Chapter 23 #2
I was tempted to roll my eyes. I didn’t, but I did realize aloud, “I don’t recall anyone curtsying or bowing for me.”
Amusement brightened Clovia’s eyes. “You were already here, inspecting the food.”
Adythe squeezed my hand before releasing it. “And I’m sure some people still need to remember that you’re the queen now.”
Clovia nodded. “We certainly fail to remember.”
I didn’t know if that was an insult or an attempt at reassurance. Nonetheless, I tensed and tried to keep from showing my displeasure as music again filled the room, and Brey seemed to greet every rotting guest.
Clovia began to animatedly catch me up on all I’d missed. But the more sordid the gossip became, the more my interest waned, causing me to nod and laugh at the wrong times.
Gowns swayed as some vampires decided to dance to Ergon’s upbeat tune. Every other heartbeat, my view of Brey became unhindered.
A glass of liquor in hand, he leaned against the side wall. His free hand was tucked in his pants pocket as he smiled at Everclare Ginnes. I’d been watching him for so long, he could undoubtedly sense it.
Yet not once did he look my way.
Everclare snatched the whiskey from his hand. She made a show of drinking it all, then handed him the glass, ensuring their fingers touched.
“Ethel?” Adythe asked. She laughed. “What in the darkness are you scowling at?”
“You look like you want to maim someone.” Clovia attempted to follow my line of sight, bouncing on her toes. “Who?”
Mercifully, the fast-paced tune slowed. As did the dancing vampires. Too many now blocked the view of the king who seemed to be going out of his way to do the opposite of what I’d asked.
Deedra found us. Fussing with the frilled neckline of her violet gown, she muttered, “Finding a dead man should not be this difficult.”
I snorted.
She beamed. “Ethel. Oh…” Catching herself, she grabbed her skirts and curtsied. “Majesty.”
Clovia arched a brow at me. “Satisfied?”
“It’s a start,” I said dryly.
We laughed.
But when I dared to look across the room, I could see the king again. My smile wilted. Another woman had joined Everclare and Brey. I couldn’t see her face, but she wore a gown that covered her lithe body like bright blue water.
My teeth met. My stomach churned as if I’d consumed week-old blood. I began to wonder just how many people my husband might humor in this crusade of vengeance. Wondered if it was even revenge when he had an appetite unlike any other man I’d experienced.
Brey was damned near insatiable.
I didn’t realize Clovia was talking to me until I heard, “… surprised he hasn’t come to see you yet.”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Your husband. Unmerciful Mother.” Her wheat-blond curls bounced as she gave her head a shake. “I think you need more wine.”
Before she could turn to look for some, I said, “Not right now.”
“Are you sure?” Clovia glanced at Deedra and Adythe, who were whispering to one another about goddess knew what, then leaned in to tell me, “You seem rather tense.”
“I suppose it’s just been a while since I’ve socialized in such a large way. I’m out of practice.”
She eyed me as if she didn’t believe me. Then proved as much by looking across the room to Brey. “Are you going to swat those flies away from your husband?”
My laugh sounded as forced as it was. “He can fend for himself.”
“I adore how much you trust him.” As I withheld a snort, she leaned in again to whisper, “Maxus is here.”
I didn’t appreciate the reminder. “That ended moons ago.”
“I know,” Clovia said as she eased back with a smile. “I must confess, I’ve been a dreadful friend. However, I didn’t want to share such information via letter. Too many ravens have been skewered by arrows of late.”
There was no need for her to say it.
She still did. “We’ve spent some time together.” Staring into the crowd, as if looking for Maxus, she murmured, “When your father visits mine.” A laugh raised her voice. “I now completely understand why you tried to keep him.”
My skin tingled.
Like missing scenes from a dream, memories surged forth. Those that haunted me as I lay in bed alone had never once included Clovia. Why would they when my heartbreak had nothing to do with her?
But perhaps it had.
I’ll watch the hall in case someone comes.
A shocked laugh escaped, and I nearly swayed.
Clovia frowned at me. “I do hope that’s all right.” Her features smoothed as I struggled not to gape at her. Shifting on her feet, she averted her eyes. “I just assumed you wouldn’t care all that much because you seemed so enamored with King Breyron.”
“Seemed?”
“Well,” she said cautiously, “I’ve heard some things.”
Surprise lightened my tone. “What things?”
Lifting her shoulders, she said, “Just things.”
Her reluctance to share rumors, especially about me, wasn’t like her. Which only made me more certain of what she’d done.
