Chapter 10
Zarek
CELEbrATING MY WEDDING
This has been the longest day of my life.
First, we had to stand in a receiving line for hours at the palace gates, greeting every member of the palace’s extensive staff and anyone else who managed to slip past the guards.
Petrys even came through the line, which was a stupid risk to take, but I didn’t dare reprimand him in person.
I don’t want anyone around here to remember we came down from the mountains together.
Or that Petrys has scars on his back because of me.
And then there was the feast. At least there was wine, although I was careful not to drink too much.
The third crown prince, Jak, got so smashed at his wedding feast that he had to be dragged out of the banquet hall.
A week later, he was sent to oversee troop movement in the mountains. He hasn’t come back yet.
Lilias hasn’t drank much either. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Sometimes the bride is the one who has to be carried to the wedding bed. King Malrik says that’s a mercy, given what happens to her that night, but watching it always makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.
Bells ring from the far end of the feast hall. I glance at my bride, wondering if she knows what this means, but her expression doesn’t change. She looks exactly like she’s looked for most of the feast: like a woman being led to the gallows.
Great.
The crowd cheers and comes to their feet. King Malrik, who has not been avoiding the wine, is the loudest of all. Gods. I grit my teeth together as the bakers parade their elegant cake into the feast hall, the production complete with ringing bells and scantily clad dancers.
I usually love feasts like this. The revelry, the decadence, the way people let their guard slip and say or do something you can hold against them for the next decade. It’s a rare equalizer, these drunken celebrations, and most of the currency I hold comes from nights like this.
But I’ve never been the one sitting at the high table. From here, it’s an utterly different experience.
The head chef bows before the high table. With much cheering, the bakers place the massive cake on the table in the center of the room. It’s beautiful, I’ll give it that much. It’s frosted to look like the palace, and it’s so loaded with rum I can smell the thing from here.
King Malrik cheers, then comes to his feet.
He gives a toast to the cake that’s twice as long as the toast he offered my bride and me before the meal began.
I tap my fingers against my thigh as he drones on.
The ceremonial sword lies on the table, right next to the cake.
For a moment, I imagine leaping over the table, grabbing the sword, and seeing how many people I can take down before the guards stop me.
Applause fills the room. I come to my feet, smiling. The room sways around me; maybe I’ve had more wine than I realized.
I swallow hard as I walk down the steps from the high table. I pause before the elegant cake and the silver sword. The room falls silent. The head chef watches me with wide eyes.
I grin at him. He almost flinches, and I feel a vicious rush of pleasure. Yes, that’s me. Dress me up and force me into a wedding ceremony, but it doesn’t change a godsdamned thing.
Slowly, I turn and run my eyes over every single person in the room. They are the same beautifully dressed lords and ladies who watched my brothers bleed on the tiles beneath my feet. They were the first to claim the mountain lands, to send their servants to farm the ashes of Dungal.
I know them. I’ve bribed some of them and threatened others. Hells, I’ve fucked many of them, men and women alike. And in this beautiful, cold moment, I want to believe they see me for exactly what I am.
I’m the snake of Vsenrog.
I put my hands on the hilt of the sword and step back from the table.
“Thank you,” I say gently, letting my smile soften until it’s something more civilized. “For celebrating my wedding.”
The entire room cheers. The sound is a bit louder and more frantic than the cheering that greeted the cake, and some part of me whispers that King Malrik won’t be happy with my little show.
But fuck him. I’m too tired to care. And, hells, this is my wedding.
I pull the sword from its sheath and sink it into the cake to the sound of thunderous applause. Then I make a second slice, pulling the sword out slowly with a sliver of spiced cake balanced on the end. I spin on my heels, pointing the sword with its slice of cake at my bride.
Her mouth is open in a perfect O, and it suddenly occurs to me that she might not have been warned about this particular wedding tradition. I walk up the stairs to my bride, the sword held in front of me, the slice of cake leaving a trail of crumbs in my wake.
Lilias stares at me with wide blue eyes.
I remember all the versions of this scene I’ve witnessed in this room, most of which ended in hilarious disasters, and once in a badly damaged dress.
But my wife doesn’t look away. No, I almost feel defiance in her gaze, that she’s daring me to do something as she comes to her feet.
Gods above, that dress. Every eye in the room is focused on those perfect tits as Lilias leans over the sword that’s trembling above her plate.
I’m waiting for her to raise her fork, but she looks me right in the eyes, leans over, and wraps her lips around the slice of cake balanced on the deadly iron blade.
The room explodes in shouts and cheers. Lilias stands up and smiles sweetly. There’s a speck of white frosting on her upper lip, and I imagine kissing those sweet lips, tasting that sugar—
My cock is suddenly, almost violently, hard. Blood drains out of my brain so quickly, I’m surprised I don’t pass out. The sword trembles dangerously close to the swell of those tits. I pull it back, then shove the hilt at the baker standing behind me.
Shit. Out of all the possible scenarios I’ve considered about this damned marriage, I never once wondered what would happen if I actually liked the woman.
King Malrik roars with laughter as he comes to his feet.
“Good show,” he calls. “Very good show!”
His eyes linger on my bride in a way that makes me want to reach for the sword again. I swallow that urge as he turns to me.
“Now, go,” the king commands, waving his hand at the door. “Go fuck your new bride, Zarek! It looks like you’re ready!”
Shame burns through me, but I don’t dare look away. I give King Malrik a slight bow as laughter roars through the room.
That’s my punishment, then. I held them in my sway, even just for a heartbeat, and Malrik struck me down in the most humiliating way possible. I grit my teeth as I hold my hand out to my bride. She stands, smooths down the front of her dress, and walks around the table to meet me.
My cock pulses as she places her hand on my arm, and I hate the bastard with all the fury of all my years.
I try not to let it show as we walk down the hall, followed by cheers and catcalls, including some jeers so lewd they would probably be punishable by death if they were directed at anyone else.
Finally, we reach the end of the feast hall. There are two guards stationed outside the door, and they both turn to follow us as I lead Lilias through the maze of palace hallways.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say, under my breath.
Lilias doesn’t reply. I’m not sure if she didn’t hear me or if she just doesn’t know what to make of the first words I’ve spoken to her since we were married.
The door to my quarters is open. Lilias’s handmaiden is waiting for us in the doorway. She pulls Lilias inside, then pretty much slams the door in my face.
I step back and try not to think about all the other, better ways I could have handled that.
“Women, huh?” the guard on my left says.
I recognize him as the sweet, idiot kid I’ve played cards with a few times before, when I’ve been wasting time at the barracks or trolling for information. He pulls a flask from his cloak and takes a swig, then offers it to me.
“Congratulations,” he says as he holds the flask out toward me.
Whatever’s in there, it smells strong. I shouldn’t drink it.
But I do.