Chapter 21
Zarek
MY DEAREST L—
Lilias pushes my cloak off her shoulders, letting the fabric pool around her hips as she pulls the tightly folded square of parchment from her pocket. She holds it out for me. It shivers above the sticky table. I shake my head.
“You read it,” I say. “It’s got your seal on it.”
She frowns, like she’s about to disagree, but then she slides her fingernail under the wax seal and unfolds the parchment. Her lips move slightly as she reads the message, and her eyes widen.
I try to swallow the knot of fear rising in the back of my throat. I still don’t know this woman particularly well, and she’s just been through one hell of a shock. Two shocks, actually; her husband interrupted her with a lover, and her lover used her royal seal without her knowledge.
Asking her to read the message might be a mistake.
I clench my jaw as I watch her. At least we’re here, in the scummiest pub in town. If she throws a fit in here, it won’t get back to the king’s ears. Probably.
Lilias flings the parchment down on the table and recoils like she’s trying to get away from it.
“I— I didn’t write that,” she stammers.
She looks angry, but there’s something more beneath the anger. Fear, sure, but not just fear. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to stop me, I reach for the parchment.
She doesn’t stop me.
The handwriting scrawled across the parchment is soft and flowery, exactly what you’d expect for a princess.
It’s written in some sort of blue ink, making the message look both frivolous and expensive.
The parchment is thick, too; it feels expensive, luxurious.
Someone clearly put a fair amount of thought into this.
I turn to the words scratched in blue ink.
My dearest L— it begins.
I miss you terribly. My situation here is unbearable— the snake violates me every night. My tears mean less than nothing to him—
I stop reading. The skin pulls tight on the back of my neck, that old warning. There’s danger here, hidden just beneath the surface, maddeningly out of view.
“I didn’t write that,” Lilias says again.
She’s scowling at the scrap of parchment like she wants to punch it, and I realize I believe her. I don’t have any reason to trust this woman, but still, I do.
“I know,” I say.
Her shoulders relax. I meet her eyes.
She’s not throwing a fit. I exhale slowly, realizing with amusement that I’m not entirely surprised. She didn’t cry during the wedding ceremony. She responded to my teasing at the castle gates by telling me she loves snakes.
She’s a fighter, this princess. I knew it.
I’ve been turning this decision over in my head the entire time we walked through the city, but now, as I watch my wife clutch a second mug of shitty ale in her hands like it’s some kind of lifeline while she glares at a scrap of parchment, I realize I’ve already made my choice.
Honestly, I think I made up my mind before I even read the letter.
Just like trusting her, this is easy.
“Look,” I say, dropping the letter on the table. “We’re tied together now.”
Her cheeks darken, and I remember how soft her hands felt in mine as the priest tied red silk around our wrists. I clear my throat.
“I’m going to be clear with you,” I say. “Everything I know, I’ll share with you. Anything you ask, I’ll answer. As honestly as I can.”
Her eyes widen slightly. I try to ignore the dawning realization that I have never said anything like that to anyone.
I promised to care for her with every breath in my body as our hands were tied together with red silk, and now, over bitter ale and a parchment full of lies, I’ve just made another promise. One that’s far more dangerous.
Shit. My throat feels tight. I cough to clear it.
“Whatever this is,” I continue, waving my fingers over the letter, “if we can figure out who wrote it, and why, we’ll have a better chance of—”
I stop myself. I was about to say surviving, but perhaps that’s a bit dire for a pleasant afternoon conversation with my wife.
“Being ready for whatever they’re going to do next,” Lilias says, finishing my sentence for me.
I reach for the letter, then fold it in half so I’m no longer staring at the words the snake violates me every night.
“Finding this gives us an edge,” I say. “We weren’t supposed to know about it, and we do. If we figure out what it means, we’ll be even stronger.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “You have what you want, right? Now that we’re married, Vsenrog could claim part of the new gold mine, right?”
My jaw clenches, and I force myself to relax. I have what I want? That’s a joke. When was the last time anyone gave a flying fuck what I want?
I clear my throat. Again.
“I thought our marriage was about the mine too,” I say. “But why the rush to marry if you’re not pregnant and the mine isn’t even open yet? And why this bullshit?” I tap the letter. “What does anyone have to gain from forging something like this?”
Lilias twines her fingers together and leans over the table, giving me a spectacular view of her perfect breasts. My cock stirs under the table, and I stare at the folded parchment instead of the straining fabric of my wife’s bodice.
“It’s signed with my name, but my handwriting doesn’t look anything like that,” she finally says. “So, Blayne couldn’t send it to anyone I know. Anyone who knows me would know it’s a forgery.”
“And who’s it supposed to be addressed to? Dearest L-? Is that Prince Lucian?” I offer, throwing out the name of King Malrik’s youngest son.
Lilias frowns. “I haven’t even met Prince Lucian.”