Clovia had known Brey was there on our wedding night—known he’d been watching my poor attempts to deal with Maxus in that storage room. She’d been so unusually attentive. Far too interested in what I’d been doing.
And I’d been so overwhelmed that I hadn’t noticed.
“So is it all right?” she asked with a batting of her inked lashes. “That I’ve been spending time with Maxus?”
“Quite all right.” Numbly, I murmured, “But I’ve just remembered there’s something I need to fetch.”
She gave no response as I drifted into the crowd.
A few people turned to look at me. Some nodded, but no one bowed. No one curtsied. It was as if I’d never married a king. I didn’t care. As memories of that disastrous wedding continued to scrape across my mind like claws, all I cared about was escaping.
Although she wasn’t happy with me, Hanna was the only one I could safely speak to.
So I went straight to the kitchen.
Groth was leaving with two platters of parsley-sprinkled pork when I arrived. He lifted his chin, then vanished before I could warn him about my friend’s interest in him. I hadn’t any desire to tell him anyway.
My heeled slippers clicked as I walked the length of the island bench. “I think my friend wanted Brey to catch me with Maxus.”
As if she hadn’t known I’d entered the kitchen, Hanna dropped a bowl of potatoes and cursed. Some rolled over the bench, and she frantically tried to grab them before they hit the floor. “Who is Maxus?”
“My father’s favorite henchman. Once my lover.”
“Right.” She tossed a potato in the bowl.
Again, I walked the length of the bench. “I didn’t want to tell him we were done before leaving my family’s estate because I feared how he might react.”
“Maxus?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Were you worried he’d hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” I dug my hand into my hair. Curls fell astride my face as I said, “Maybe. I was more worried about his anger revealing us to my evil father.”
“Evil.” She shook her head, as if trying to keep up. “Would your father have punished you for having his favorite henchman as your lover?”
“Most certainly. So although I stopped meeting with Maxus after spending more time with Brey, I didn’t exactly tell Maxus that I wouldn’t meet with him again.” I twisted my fingers together. “I just sort of avoided him.”
Hanna dumped the potatoes next to the sink.
“Then came the wedding. Clovia and Maxus cornered me in the storage room beneath the stairs, and Clovia said she’d give us some time alone and watch the hall.” A mirthless laugh interrupted me. “But she knew Brey was there, doing what he’s always done best.”
“Lurking about in his cat form,” said Hanna, returning to the other side of the island bench.
I pointed at her. “Exactly, and yet again, I didn’t tell Maxus I no longer wished to see him. He was angry, and I just wanted to get out of that awful room and keep him from causing issues. So I told him that I would meet him later in the city.”
“That’s how you broke Brey’s heart,” Hanna said.
“That’s what happened, yes.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Brey knows all of this?”
I scoffed. “Only the worst parts.”
“You don’t think he’ll believe you.” Not a question.
It made me realize aloud, “Well, you don’t seem to.”
Hanna didn’t deny it. She pulled a mixing bowl toward her and shrugged.
I sighed. “And now Brey…” Hands aflutter, I resumed pacing.
“I asked him for one evening. I just wanted one evening to forget how wretched everything has become, but no…” I shook my head.
“He has to take what I want and crush it between his perfect fucking teeth while wearing that perfect fucking smile.”
Hanna’s cheeks puffed. She tossed a wooden spoon over her shoulder. Suds exploded as it splashed into the sink. “Ethel, I really think you should—”
“I think too much, and I think that’s the problem.” I gestured wildly at the doorway. “Whereas he hardly thinks about me at all. Not unless he’s devising ways to maim me.”
“Ethel,” Hanna said again.
“I understand being selfish. I’m well aware that I’m an incredibly selfish woman. However, I draw the line at intentional cruelty. My husband, however, thrives on it. The more intentional, the better.”
Hanna blew a piece of hair from her flushed face.
My steps increased. Became as erratic as my tirade. “The snide comments and mocking insults and withering looks are one thing, as is bedding those perpetually naked feeders, but to even consider using any of our guests to butcher me after I stupidly asked him to behave is quite another.”
“To darkness with it,” Hanna muttered.
“It’s beyond cruel. It’s beyond mortifying. It’s downright—”
Hanna smacked a frying pan against the bench and came close to shouting, “He fucking pays them, Ethel.”
Startled by her outburst, I stumbled back into poorly stacked crates. Catching myself with a hand on the stone wall, I glared at the cook. “Are you well?”
