Chapter 22
As Hanna shouldered open the dining room doors, I peered over my book.
She hurried to the table. Cutlery clanged against the aged wood. My meal slid to the side of the plate, courtesy of the cook’s lingering anger toward me.
Withholding a groan, I set the book down. “Fish again.”
“Beef comes from the—”
“Southlands,” I finished for her with a roll of my eyes. “I know.”
Dwindling supplies aside, I would think that endangering one’s life to protect everyone else’s would be rewarded with a little variety. Perhaps some prawns to go with my wine.
Alas, for the third night in a row, I’d been fed the same thing—fish and steamed vegetables. And for the third night in a row, I hadn’t so much as caught a whiff of Brey in the halls. Admittedly, mortification had kept me from leaving my tower the evening after I’d thrown myself at him.
The bond might have been the spark that lit the fire, but the rest…
Well, regrettably, that had just been me.
After failing to distract myself from the memories, I’d come to realize that hiding only incriminated and further humiliated me. If Brey wanted to blame the bond for the way he’d so viciously kissed me, then I could blame it for kissing him first.
“And we need to save what beef and pork we have for tomorrow night’s ball.”
Hanna’s airy words were akin to hands clapping right beside my ear.
I reared back. “Excuse me?” Aghast, I almost shrieked, “A ball?”
“You didn’t know?” When I failed to respond, because evidently I had certainly not known, she said, “It’s tradition. The evening before feeding the final ward, the king and queen are celebrated for protecting our way of life.” With that, she marched back through the room.
“So you’re speaking to me again?”
“Only because I must,” she said before slamming the doors behind her.
“But we cannot have a ball,” I told the empty room. Dismay crinkled my nose and lowered my voice. “I have nothing new to wear.”
For the first time in my entire twenty-eight years, I didn’t want to attend a ball.
Over the past few moons, as the disquiet had grown to dangerous levels in the city, I’d been sequestered in this palace. I hadn’t been able to purchase anything, and forget having a tailor come to me. With the ball being tomorrow evening, it was far too late for that.
“Hanna, I do not regret to inform you that there will be no ball on account of…” I fell quiet when I entered the kitchen.
And found it unusually empty for this time of night.
Bubbles drifted from the half-filled sink.
Suds slid down recently cleaned pots and pans atop towels on the island bench.
Hanna’s floral scent lingered as if she’d only recently vacated the kitchen.
I huffed. She’d likely expected that I would leave my fish for the vermin and follow her down here to interrogate her about this ball.
The door leading outside was closed and barred. It had been since shortly after the wedding—since the citizens had realized we were not tending to the wards and Ovan had decided it was time to take extra precautions.
I marched to the storeroom, but before I walked in, I sensed no beating hearts. Irritation scrunched my fingers.
I stomped out of the kitchen. It was then I heard something.
Smiling, I crept down the hall to the dungeon. Webs stretched across the arching stone entrance. I ducked beneath them into the dim. No one was ever kept in the cells. The perfect hiding spot for a cook who was determined to avoid the queen.
Or the perfect place to meet someone in secret.
A giggle broke into a hitched breath.
I stopped halfway down the hall—torn between making sure I understood what was transpiring at the end and carefully retreating.
Hanna lay upon a long stone slab.
Beside the stone presumably once used to torture people, a helm and breastplate glinted in the dark. So did the chains next to them. The chains clinked as they were secured to the cook’s wrists above her head by a shirtless made vampire.
Ovan.
Groth murmured, “Make sure they’re tight this time. We cannot have her making too much noise when she thrashes about.” The ghost then bent over the stone to whisper something into Hanna’s ear.
I was too far away to catch it. Whatever it was, it made her respond with a raspy, “Please.”
Satisfied with her restraints, Ovan straightened. His hands ventured to his leather pants as he moved to the cook’s head. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Hanna said.
“Prove it, then we’ll lift your skirts.” In a voice used on his fellow soldiers, the vampire commanded, “Open wider.” Then, “Good girl.”
I almost gasped but clamped my lips shut.
Ovan groaned, and I quietly retreated backward out of the dungeon into the adjoining hall. I ran down it and up the stairs into the palace before I let my shocked laughter burst free.
Unbelievable.
Yet also entirely believable.
Remembering Hanna saying that she was only here because she’d get drained out in the city, I shook my head as I meandered to the grand staircase. She remained with us for far more than safety and a wage she wouldn’t find elsewhere.
Good for her, I thought. And good for me for gaining another secret to add to my arsenal. Juicy morsels like that were exceedingly hard to come by these evenings. Pondering how I could use it to my advantage, I climbed the stairs.
Faint light shone beneath the door atop them.
When I reached the landing, my husband’s scent flowed over my skin like a barely there touch. Heady.
Fresh.
He’d finally left his tower or returned from his latest murder mission. I’d never been in the room, yet I knew it was the study and that he must be in there. After all, anyone else who could be was busy in the dungeon.
Without thinking, I opened the door.
Brey didn’t look up from the documents on the desk. Twirling a feathered quill between his long fingers, he drawled, “Lost, are we?”
Giving cursory glances to the drawn velvet drapes and the cracked leather armchairs before the mahogany desk, I said, “I didn’t know this musty room was used.”
“What did you imagine all of this parchment was for, then?”
