Chapter 19 Zarek
Zarek
THE STOPPING POINT
The door swings open silently. From this perspective, I can only see the man’s back. He’s still wearing his shirt and his stupid vest. And that’s what stops me.
He didn’t take off his shirt. Hells, he didn’t even take off his vest. And he hasn’t touched her between her legs.
Is he just going to ram right in there, then? Still half dressed? Doesn’t he know that could hurt her?
Of course he knows, I realize. He just doesn’t give a shit.
I hold my breath as I creep toward the bed, my blade in my hand.
“Gods, the things you force me to do,” the man says. “You don’t know how hard this has been for me, these past—”
I clear my throat.
The man jumps back, away from the bed. My eyes drop and, well, at least I have a bigger cock. I’m not above savoring that fact as the blood drains from his face.
“What in the nine hells,” I say, pointing my dagger at his neck, “do you think you’re doing?”
The lump in his neck bobs as he swallows. He’s a tall, lanky man with pale skin, and again, something about his face is sickeningly familiar. It’s not like me to forget a face. Where in the hells do I know him from?
I take a step closer, until the point of my dagger brushes his chin.
“Fucking another man’s wife,” I say, low and slow. “You know what the punishment is for that?”
The man’s neck bobs again. “P-Prince Zarek,” he replies in a high, tight voice that’s paces away from the growl he was using with my wife. “I— I can explain.”
I step back and frown, like I’m actually going to listen to this man explain away bending over my wife with his pants down and his tiny cock out. I slip my dagger into its sheath. Some of the fear fades from his eyes. He opens his mouth.
And I punch him in the face.
Lilias gasps from behind me. The man stumbles backward, staggering into the desk and making it rock. I shake my hand. Fuck, that stings.
The man looks up at me. Rage flashes in his pale eyes. Blood trickles down his chin from his split lip.
“Wait!” Lilias cries.
She stands up from the bed. Her bodice is loose, showing the top of what really is a very fine pair of tits, but other than that, she’s still fully dressed. What kind of asshole fucks a woman while she’s still wearing her dress?
“This is my fault,” Lilias says.
She turns to me. Her eyes shine in the light spilling through the windows, but hells, she’s not crying.
“Don’t hurt him,” Lilias says. “Please. I’m the one who pushed him past the stopping point.”
For one horrible moment, the room is completely silent. I wait to see if this limp-dick bastard is going to explain what in the nine hells that’s supposed to mean, but of course, he doesn’t.
The stopping point? I turn toward the man. Rage simmers in my chest. Is that what you tell a woman so she’ll think it’s her fault you’re shoving your cock inside her? Is that how you deflower a princess without even telling her what might happen if her future husband finds out?
“You filthy, fucking son of a bitch,” I growl.
The man raises his hands like he’s trying to protect his face. My hand closes around the hilt of my dagger.
This one’s easy. No one’s going to question why I killed the man I found fucking my wife. Hells, I won’t even have to clean up the body this time. Maybe I could even use this to angle for a better room—
Something closes around my arm. I turn and see my wife’s hand pulling me back.
“Please,” she whispers.
I yank my arm out of her grip. The man flinches as I approach. Blood trickles down his chin and leaves crimson spots on the white ruffles of his shirt.
“I can explain,” he stammers. “Prince Zarek, I meant only to test her fidelity to you—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl as I point my blade between his eyes.
He shuts the fuck up. I drop the blade, tracing a path down his neck. He’s wearing a ruffled white silk shirt with a tight black vest. But I don’t see the pocket. Not yet.
I slice the buttons off his vest, and he gasps with a sort of horrified shock he really should have reserved for me discovering him half-naked with my wife. I slip my blade under the black fabric, pulling his vest open.
“Prince Zarek,” he says. “Really, that’s not—”
I lift my eyes and meet his gaze. He shuts the fuck up again.
And there’s the pocket. I sink the edge of my dagger into the slit of the hidden pocket. The black silk makes a little ripping sound as I slice it open. The man’s body trembles, but when I meet his eyes again, I don’t see fear.
No, I see rage. That whisper of intuition pulls across the back of my neck again. There’s something else going on here, something more than just fucking. But I have no clue what it is.
A small, tightly folded piece of parchment falls from his vest. It hits the floor at his feet. He tries to step on it. I lift my blade to press against his neck.
“Lilias,” I say, in as even a voice as I can manage. “Pick that up, if you would.”
There’s a rustle of cloth behind me. I see the flash of my wife’s dark hair as she bends down. There’s another gasp.
“But— This is my seal,” my wife says as she runs her shaking fingers over the wax holding the parchment together.
That’s what he was doing, the fucker. He brought wax to the candle flame, then sealed whatever this is with my wife’s name.
“Don’t open it here,” I say.
I don’t dare look toward the mirror. The gods only know who might be hiding back there now.
“Really,” the man stammers, as I step away from Lilias. “This is all just a terrible misunder—”
I punch him again. In the gut this time, and with my left hand. He makes a sound like a kicked dog as he doubles over. His bare ass hits the desk behind him, knocking the candle over. The flame dies. Wax drips onto the stone floor.
“Get out of here,” I growl.
The man grunts as he comes to his feet. Rage flickers in his pale eyes, and once again, I have the haunting sense that I know this son of a bitch. I’ve seen him before, and with that same expression of rage and disdain.
He steps away from the desk, grabs his bag, and reaches for his rumpled, abandoned pants. I kick them out of his reach. He scowls at me.
“Go,” I say. “Now.”
He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, then closes it. He’s still scowling at me as he creeps toward the door, his bag clutched over his crotch, blood dripping down his chin from his lip. His hand reaches the door, and it swings inward on silent hinges.
“If I ever see you here again,” I tell him, “I will kill you.”
He doesn’t reply, but the look in his eyes suggests the feeling is mutual.