Chapter Eighteen
Benedict slowly toppled over, and I scrambled to him and caught him barely in time to be knocked sideways under his unmanageably heavy weight. He landed against my chest, waves of shudders going through his big frame, and then pushed himself off and up again with what appeared to be pure force of will.
With a horrid squelch and scrape, he tugged the sword out of Tavius’s body, gripping the hilt of it with knuckles gone white and resting the blade on the floor.
Of course Benedict would keep hold of his weapon even while so weakened from poisoning and pain that he couldn’t stand up anymore. I’d have laughed, but I didn’t know if I could ever laugh again. Tavius’s body slumped to the floor. Thank the gods he’d fallen with his face turned away from me.
I wrapped my hand around Benedict’s arm, half to make sure he didn’t fall over again and half to make sure I didn’t. “You need a doctor,” I said. “A mage. Can you walk if you lean on me?”
He blinked at me, eyes taking a moment to focus. “No doctor can help me,” he said, voice worryingly slurred. The mottled brick-red across his cheekbones and the clammy pallor of his forehead worried me more. “I know what he put in my blood. There’s no way out but through. Or death. As long as you’re not hurt, that’s all that matters. Tell me you’re not hurt, Lucian.”
His voice hitched on my name, and his eyes were so dark, fixed on me as if he couldn’t see anything else.
“No. Thanks to you, no. But I don’t believe you that no one can help you, and I’m not letting you die. Some of Tavius’s men are still alive, and we can’t stay here. Can you stand up?”
“I’ll kill them if they touch you. And—possibly.” I ran my hand up his body, feeling the ragged rise and fall of his chest, and resting my fingers on the side of his neck. His pulse hammered far too fast, thready and uneven.
The pathetic flutter of my own heart at Benedict’s eagerness to protect me aside, he wouldn’t be killing anyone else tonight. And while the man I’d wounded lay whimpering against the wall, probably too weakened from blood loss to do much, the ones whose heads Benedict had knocked together were stirring and groaning. If they realized their liege lord was dead, they might choose to throw themselves on my mercy…or they might kill us both to eliminate the witnesses to their treason, climb over the gate, and disappear into the night.
I could lay Benedict on the floor, take his sword, and kill all three of them before they recovered enough to fight back.
My stomach flipped and churned. I’d never be able to murder three men in cold blood.
“You have to,” I said. “Direct command from your duke. Get up, Benedict. And leave that sword. It’s extra weight I can’t help you carry.”
Benedict huffed a laugh that turned into a soft groan. “Direct command, hah,” he muttered, and I’d have been much angrier with him for that if I hadn’t been desperately, unbearably terrified that he’d fall over dead at any moment.
But he dropped the sword and started trying to shove to his feet. I got him under the arm and heaved, and we staggered up to standing and started to lurch toward the door.
The fresh, chilly damp of the night air came as an overwhelming relief after the salty iron reek of blood and the stench of viscera inside the gatehouse. Moonlight filtered through the trees, clean and cool, Dromos’s uncaring gaze sweeping over us.
Asshole. Viewed from a certain perspective, this was all his fault. If it weren’t for his meddling with humanity, I wouldn’t be collapsing under Benedict’s weight, legs aching, lungs laboring, with icy fear seeping through all my veins.
“I’m sorry,” Benedict said at last, after we’d been staggering along for a couple of minutes in complete silence except for the hoot of an owl off in the distance. His arm around my shoulders tightened. “About Lord Tavius.”
I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. “He would’ve killed me.”
“I know. But he was still—fuck—your brother.” A tremor went through him, and he bent over for a moment as if struck with a sudden pain. “I’m all right, keep walking,” he gasped. “But you could leave me here. Go ahead for that doctor, hmm?”
“The doctor you claim won’t help you,” I snapped. “You just want me to leave you here so you can die alone, and I wish you’d tell me why! You seem better. You are better. Perhaps you’re resistant to whatever it is, or it’s not what he thought it—”
“Don’t,” he said heavily. “I’m not better. It hit me all at once, and then ebbed a bit, but I’m—it’ll be worse again. Soon. I’ve been to Ixyon, actually. While I was—away.”
Away. A nice, neat word to describe those two years where he’d left me here to take my chances with assassins and my hostile council and my sullen, barely loyal populace and an army that blamed me for the loss of their adored commander.
How much more would they blame me if he died tonight because of a plot against me?
How much would I blame myself?
New resolve straightened my spine, even under the burden of Benedict’s weight, slowly increasing as he lost his iron grip on his strength.
“Tell me what you bloody well know, then! And if a doctor can’t help you, we’ll get a mage. A dozen mages. Everyone in the city.”
“They don’t even have an antidote in Ixyon, Lucian! It opens up—it’s hard to explain to someone without magic, but it opens up a channel, a, fuck, a sort of conduit. Everything that bastard Tavius told you was true. The curse is moving more quickly. I need to sate it, or I’ll die, and if I do I’ll be handing control of my magic to whoever it is. And I won’t,” he snarled, “I fucking won’t .”