Rather than tell him I’d never stepped foot in here, I shrugged. “I presumed it was ignored complaints,” I said. “Threatening letters from disgruntled citizens.” Standing against the doorframe, I tapped my chin. “Perhaps even hexes from your admirers.”
That last one earned me a wriggle of his lips. But he quickly caught himself. Leaning back in the winged chair, he tossed the quill onto the desk. “I wasn’t aware you made a habit of looking behind Groth’s ever-closed doors.”
I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity to serve some revenge after the way he’d rejected and maimed me three evenings ago.
“Well,” I said, tauntingly, “some doors aren’t always exactly closed.”
Save for the finger trailing along his steep jaw, Brey went wholly still.
I hesitated.
I’d grown fond of knowing his secret, and I feared what he might do to all of those portraits if I told him I’d found them. I feared what I might do should I discover he’d rid all trace of his decade-long fascination with me.
There were only so many ruptures sheer determination and spite could hold together. Eventually, something would cause them to bleed so profusely that there would be no hiding it—how successfully this king had destroyed me.
So I ran a finger down the chipped paint of the doorframe and said instead, “If you knew about the ghost, the captain, and the cook, and you failed to tell me…” My brows rose. “I will endeavor to hate you forever.”
Silence.
Brey rolled his lips between his teeth, then picked up his quill.
My eyes went wide. “You did know.”
“Of course.” Twirling the quill once more, he lowered his gaze and signed something. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t.”
“Sadly, we cannot all take the form of a cat to better spy on people.”
My words tangled with dust motes as we both seemed to recall just how much damage his spying had done.
Then the scratch of his quill sounded again. “Their extracurricular activities are noisily obvious to anyone who dares to visit the kitchen after dinner.” If I didn’t know him painfully well, the double meaning in his apathetic words would have been missed. “No need to spy on them.”
Unlike me.
I should have left. Yet I stayed, and Brey kept quiet as he dutifully scrawled his signature on numerous documents.
Dead moths lay on the floor beneath the sconces on either side of the window.
The firelight that had lured them caught in Brey’s lustrous hair. Unbound and tucked behind his ears, the black strands fell over his broad shoulders to snag on the ruffles of his loose gray shirt. His lashes shadowed his cheeks like wings.
I wanted to know what he was thinking. Though, really, he was probably just hoping I’d leave. If he was even aware I was still here.
I decided to find out. “How does Groth…” Humming, I struggled to settle on the right words. “Well, take part?”
Brey didn’t startle. But he ceased signing to dunk the quill into the glass inkpot. “Hanna can touch him,” he said simply. “Ovan cannot.”
I frowned. “Because she’s human?”
Nodding once, Brey leaned over the desk to write something on a pad of parchment.
I imagined it would be horrendously awful—to have your pleasure interrupted by revisiting your death because your vampire lover accidentally touched your ghostly form.
It led me to wonder aloud, “Do you think Groth can orgasm?”
Brey cursed. Ink splashed across the parchment he’d been signing.
To contain my smile, I bit my lip.
Leather creaked as he shifted in his chair and swiped the document aside. Without looking at me, he asked tightly, “Was there something else you needed to discuss?” Beneath his breath, it sounded like he muttered, “Anything else.”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” I straightened. “The ward ball.”
“What about it?”
I crossed my arms but made sure they didn’t cover my breasts. “I don’t want it.”
His eyes finally came my way, disbelief dancing within. “Apologies. Could you repeat that?” He mimed sticking a finger into his ear as he said, “I mustn’t have heard you over my bone-trembling shock.”
My eyes narrowed. Annoyance added venom to my tone. “I said I don’t want to have this ball.”
Brey nodded, as if understanding. In doing so, his gaze caught on my breasts, which were nestled in a pile of layered emerald chiffon.
Satisfaction warmed me.
His jaw rocked. He averted his gaze, and his crisp tone iced. “These evenings, what you want matters very little to me, darling.” After scribbling his initials on another piece of parchment, he pushed it aside with his finger. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
Feigning surprise, I gasped and pressed a hand over my cleavage. “I had not.”
He hummed. “Perhaps I need to make it more apparent, then.”
Taunting him into doing such a thing was more than foolish. But soon, I would be free of him. I couldn’t cower now. Couldn’t keep the sugary word from leaving my lips. “Perhaps.”
Brey’s eyes rose, but only far enough to stare at the silk skirts covering my legs. His tongue ran over his teeth before he exhaled a heavy breath. “The ball must go ahead, Ethel. Not only does it aid in reassuring the people but noble families have already arrived in the city.”
I almost whined. “But I have nothing to wear.”
“You have so many gowns, half of them still reside at your father’s estate.”
“Don’t act as if you do not understand me, husband. I have nothing that I haven’t already worn in front of some of the aforementioned no…” I fell silent as a presence neared my back.
Brey looked past me, and his expression lightened.
My soul withered in response.
“I didn’t want to interrupt, but you said to come here ten minutes ago, and I just thought I should let you know that I was—”
“You interrupt nothing, Ergon.” That smile graced my husband’s face. Crooked. Endearing.
Real.
“Come,” Brey said. “And do close the door.”
Gaping, I stepped back to let Ergon in, who had the audacity to close the door in my face with a murmured, “Sincerest apologies, my queen.”