When Dinara turned to leave, Roman on her hand to stop her. “I'm not letting you walk back on that foot. Come here,” he said, crouching so she could hop on his back. She laughed as she did, looping her arms around his neck. “Steady?” he asked. Dinara's curls brushed his cheek as she nodded.

“Cahrn was scolding me for not stopping you from practicing more, actually,” Roman finally explained, heading back to camp. He cleared his throat. “And...for sneaking into camp late again.”

“You'd think he'd be used to it by now,” Dinara said dryly.

“Exactly!”

“How late was it this time?”

“'Early' would be a better word, I think. It was around four,” Roman admitted.

“In the morning?!” Dinara asked, going shrill in Roman's ear. He winced, veering on the path, and Dinara quickly added, “Sorry! How do you even do that? If I stayed up that late, then also got up as early as you do, I'd collapse. I need eight hours, minimum, or I'm grumpy all the next day.”

“Believe me, I know,” Roman muttered, laughing again when Dinara pinched him. Changing the subject, he asked, “What were you thinking on stage? You made some interesting expressions.”

“Oh, just the usual. It's not that I don't want the role, because I really do. I just feel so guilty. Tabia didn't even do anything wrong, just got old.”

“When you've lived past a certain age, Di, sometimes you don't mind yielding the stage.”

“And I suppose you'd know, being so old yourself,” Dinara teased.

“A fair point,” he said. There must have been something strange in his tone, because Dinara peered around his shoulder to try to see his expression. He forced a laugh and a shrug. “I think Tabia is just happy for you.”

“Maybe,” Dinara conceded, “But I still feel bad.”

“If Tabia doesn't, you shouldn't. But we're here, my lady. Shall I set you down here, or walk you to the door?”

Dinara wiggled to get down. “Here's fine, thank you,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck before jumping down. She hurried up the rickety steps to her trailer ahead of him. Its paint was chipped and cracked and you got splinters if you so much as rested your palm on the handrail, but it had carried Dinara thousands of miles. Her parents had built this trailer themselves after their marriage, and it had been with Dinara since. In that time, it had seen all of Calaidia.

Dinara turned to Roman as soon as they were inside. Standing at barely over five feet, she had to crane her neck to meet his eye. “You're going to stay for the whole show tonight, right?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Roman asked. When he tried to step closer, she held him at arm's length.

“Don't give me that. I know you've been leaving early. And the times you do stay, you like like you’ve eaten something sour the whole time. Do you really hate it that much?”

Roman winced. “Ah...it has nothing to do with you, I promise. I told you when Cahrn first picked it, I don't like the story. Obviously, tonight’s show will be different,” he said, taking Dinara's wrist and slowly reeling her in. This time, Dinara let him.

“Are you sure it's not about Cahrn? You always leave right when he comes on.”

“It's the character he's playing,” Roman said reluctantly.

Dinara frowned. “Egil?” she asked. It became her turn to hold on when Roman stiffened and tried to wriggle away. It was a common dance of theirs, a push-pull. “Who doesn't like Egil stories?”

Roman shrugged, his smile not meeting his eyes. “Me, I guess.”

“But why?”

“It doesn't matter. And the stupid prince—”

“What's wrong with Niko?!”

“Not Niko, the character Niko's playing,” Roman said. “I don't like him. I don't like either of them. I just don't want to watch that story.”

Dinara waited for more, but when she realized it wasn't coming, she rolled her eyes. “You sound like a kid throwing a tantrum, Roman. You could at least give it a try.”

“And for anything else, I would.”

“Fine,” Dinara said, throwing her hands up. “Fine, I'll leave it. Now ask how my rehearsal went.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

“Every day, we follow the same old routine. After our daily fight, you ask how my rehearsal went.”

“But I saw your rehearsal this time,” Roman pointed out.

“Only the end of it. A humiliating end, by the way.”

Roman backed toward their bed — little more than a mattress on the ground — and sat. “I wasn't aware we had a routine,” he said, patting the spot next to him. He surprised her at the last second and pulled her onto his lap instead. Leaning in with a wolfish grin, he asked, “Is this part of our routine?”

Surprising him back, Dinara hiked up her skirts and straddled his hips. “Sort of. It usually comes later.”

Roman gave Dinara a coy look, up at her through her eyelashes in the way he knew she was weak to. “And...this?”

“Wha—AH!” Dinara squealed, laughter forced out of her when Roman's fingers found the ticklish spot below her ribs. She tried to bat his hands away, but he didn't let her. “Roman!”

Roman's own laughter stopped when Dinara went on the offense, going for where he was the most ticklish: the back of his neck. He yelped and almost threw her off, and for a minute, they wrestled, Roman trying to get at Dinara while protecting himself and Dinara doing the same, both of them laughing until they couldn't breathe. Finally, Dinara ended the battle by pushing Roman back onto the bed and following him down. “Truce?” she asked, sitting up on her elbows so she could look down at him. This close, he could count the freckles on her warm, dark skin.

“Fine. Truce,” he breathed.

“You're an ass,” Dinara said with a smile. “You know how ticklish I am.”