That cut deeper than a sword, a sudden, shocking pain.
“You didn’t want Clothurn to control you,” I said. “And I understand that, even though you were there to fuck him in the first place, which I—I suppose doesn’t matter now, but—”
“I was there because he sent a message to meet him, that he’d discovered something important. He’d never been—a threat, I didn’t think.” Well, I couldn’t really criticize Benedict on that front. I’d stupidly thought the same. “I was overconfident and arrogant, didn’t think I needed anyone with me as long as I had my magic and my sword. Tavius stuck me with some kind of needle with the poison on it right when I walked in, Clothurn distracted me, but I wasn’t there to fuck him, Lucian, believe me! I wasn’t there to—”
“It doesn’t matter!” It did matter, although it shouldn’t. Benedict hadn’t made me any promises. He’d told me he wouldn’t fuck anyone else while our arrangement lasted—but that had been more of a threat than a promise. And the fact that Benedict had clearly seen my jealousy stung, a horrid humiliation that I truly didn’t have the strength to bear at present. “What matters is that I’m here.” I swallowed, closing my eyes for a moment, bracing myself. “I won’t let you die, Benedict. Bond with me. If you have to do it to live, then use me.”
A long pause followed, in which I heard a shout up ahead, toward the palace. My heart thudded against my ribs in a sick, uneven rhythm.
“No,” he said, with absolute finality. “Not a chance, Lucian.”
“You truly prefer death to a bond with me?” My voice shook with hurt that I couldn’t even try to suppress. “I wouldn’t use it against you. I’m sure you don’t believe me, and maybe—maybe you don’t have reason to, but I give you my word I wouldn’t! I don’t even know how to use it to control you. Or your magic. I don’t have any magic!”
“You wouldn’t need any. You’d be sharing mine. It’s not about how you’d use it against me. I won’t—”
“Your Grace! General Rathenas!” Pounding footsteps approached, and two men burst out of the trees: Captain Venet and another of Benedict’s handpicked men.
“We’ve found them!” Venet’s companion called out, and more voices acknowledged him a moment before a whole contingent of the palace guard spilled out all around us.
Help at last, and thank the gods, because I couldn’t keep Benedict upright much longer—although they could have waited for him to finish his sentence, damn them.
“Your Grace, my Lord General,” Venet said, sheathing his sword and already coming to Benedict’s other side to prop him up. “What’s happened? How severe are your wounds? Sergeant! Back to the palace, find Doctor Serrano. Have him in the general’s rooms waiting.”
“We’re not wounded, but Lord Benedict’s been poisoned,” I said. “The doctor can’t help. There’s another solution. Help us back to the palace, and—”
“There isn’t another solution, I’ve told you—”
“Benedict, shut up!” Every single soldier stopped and stared, mouths hanging open. Well, perhaps they needed to get used to seeing Benedict treated like a man and my vassal instead of some untouchable god. “Get us back to the palace,” I repeated, shooting Benedict a glare of death. He’d live. He had no choice, damn him. “There are dead and wounded men at the old gatehouse, do you know where I mean? Arrest the wounded ones. And Lord Clothurn’s about somewhere. Find and arrest him, too.”
Venet nodded. “Lord Clothurn’s the one who directed us there, Your Grace. With a little persuasion. I kept him in custody. Glad to know you’re not displeased. He seemed guilty as sin. Caught him trying to sneak out the east gate, in fact.”
“He is guilty as sin, and keep him bloody well locked up, good work,” I said, and earned my first smile from Captain Venet. “Have the wounded men seen to once you have them secure. And my—cousin, Lord Tavius, is among the dead. Have him taken to the temple and laid out as befits his rank.”
His supposed rank, anyway. I had no idea if anyone else knew the truth, or if Clothurn would keep his mouth shut, but I wouldn’t be publicly mourning Tavius as my brother.
Privately…that would be another matter.
And a problem for tomorrow. First, I had to see to it that Benedict had a tomorrow, whether he liked it or not.
The two men Captain Venet had told off to help Benedict back to the palace laid him down on his bed and stepped back, looking as worried as I felt. Benedict had passed out for a moment on the way here, and though he’d come around again quickly he seemed to be losing strength at an alarming rate.
Not all of him, though. I couldn’t help my glance down Benedict’s body. The potion had done its work thoroughly. Even halfway to unconsciousness, his eyes open to slits with only a gleam of silvery gray visible under his long lashes, Benedict had an erection that strained the front of his pants.
The soldiers had been doing their pointed best to ignore it, but I knew all kinds of rumors would be running wild through the barracks within the hour. They’d already known Benedict was fucking me. Now they’d have some vivid details to fill out the story.
“You can go, and thank you for your care,” I said. “Tell Captain Venet I’ll want to see him later tonight. But I don’t want anyone to disturb us unless I call.”
They bowed, gave me a chorus of, “Yes, Your Grace,” and clumped out of the room. The door from Benedict’s sitting room to the corridor shut with a click, and the thumps of their heavy boots retreated.