“No, actually. As entertaining as this is, what I am is run off my sore mortal feet.” Dropping the pan onto a pile of potato peels, she leaned over the bench and hung her head. “And tired.”
My lips pursed. “Oh.”
“We need help, but help is hard to find when everyone is still too tense about the rotting foreign ships and the rotting lack of resources and the rotting vampires who want to use your laziness as an excuse to hunt people.”
I blinked. “My laziness?”
“And the king’s.” When I failed to respond, she explained, “The wards, Ethel.”
Goddess. This again. “So we waited three moons,” I said. “The late king left them unfed for two years.”
She lifted her head and informed, almost reluctantly, “Three, actually.”
It was then that I finally noticed the suspicious muck on her reddened cheeks, the singed edge of her beloved polka-dot apron, and the glossy sheen in her eyes.
And the horror that had befallen this kitchen.
An overturned pot spilled a trail of blood sauce between soiled bowls, fruit peels, charred meat, and platters awaiting delivery to the ballroom. The countertop behind Hanna was even worse—bowls and trays and pans stacked high by the overflowing sink.
An odd feeling looped around my throat. Shame. Guilt. Maybe both. I swallowed. “We’ll hire some help for you.”
“You’re leaving.”
I winced. “Right.”
“Right,” she sighed.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Apologizing seemed insufficient, not to mention useless. So we just kind of warily watched each other until something gurgled on the stove.
While Hanna tended to it, I further studied the mess on the bench before sliding a fruit platter onto my palm.
“How do I look?” I held the platter high and swayed side to side. “Am I holding it correctly?” When Hanna turned, I smiled. “My mother always says if you’re going to do something you shouldn’t, you might as well give it your all.”
Her lips twitched.
I grinned.
Hanna surrendered. Her shoulders loosened as she said through a laugh, “I doubt anyone would even notice how you hold it.” Sobering, she scowled. “Now put it down before you drop it and create more work for me.”
“I’ll take it.”
Her eyes widened. “Ethel, don’t you dare.”
I waved my free hand. “I want to. It gives me the perfect excuse to roam behind people as they’re talking about other people.” With a wink, I darted to the doorway. “You’re welcome.”
I heard her groan, but a laugh came with it.
When I returned to the ballroom, eyes stalked like sewing needles poking at my skin.
Lord Greenoak was the first to stop me. “Majesty.” He grinned and took a slice of melon. “This is quite the honor.”
Through a forced smile, I said, “Isn’t it?”
He licked his fingers, a fang scraping his thumb.
Suppressing a shiver, I moved on.
It was no secret that vampires were a gluttonous bunch. Yet I found myself just as shocked as those I offered fruit to when the tray emptied before I’d neared the middle of the ballroom.
“It’s fruit.” Marching back to the doors, I muttered underneath my breath, “Not cake.”
“Ethel.”
Vexaya squash me.
Indecision slowed my steps as I approached the exit. If I left now, he might follow, and after what happened last time I’d done that…
Turning, I smiled. “Maxus.”
He wore his usual ash gray and deep blue uniform. Though he appeared to have trimmed his beard for the celebration, which he scratched as he frowned at the tray clenched between my fingers. “Can we talk?”
“I’m afraid we cannot.”
Orange eyes narrowed on mine. “Not about…” Exhaling a rough breath, he said, “Look, when you never came to the inn, I understood.”
Finally, I didn’t say. I raised a brow and hissed, “You wrote to my husband.”
A large hand rubbed his smirking mouth. “I wanted to.” His gaze roamed across the room to my father before returning to me. He seemed to hesitate, then admitted, “Instead, I moved on.” A pause. “A few times, actually.”
If he’d said that to bother me, he was wasting his time. “Congratulations,” I said. “But we’re somewhat understaffed, so I must return to the kitchen.”
As I made to leave, he seized my wrist. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I highly doubted that there was anything we needed to talk about. Still, I shrugged. “So talk.”
His head shook. The ballroom was given a cursory glance as he said, “Not here.”
“Then not anywhere.” I tugged my hand back. “Enjoy your evening and your immortal life with my father, Maxus.”
“Ethel, wait.”
I didn’t. I turned and took one step into a ruffled chest.
Brey.
Slowly, I peered up at him—only to find him smiling at the made vampire behind me. A smile that might as well have been a blade poised over Maxus’s heart.
“Excuse the intrusion,” Brey said. “Or don’t. But it’s time I had my turn with my wife.”