“You’re right,” I say. “That doesn’t make sense. You don’t know him, so why in the hells would you call him dearest?” Another L name comes to me. “Weren’t you betrothed to Prince Laurance?”
Lilias makes a face like she’s just tasted something sour. “Yes, but I’ve only met him once. I’d hardly call him my dearest.” She frowns. “And I’ve never sent him a letter. Actually, I’m not sure he can read.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
I drain my second mug. The room is starting to buzz pleasantly, and for a moment, I let myself imagine how sweet it would be to spend the entire day here, drinking shitty ale while the rest of the world tears itself apart without me.
I narrow my eyes at the parchment. It’s a code without a cipher, a puzzle that doesn’t make any godsdamn sense. Why fake a love letter from my wife to someone whose name starts with L? Was it to hurt me?
Doubtful. Everyone knows the snake of Vsenrog doesn’t have a heart. Besides, I know better than anyone that I haven’t violated anyone lately, let alone my wife.
Was it meant to cast doubt on her fidelity? But she’s already fucking her tutor. Why create an elaborate plot when all it took was me opening the door to my own room to discover the truth?
Follow the gold, my mind whispers. Think about who benefits from this.
But that’s the problem. I can’t imagine a single godsdamn person who wins in this scenario. I put my mug down and pinch the bridge of my nose. I can already feel the hangover this shit gives me.
The bartender stops by with another two mugs. I reach for mine, knowing it’s a bad idea but doing it anyway.
“Tell me about Blayne,” I say.
Lilias is silent for a moment, long enough for me to wonder if she’s actually going to reply. Then she finishes her ale and reaches for the third mug. Her cheeks glow in the dim light.
“Blayne,” she begins, “is from Vsenrog.”
Interesting. Again, that scrap of memory tugs at me. I know him from somewhere, damn it. But where?
“When did he show up?” I ask.
She brings the mug to her lips, drinks, and then stares at the foam.
“Four years ago?” she says, although it sounds like a question. “Maybe a little less. Father hired him after the wedding to Prince Laurance was postponed the first time.”
That’s news to me. I knew she was betrothed, of course, but I didn’t realize they’d gone as far as scheduling and then postponing the wedding. And four years ago? What in the nine hells happened?
Laurance must not know her, some part of my mind whispers. There’s no way he would have postponed the wedding if he knew Lilias.
And that sounds suspiciously like the ale talking, probably in collaboration with my idiotic cock. I push the thought away.
“What did he teach you?” I ask.
She takes a very long pull from her mug, then sets it down with a little frown. Her eyes shine in the torchlight.
“Mostly history,” she says. “Geography. Lots about Vsenrog, but most of what he told me didn’t match up with what Elrick said.”
Elrick, her brother. That’s interesting.
“Did you tell him Elrick didn’t agree with his lessons?” I ask.
She snorts into her ale. “Of course not.”
“Smart,” I reply.
Our eyes meet, and something flashes in the space between us. My stupid cock pulses uncomfortably against the laces of my pants; I shift on the hard wooden seat.
“Why did he teach you about Vsenrog?” I ask. “You were still betrothed to Prince Laurance, right? So you were going to live in his kingdom, no?”
She nods. “The wedding was rescheduled four times, because my father kept disagreeing about the terms of the exchange. But yes, the basic betrothal agreement never changed. I always thought I’d spend the rest of my life in Ethiria.
And Blayne—” She shrugged. “I thought he talked about Vsenrog because he came from here. I assumed that’s what he knew best.”
She finishes her mug and sets it down on the table.
Her cheeks burn. There’s a bit of foam on her top lip that reminds me of the frosting from our wedding night.
For a sweet, aching moment, I imagine leaning across the table, kissing those lips, tasting the bitter ale and sweat, sinking my fingers into her hair—
Shit. I clench my jaw as the bartender comes back.
“No more,” I say, holding up my hand.
“What?” Lilias replies. “Why?”
I grin at her. “Because you’re already drunk.”
The bartender laughs, a rough, gravelly sound, and then limps away as Lilias blinks at me.
“Shit,” Lilias finally says.
Her eyes widen, and her mouth makes a wide O before she brings her hand to her lips.
“I’m so sorry,” she says in a gasp. “That’s so unladylike!”
I laugh, actually laugh, for what feels like the first time in weeks. Lilias blinks at me, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode, like suddenly my chest is too small for it.
And then something falls into place, and my laugh dies on my lips.
Maybe there’s another reason why King Malrik arranged this marriage, one that has nothing to do with the gold mine and everything to do with me.
I’m a powerful servant for the crown of Vsenrog, but still, he’s never trusted me.
He’s always looking for new ways to control me, new strings to tug to make me dance.
Giving me a beautiful wife, someone who lives in the palace, someone whose happiness and safety will forever be linked to my loyalty, well, that would be a brutally effective way to bring me to heel.
Especially if I’m foolish enough to fall in love with her.