Chapter Twelve
William
William, no matter how many times he’d come, couldn’t hold back at the sight of Iver falling apart.
How was a man of such power able to let go and submit to a violent fucking?
Iver, the sweetest sounds falling from his parted lips, looked up at him trustingly as he orgasmed on his cock, his eyes brimming with devotion.
His cum hit William across the chest. Raw lust shot through him, and with a grunt, he let go, squirting his seed deep inside Iver’s clenching hole.
Moaning through his orgasm, he filled him.
God, it felt amazing to mark Iver as his.
A breathless gasp tore out of him. His insides contracted as he pumped his cum into Iver.
Thoroughly wrecked, he collapsed. Half a dozen concubines hadn’t satisfied him as deeply as Iver did.
He kissed his sternum reverently, his eyes closing at the softness of Iver’s skin.
Languished, he rested his head on his chest. Iver’s hand threaded into his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp.
William practically purred as Iver slowly stroked him.
He could almost believe that what they had was real.
He knew better, but it was hard to remind himself that this was but a marriage of convenience.
A man like Iver would never fall for him.
William’s lips thinned. Iver might be sleeping with him, but that didn’t mean he liked him.
Iver tolerated him, and that was all William was going to get. He’d better make the most of it.
They stayed in the warm water, lazily petting and stroking each other until they’d recuperated enough to get up. They found towels to dry off with and clean linen clothing in a small cabinet near the entrance.
Blissed-out after all the orgasms, they could barely walk, stumbling up the stairs to the monarch’s apartment.
William never strayed from Iver’s side, distance physically painful.
They staggered through the door to their chambers, William ordering a servant to bring refreshments and collect the armor and cloaks they’d abandoned in the grotto.
Iver lay down on the bed, exhausted after the vigorous fucking. William regarded him with drooping lids as he stretched like a big cat, his arms extending under the cushions.
Iver flinched. He jerked his arms out from under the pillows. The scent of burned flesh bit William’s nostrils.
“Iver?”
Iver leaped off the bed, fatigue gone, and yanked the cushions away. On William’s side of the bed, hidden under his pillow, lay a dagger with a dark gray blade. Iron. A thin trail of smoke rose from Iver’s finger where he’d cut himself, the fringes of the fresh wound black.
Iver whirled around. “What is that?”
William swallowed. He had no explanation. What was a weapon doing in his chambers, let alone under his pillow? He knew what it looked like—like he was planning to murder Iver in his sleep.
“Why is there an iron weapon in our bed?” Iver asked, his voice as cold as ice.
“I… I… uh…” William stuttered.
Iver raised an expectant eyebrow, and when William, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly, failed to produce an explanation, he snapped.
He was in front of William in a flash, snarling, “You went back on your word. We said no iron weapons!” He bared his teeth. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known when you asked for one. Your kind is traitorous.”
William put his hands up. “I swear to God I’ve never seen this dagger.”
Iver gave a derisive snort. “Then how did it get here?”
“I don’t know. It could’ve been planted. It’s not like I lock the doors in my own castle!”
“Oh, but you lie so easily.”
William blew out air. “Open the bond.”
“What?” Iver asked incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? First the dagger and now this? We agreed on keeping the bond sealed. I’m not going to open the bond, especially not now.”
“If you lowered its restraints,” William said as calmly as he could, even though emotion was churning through him, “you’d see into my soul and find the truth. I’m not lying: I have no idea how the dagger got here.”
Iver huffed. “An unmuted bond doesn’t equate to mind reading.”
“I’m. Not. Lying!”
“I’m going to get some air,” Iver bristled. He marched through the door to the dressing room, letting it fall shut behind him with a deafening bang.
Deflated, William dropped onto an armchair.
How had it come to this? And more importantly, how had the dagger ended up in his bed?
None of his human servants would’ve put it there.
William had instructed them to remove all iron from the castle, and they had followed through.
They wouldn’t disobey him. And the fae of Iver’s court?
They were as vulnerable to iron as Iver was.
He couldn’t picture them handling the weapon.
It couldn’t have been Beatrice seeking vengeance either.
When William had her thrown out of the castle, he’d made sure the guards knew not to let her back in.
A knock on the door announced the servant’s return with refreshments.
The man placed the tray on the small table next to William, then hurried from the room, sensing his foul mood.
Ignoring the wine, William picked up a glass of water and emptied it in greedy gulps.
After the day on the mountain and an evening in the stifling heat of the grotto, he was parched.
Up until a few minutes ago, it’d been the perfect day with his new husband.
Discovering that Iver liked baking and enjoying his delicious treats, adventuring in the mountains before getting to climax until exhaustion…
William hadn’t expected his marriage to start that well.
He’d counted on nuisances and arguments, but he’d gotten delight and sex.
Some love marriages started worse than this. If only the day had ended differently.
William peered at the platter of finger food the attendant had brought. He picked up a little square of bread topped with cream cheese and salmon and smelled it before putting it down again.
His attention returned to the dagger on the bed. How had it gotten here? Curious, he went to pick it up.
The blade was set into a nondescript wooden hilt that could’ve been made by any craftsman. It was so bland that it might have been foreign, and William wouldn’t know.
He turned the weapon in his hand. Yes, he’d wanted one of those as a sign of trust from Iver, and he’d refused. Now, he stood alone with an iron weapon in his chamber, unsure what to do with it.
He could hardly dispose of it today. It was late, and he had no idea where he could safely get rid of it or how to destroy it.
With a shrug, he stashed it at the back of his cabinet.
After how Iver had treated him, how he’d refused to listen or open the bond and search his heart, he might as well keep it. It wasn’t like he was going to use it.
He forced himself to eat a few bites of the food. Normally, he wouldn’t stay in his chambers but go and socialize for several more hours. He didn’t feel like it.
William curled up on the bed, his fingers drawing patterns on Iver’s empty side of the mattress. He’d known from the start that there was no love lost between them, but he’d never felt it this acutely.
Moping, an hour passed, then two, while he waited for Iver to come back.
When Iver hadn’t returned by midnight, a heaviness settled in William’s chest. Should he go after him and apologize for something he hadn’t done?
But where would he look? William didn’t think Iver was pacing the gardens.
No, if he was gone this long, he’d left Silverlight.
He could’ve climbed another one of the thousands of peaks in the mountains.
At least with a husband this powerful, William consoled himself, he didn’t have to worry that something had happened to him.
Still, his absence weighed heavily on William. He wrapped himself in blankets but couldn’t find sleep.
Outside his window, the stars slowly wandered across the sky. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, William passed out from exhaustion.