“And it never gets old,” Roman replied with a bright grin, watching her expression soften in reply. He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, then finally asked, “How was your rehearsal?”

It startled a laugh out of Dinara. “You cheeky thing,” she said, turning her head to kiss his hand. “You know I don't like fighting with you, Roman.”

“Yeah. I'm sorry.”

Another kiss. “What did you do today, besides braid Cahrn’s beard?”

Roman snorted. “Not much,” he said, thinking briefly of Gareth. “Explored north of Main Street a bit, saved a man being robbed, met some interesting people. Stopped in a hospital for a little while. Heard some really interesting gossip. World-changing gossip, in fact. Have you seen the papers?”

“I— what? You — No, not yet,” Dinara said, as if she ever would. She never read the papers. It was another thing they bickered over. Dinara said she didn't know what to do with the heartache the news gave her, as if ignoring problems kept them from existing. Roman felt it was his duty to bear witness, even when — especially when — there was nothing he could do. “What was that about a hospital?”

“The King of Alfheimr is missing. They think Orean is trying to start a war.”

Dinara's eyes widened. “What?! Why would Orean do that?”

“Who knows,” Roman said, more cheerfully than he felt. “But speaking of Unity, have you seen their theater yet?”

Dinara blinked a few times at the subject change, then readjusted, used to it from Roman. “I got a private tour of the place yesterday, before our last rehearsal. Wait until you see it, Roman, it's beautiful! You are coming, aren't you? Egil's not in this one.”

“I wouldn't miss it,” Roman promised.

Dinara smiled down at him, dark eyes glimmering. While they were as dark as Roman's own, nearly black, hers held nothing but warmth. In contrast, Roman's were cold, unsettling, creepy. He'd been told it again and again: from his father, from friends, from mentors and enemies and acquaintances. Even Dinara, his partner, sometimes flinched when his eyes met hers.

It happened even now: he held her gaze too long, and she quickly dropped it, suddenly looking anywhere but at him. “Just don’t make faces at us this time. Cahrn was so mad about that,” she tried to tease, but Roman was already withdrawing. He’d been doing a lot of that since they’d come to Gallontea. He knew it wasn’t fair to Dinara. He knew she deserved better. When she kissed him, hoping to lure him back out, he shifted beneath her to slide her off.

Dinara changed tactics. She broke the kiss, twined her fingers with Roman's, and pinned his hands on either side of his head. To her credit, it worked: his eyes widened, his attention shifted back to her. Under the full weight of his gaze again, this time, she carefully didn't flinch away from it. “It'll be nice to have you there,” she said, as if they were still discussing the show.

Roman blinked lazily, trying to think past Dinara's hands, her warmth and her weight, to process the words. Dinara didn't give him the chance. She kissed him again, and when she started trailing those kisses down his jaw, he tilted his head to give her better access.

“I make no promises about the faces. When you look my way, I just can’t help myself,” he said, when he could find the words. A breathy laugh came from Dinara.

Roman squirmed, a half-hearted attempt to break out of Dinara's grip — or get her to kiss him more. Dinara pressed her weight into him, then shifted more of it to her hands and ducked to ghost more kisses along Roman's jaw.

“It's not that I don't appreciate this...whatever it is, Dinara,” he breathed, “But there were some things I actually needed to tell you.”

“Oh?” Dinara asked, sitting up.

“No need to look so worried. Cahrn says hair and makeup is at five. Also, Gemma's planning an afterparty and says attendance is mandatory. I promised her I'd ask if you were up for it.”

Dinara finally released his wrists. “Do you think she'll notice if we don't go?”

“You're the lead, Di.”

“So?”

“It'll be fun,” Roman said. “And knowing you, you'll spend all evening fretting over how the show went if you don't have something to distract you.”

“There are other distractions than parties,” Dinara tried, laying a hand meaningfully on Roman's chest.

He covered it with one of his own. “We don't have to stay the whole time.”

“I'm tired,” Dinara groaned, “And my feet hurt.”

Roman laughed and easily flipped their positions, Dinara squawking when he sat up and grabbed her leg. She nearly kicked him in the face, thinking he meant to tickle her again, but relaxed when he massaged her foot instead. “Do you need ice for your ankle?” he asked.

“No. It really wasn't that bad.”

Roman narrowed his eyes at her. Dinara was the type to hide injuries, but she was also a terrible liar. He saw nothing but honesty in her expression — and no pain, even when he “accidentally” prodded the ankle in question. Satisfied, he returned to massaging. “I know you'll regret missing it. The party, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dinara reluctantly agreed. She let her eyes fall shut. “Is that why you want me to go so badly?”

“I'm just too scared of Gemma not to give it a fighting effort,” he said, making Dinara laugh. “Plus, if we stay, you'll fret, I'll brood, and we'll fight. Party with friends seems a better option.”

Dinara hummed, then held her other foot out for Roman to massage. “But this is going to make me fall asleep.”

“Then sleep. I'll wake you before five.”

She was asleep before he'd even finished speaking. For a moment, she looked so peaceful that Roman was tempted to join her. But Dinara's peace could never stop his own nightmares, so instead, he went to sit on the trailer stairs and enjoy the late summer sunslight.