Chapter 24
Zarek
A BLACK MARK
Mortimyr is waiting for me. He’s standing by my customary place at the banquet table, the place where I passed out on my wedding night, in fact, and he’s wearing his customary scowl.
He probably thinks it makes him look serious.
Instead, it makes him look like it’s been quite a while since he took a shit.
“Let me guess,” I tell Mortimyr with a yawn as I enter the room. “He wants to see me immediately?”
Mortimyr sniffs. I take that as a yes. I grab a plump sausage from a platter in the middle of the table, grin at Mortimyr’s horrified expression, and eat it standing up. Then I lick my fingers.
“Lead the way,” I say.
Mortimyr does. Once again, King Malrik receives me in one of his private rooms. This time, he’s seated behind a wide desk, scowling at a long piece of parchment.
“This is an outrage,” the king declares.
He smacks his open palm on the parchment. One of the two servants standing behind him flinches.
Two servants? Whatever he’s about to say, he wants witnesses. I bow low before approaching the desk. The king scowls at me.
“How may I be of service?” I ask.
Malrik shakes his head. “I’ve terrible news, son.”
Son? Fear pulls my gut tight. It must be terrible news for him to call me his son in front of witnesses.
I smile as I sit down at the desk. King Malrik’s pale eyes meet mine.
“It’s about your wife,” he growls.
The casual smile I’ve spent my life perfecting suddenly feels brittle. I lean back, draping one arm across the back of the chair like I have nothing to prove and nothing to hide.
“Oh?” I ask. “What about her?”
King Malrik shakes his head. “We’ve been misled. One of my most trusted informants brought the news this morning.”
He waves his hand over the parchment spread across his desk. I’m not close enough to read the dark ink sprawled across it, and I don’t dare act too interested. I raise my eyebrow, waiting.
“Apparently, she’s not the maiden that dog-shit king of Marion promised us,” Malrik growls. “She’s been used before.”
One of the servants gasps. I grit my teeth, ignoring the urge to punch that asshole in the teeth.
“My son,” the king continues, “this is a black mark on our honor. It must be redressed.”
This is about the new gold mine. It has to be. I force myself to pull in a long, slow breath as Malrik shakes his head and mutters darkly about payments and honor.
He wants the mine. That’s what he’ll demand as redress, and with the armies of Vsenrog behind him, what could Lilias’s father possibly do but comply?
And that explains why Malrik made Lilias marry me instead of his son Lucian, I realize with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Infidelity against the a prince would be much worse than infidelity against an adopted former hostage.
Receiving the gold mine is reparation enough for someone of my stature.
But deceiving Prince Lucian would be grounds for war.
I stare at my fingernails as my mind spins.
I should agree with him. King Malrik wants that mine, apparently, and here’s how he gets it.
Even better, I’ll be the one who won the mine for him.
What was that he said when he pulled me into one of his lesser rooms to tell me about my impending marriage?
Fucking to serve your kingdom is a damn sight better than fighting for it?
But this isn’t my kingdom.
And what in the gods’ many names will they do to the woman I promised to protect if I give her up now?
I turn toward King Malrik and smile. “Your Highness,” I say softly, as if it’s all the same to me who controls the new gold mine, “your informant must have been misled. She was a virgin.”
My gut pulls tight, and every instinct that’s kept me alive for the past fifteen years screams at me. King Malrik narrows his eyes. Behind him, both of the servants open their mouths to gape at me.
“You’re sure?” the king asks.
It’s bad policy, lying to the king. It’s too easily discovered, and there are too many unpleasant ways to die from it.
But sometimes it can’t be avoided.
“Yes,” I say, with another easy smile. “The princess of Marion was a virgin before our wedding night. I would know, sire.”
I’m horribly aware of the bandage on my thigh. If that infection gets any worse, if I have to visit a healer, and if word gets back to the king that the blood on my marital sheets was mine and not Lilias’s, then not even the gods will be able to save me.
The king rocks back in his chair and brings his hand to his chin. He’s frowning at the parchment on his table like he’s weighing his odds in a gambling hall.
“I see,” he finally says.
He looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite read. That low pulse of alarm throbs through my gut again. Kings are always dangerous. But something about that look makes me want to reach for my dagger right now.
“Well,” Malrik finally says, as he reaches forward and rolls the parchment into a tight tube, “at least now you know what some of the treacherous citizens of Marion are saying about your wife.”
I nod slowly, almost a bow. The king leans back again and taps his fingers on the desk.
“I think,” he begins, as if the idea is just coming to him, “it would only feed the rumors if your wife were to be with child. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?
So, perhaps you can keep your hands to yourself for a few months.
” He meets my eyes. “Don’t worry,” he continues.
“I’m sure there are plenty of willing women in this castle you can fuck instead of your wife. ”
My jaw clenches. I force myself to keep smiling.
“That’s never been a problem for me before,” I say.
Malrik laughs, short and sharp. “That’s my boy,” he says.
My pulse beats at the inside of my skull like a mallet on an anvil.
But this is good, damn it. The more distance between the princess and me, the safer she’ll be.
And, gods, I don’t want to get anyone pregnant.
The thought of trying to protect a child in this place makes me feel like I’m being buried alive.
No wonder Princess Acelina sends her kids away as soon as they’re born.
I push back from the desk and come to my feet.
“Oh,” Malrik says, stopping me cold. “One more thing.”
I keep smiling. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s probably the real reason for my visit. He likes to drop the important bits like this, as if they’re an afterthought. It makes them easier for him to deny.
“When is your wife’s brother coming for a visit?” the king asks. “Prince… What was his name again?”
“Prince Elrick,” I reply.
“It must be hard for him to get away, with his father’s health failing. He must be shouldering quite a bit of the royal obligations.” The king shakes his head. “Still, I thought he might come for the Planting Festival. To see his sister, of course.”
The room fills with expectant silence. Both of the servants stare at me.
“I have no idea if he’s coming to visit,” I finally say. It’s the truth, even if it feels like another lie.
Malrik huffs like I’ve disappointed him.
“Well, as soon as you know, please inform me,” he says. “We’ll want to make sure we greet your new brother-in-law as nobly as possible.”
“Of course,” I reply.
Fear dances across the back of my neck as I nod.
Another mention of the king of Marion’s failing health, and an attempt to make it sound like Prince Elrick is running that kingdom.
None of that is true; Lilias’s father is perfectly healthy, and the Kingdom of Marion is run by a council of mayors.
The royal family is like an ornamental historical artifact for that kingdom, and it has been since they gained their independence from Vsenrog.
Not that any of that matters. If King Malrik says Lilias’s father is ill, that’s what everyone in Vsenrog will believe. And if he declares Prince Elrick the de facto ruler of Marion—
Then my wife’s brother, Elrick, has a target on his back.
I shiver. Malrik waves his hand at the door, dismissing me, and my own words come back to taunt me. They think they can make me dance, I told Lilias last night, but they don’t own me.
I feel cold as I bow before the king, following all the steps in the dance he chose for me.