The moment they were gone, Bendict convulsed and curled onto his side, letting out a low, rasping groan. He shook, his teeth starting to chatter, clearly racked with agony, and I hovered over him in my own agony of indecision and panic, afraid to touch him, afraid not to touch him, and wondering with sick misery if he even wanted me to.
Gods, I’d never seen Benedict weak before. Possibly no one had. And I’d never realized until this moment what a cornerstone it had been of my universe that he could always be depended on—although I’d never have admitted it except in the greatest of extremities, such as the murder of my valet in my own bedroom.
And now, while he moaned and shook and twitched, I felt the way I had during those two years he’d been gone: adrift and infinitely alone.
My desperation to comfort him won out over my diffidence, and I sat on the edge of the bed, my hip pressed against his leg, and stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead.
My eyes traced his thick, dark brows, the hectic flush painted on his cheekbones, and the strong lines of his nose and jaw before dropping to his parted lips. How many years had I watched him flirt with and smile at and seduce everyone but me? How many other men had he kissed and pleased with that wicked mouth while I lay alone in my bed night after night, set apart by my rank and too cowardly to cross the intangible barriers that divided me from anyone who might have made me happy?
I’d despised those other men. And I’d convinced myself it was because they had too little self-respect to resist Benedict’s crude, practiced charms.
For all those years, he’d never once practiced on me. Never pressed me up against a wall in a shadowy corner of a ballroom, never whispered lewd compliments in my ear as he passed me in the corridor.
Never kissed me, even though I’d dreamed about it once or twice, fleeting and quickly fading visions that left me aching and bewildered and yearning.
Until I’d gone to him and begged, and he didn’t have anyone else available to kiss. Before that, he’d never pursued me. He probably only desired me because he’d fuck anything half-attractive that moved.
He certainly didn’t want to be tied to me with his magic for the rest of our lives—his reaction to my mention of a marriage proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. A marriage wouldn’t be nearly as inescapably permanent as this bond. Ennolu’s temple granted divorces, and spouses could be physically separated even without one. But if we bonded he’d be beholden to me, unable to leave my side for more than a day, with even that incurring a risk that something would keep us apart for too long.
“Benedict,” I said, helplessly, and ran my fingers through his hair again.
“I won’t,” and his teeth clenched against another wave of pain, another gasp, “do it.”
“I’m commanding you,” I said, although it came out like a plea. “You’re sworn to me as your liege lord, and I’m ordering you not to die!”
Silence, except for his hoarse panting.
“I know you’ve never liked me,” I began, and swallowed hard.
No, he wouldn’t take any commands from me. He’d proven that. But I could beg.
I found that my dignity and my pride had melted away completely, gone without a trace, with the specter of his death looming so large. Benedict’s stiff corpse, gray eyes glazed, big, powerful body that had held me and touched me and fucked me and protected me gone still forever…no, I couldn’t bear it, and I shuddered with horror as it flashed before me, made all too real by the power of my terrified imagination.
“And I know you don’t give a damn how many commands I issue. And you don’t trust me.” He’d turned his head to stare at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t softening, that I could see. “But listen to me. Benedict, please,” I went on, more and more desperate. “I don’t think I can rule without your help. I’ve been—sinking, slowly. Drowning by increments. I need you. All right? Damn you, I need you, and now I’ve said it, and you can laugh at me all you like and mock me and shame me for admitting it, but don’t die, please, don’t leave me to—Benedict!”
He rose up so abruptly that I started, and when he caught me and flipped me onto my back, I could only cry out and catch at his shoulders. We landed in a twisted heap, with him braced on mine, pinning me down.
“Stop!” He shook me, the bed jouncing and creaking under us, and his eyes had gone wide, wild and glittering and half mad. “Gods damn it, Lucian, you’re begging me to do what I want more than anything in this world or the next, and I can’t, you’d hate me—I can’t !”
What he wanted more than anything in this world or the next? My heart gave a lurching leap.
I gripped onto him with all my strength, digging in my fingers. “But why not? If you—Benedict, you can’t mean that. Not the way it sounds. If you want me, gods,” and I had to stop to suck in as much air as I could, my lungs suddenly all tight and shallow, “then take me. I won’t hate you. No more than usual, anyway.”
Every line of his body had gone absolutely rigid with tension.
All of him. His cock dug into my thigh, thick and demanding. I squirmed, rubbing against him like a cat in heat, my own body flushing with eagerness. Gods, he’d made me into such a shameless slut. Tavius had been right about that, at least.
“Yes, you will. You’ll be happy to watch me die. So please don’t,” he said, and his voice had a note to it that had the hair rising on the back of my neck. Dark, and hopeless, and utterly despairing.
He pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, I’d never seen that look in them before. It took me a moment to recognize it as fear. Benedict, whom I’d have sworn had never been afraid in his life, was terrified.
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he said, as if each word were being pulled out of him by torture. “I’d give my life to—Lucian, I’m the one who killed him. Your father. It wasn’t poison, it was magic. It was me.”