lines of gold on the rug. It was warm, and for a few minutes after waking up, I forgot about the danger outside.

Demetrius was already awake. He was standing by the small table, splashing water on his face. He looked different in the morning light—less like a king and more like a man who hadn't slept enough.

"You're staring," he said, without turning around. I ...