22 #2
“That’s not for you to decide, Syth. It’s my family.
My name. My duty. You of all people should understand duty.
The only reason you stayed with me was for duty’s sake, because it’s your job.
Because you were determined to see it through and fulfill your task.
” His voice rises. “Well, now the task is done. You got me here—you can go. You’re rid of me. Leave.”
“And you’ll—what? Marry those two? Sleep in their bed? Breed with the girl? Is she the one you want as the mother of your children? She has some very serious problems, Vawn.”
“Yes, and she has an army. That’s what I need right now. I don’t have to ‘breed’ with her, as you so elegantly put it. I can have a… a mistress.”
Something in the way he says it, the way he glances down, as if he’s ashamed of himself even as he speaks the word—it drives me out of my mind.
I fling myself at him, heedless of the pain in my side, and with a scream of rage I jam the knife into the door, right next to his ear. A finger’s width to the right, and I would have cut him.
“Syth—ugh!” He grunts as I punch him below his ribs. “Syth, stop it!” He grabs for my wrists, but I’m too quick. I evade his grasp and punch him again, in the chest this time.
“I hate you,” I gasp between blows. “I hate you so much, I hate you.”
He takes the beating, which enrages me more.
“Fight back,” I seethe. “Fight me.”
“We both know you’ll win.”
I grab his throat, ramming the back of his head against the door. I wish I were taller. I want to look him straight in the eyes.
“If I stay in this room, I might kill you,” I whisper. “So I’m going to sleep in the other room.”
“Not the little cave next door.” Horror enters his gaze. “The rats, Syth. I could practically smell them in there. If you sleep in that room they’ll nibble on you. Stay here. Take the bed, and I’ll lie on the sofa. Look, they’ve put sheets and things on it, and they’ve changed out the pillows.”
I tighten my grip on his neck, and he swallows, his throat shifting under my palm. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how closely we were pressed together, but the proximity registers when I feel the stiff length of him against my hip.
“You’re sick for being hard right now,” I hiss at him.
“I am thoroughly depraved,” he admits. “And I—” His voice chokes off as my fingers constrict his windpipe. With my other hand I cup his hardness, ignoring the flicker of pain in my splinted finger.
“Is this for me?” I whisper.
He wheezes through my grip, his cock twitching firmly against my palm like a confirmation.
I loosen my fingers, allowing him to breathe, letting his chest surge against my breasts. Hating him so intensely that I can’t endure it.
I grip his face, feeling the bones of his jaw. “Strip down and get on the bed.” When I let him go, he backs away, looking both terrified and excited. I yank the knife from the door and point it at him. “Now, cunt.”
It’s quite possibly the fastest he’s ever gotten naked. He stretches out, his entire beautiful body bare and his cock boldly erect.
“Stay,” I order, brandishing the knife as a warning. Then I strip myself down to the bandages and I come to the bed, dagger in hand.
I settle astride his stomach, with the length of his cock lying against the groove between my ass cheeks. I set the tip of the knife to the vulnerable hollow of his throat, between his collarbones.
“Do you want to die, Prince?” I ask him.
He hesitates, and then frowns a little, as if the answer he’s about to give surprises him. “No. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless you have no use for me anymore. I want to keep infuriating you, arousing you, making you laugh. If all that is over, then yes, I want to die.” His eyes are bright silver, clear and true. “Kill me when you are done with me.”
I lay the knife beside the pillow and lean forward, my breasts touching his chest, my mouth grazing his lips. “We’ll see.”
I press inward, and for a full ten seconds, I give myself over to the rich violence that is kissing him. His tongue writhes with mine, firm and slick. He whimpers into my mouth and I moan in response, my one concession to the yearning that thrums through every nerve.
I don’t say that he’s mine, because he isn’t, but I wish it as I lift myself and slot his cock inside me.
I wish it while he grabs my waist—so gently on the injured side—and helps me ride him.
I wish it with each one of my own gasps and with every dazed moan he makes.
I wish it when I tuck his right index fingertip into my mouth and his intent joins with the wetness of my tongue, inciting the vibration.
I pull that fingertip right against my clit and I come apart on the beautiful cock of the prince who made me love him.
He writhes under me, tilting his head back. He’s glorious like that, tense and bucking and coming deep in my body. I make the wish one more time while my walls contract around his length, forcing out every bit of cum.
I wish you were mine.
Still impaled on him, I pick up the knife and trace letters on his lower belly, from one hip to the other. I don’t cut the skin, but I scratch it—red lines in the shape of my name. Forsythia.
And he doesn’t stop me.
I want to beg him not to make the alliance. Perhaps he would, if I applied the right leverage. But I shamed him enough for considering the marriage. If I keep pressuring him, I’ll be no better than his family.
This is a choice he must make himself.
The next day, I’m not allowed in the room where Vawn and the Twin Lieges are bargaining, so I pace up and down the hallway until they take a break.
Eventually, Roxalin flounces out of the room, complaining that all the words are giving her a headache.
Her brother follows more slowly, giving me a long look as he passes by.
Something about him makes me shiver. He’s creepier than his sister, with a perverted lust constantly simmering in his eyes.
Vawn emerges last, looking weary and frustrated. “Walk with me.”
“I’ll try,” I say. “It’s difficult in these cluttered hallways.
“I need to get outside. I can’t be in here for another minute unless I get a breath of fresh air.”
Silently I follow him to the palace doors, where servants make us wait until we’ve been cloaked in furs from head to toe. We exit onto the palace steps, under the sweep of a gray sky. A few guards are on duty, lining the steps, and Vawn leads me past them, to the level of the street.
When we’re out of anyone’s earshot, he says, “The negotiations are progressing. I’ve agreed to give them a section of the Red Mountains, an area bordering Lord Kaenan’s domain, where the spidermaws and wimmets are less numerous.
I’ve pledged that Lord and Lady Kaenan and the forestry guard will assist with the clearing of the area.
There’s wood for cottages, and there are mountain streams for water.
As long as the people work hard and stay vigilant, they can live there successfully. ”
“In exchange they will bring their military to Belavrin and help you retake the throne. And what of the other part?” I can’t bring myself to say the word marriage.
Vawn sighs. “I tested the waters to see if they’d be willing to leave marriage off the table. But they are determined to merge our nations at the highest level, and they want to live in the palace with me.”
“They’ll ruin it,” I mutter. “They’ll turn it into a refuse bin like this place.”
“Probably.”
We stand there silently for a while, watching the wind stir the snow, whipping it into drifts against the buildings.
Here and there, one or two people totter along the streets in bulky furs, hurrying along on some errand or other.
The way they walk is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
They’re trying to move quickly yet step lightly, fearful that the very ground may give way at any moment.
“A terrible way to live,” I say.
“Hm?” Vawn turns toward me.
“These people. Imagine existing with the constant fear of the earth swallowing you up. We have to help them.”
“I’m trying, Syth. I must be careful, because if I offend the Lieges, they will sweep the whole deal off the table, sell me to the Exemplar, and make their treaty with him instead.”
Cold dread seizes my stomach. That possibility hadn’t entered my mind. “You really think they would do that?”
“Out of spite, if I reject them? Yes.”
“Shit.”
“Indeed.” He leans forward, shading his eyes. “Someone’s coming. And they’re on horseback.”
I snap into bodyguard mode immediately. “Back inside, quickly. Let the Tularesk guards figure out who it is and whether or not they should be allowed admittance.”
I take him back to the room where they’ve been working on the deal—the same clock-filled space where we had dinner the previous night. Once Vawn is seated, I stand behind him, watching both of the doors.
Moments later, the Twin Lieges return in the company of a man that both Vawn and I immediately recognize—Heim Cordall, the resident painter from Anyssir Castle, the one who created the portraits of Vawn’s family.
“I bring news, your Highness.” His dark eyebrows are white with frost, and tears glitter in his eyes.
Reaching around the back of Vawn’s chair, I clasp his shoulder.
“Tell me the Lord and Lady are alive.” Vawn’s voice is thick and hoarse.
“I wish I could, my prince. I wish I could.”
“Where?” Vawn rasps. “And how?”
“Anyssir Castle was attacked after you left. I was on my way back home from a commission, and I saw the end of the conflict. I followed from a distance as the Redeemers took Lord Kaenan and his castle guards to the western border gate. The Redeemers executed all of them, along with the border guards at that gate who were loyal to the Crown.” His voice cracks and he pauses, closing his eyes.
“The Redeemers hung the dead along the wall, facing the Tularesk border.”
Liege Roxalin gasps, covering her mouth with her ragged white nails. “How awful.”
“What of the Lady Kaenan?” Vawn asks.