Chapter 32
Lilias
CHAMBER POTS
Iwake in the dark, my heart thrashing around the inside of my chest and panic pulsing through my veins. I hold my breath, trying to remember what woke me.
A faint line of bluish light falls through the crack in the curtains and traces a path across the canopy hanging over the bed. Rain gusts against the window, and my body tenses.
Vsenrog’s Planting Festival is today. One of my dresses was delivered last night, along with instructions to wear it tomorrow. The bodice of that dress is ridiculously low-cut. I told Anura my nipples are going to show, and she laughed. It seems less funny now.
I sit up in bed. The man who brought the dress also brought an ivory-colored shirt, a scarlet-lined jacket, and sleek, black pants.
“For your husband,” he said, with a little sniff that somehow made it sound like it was my fault Zarek wasn’t here.
I wanted to snap at him, but I kept my mouth shut until the man left, and then I asked Anura if perhaps we should have my husband’s suit delivered to the Golden Rose brothel. She laughed at that too, but not nearly as loudly.
A low, scraping sound fills the room. I freeze. My pulse echoes through my skull.
That’s what woke me up. The scraping sound comes again, like someone is dragging a rasp across the windows. It’s low and almost hidden by the rain.
Someone is opening the window.
There’s a final scrape, and the sound of the rain is suddenly louder. A moment later, there’s a thud. Boots, I think, are landing on the floor. In this room.
I hold my breath. Think, godsdamn it.
Whoever just climbed through the window, they’ll expect me to be in the bed. Asleep. Unarmed.
The scraping starts again. Whoever just came in through the window must be closing it behind them. My throat feels tight, and my hands shake as they hold the blanket to my chest.
I need to move. Now.
As silently as I can, and praying to whatever gods might be listening that the scrape of the window closing hides the rustle of the sheets, I slip to the far side of the bed.
The bed’s heavy curtains are soft and cool as I gently nudge them back, then drop to the floor.
The massive mirror glimmers in the darkness, a faint pool of light on the wall.
It’s too dark for me to see the reflection of the person who just climbed in the window.
The scraping sound stops. The window must be closed. There’s another gust of wind, another flurry of raindrops against the glass, and then the whisper of footsteps on stone. Whoever is in this room with me, they’re walking quietly.
I dig my fingertips into the bedpost and remember the knife on Zarek’s thigh with a pang of longing. Gods, I wish I had a dagger right now. Or a club. Or anything heavy, anything solid—
My breath catches as the footsteps pause in the middle of the room.
There is something.
There’s a chamber pot beneath the bed. Two chamber pots, actually, one on either side. I haven’t used them, because there’s a private latrine in the bathing chamber, and I can’t imagine why anyone would use a chamber pot when there’s the option of a latrine instead.
The footsteps resume. Gods above, it sounds like they’re heading directly toward the bed.
I press my foot under the curtain, dragging my toe along the stone until I touch the cold metal edge of the chamber pot. The footsteps pause again. I hear a deep breath, almost a sigh. It sounds so close I can almost feel their breath on my skin.
I close my eyes. For a heartbeat, I imagine a massive, bearded man with a sword in his hands, poised just outside the bed’s curtains, ready to stab me through the heart.
Then I drop to my feet, reach under the bed, and grab the chamber pot. The person makes a startled sound, almost a grunt, as the chamber pot drags on the stone.
“Don’t ever hesitate,” Petrys told me, the first time we met in the forest. “They won’t expect you to fight back, and that’s your greatest strength.”
I don’t hesitate.
I raise the chamber pot in the air, leap forward, and bring it down.
A man cries out, then shoves me back onto the bed.
“Fuck,” he curses. “What the hells?”
I can make out the dim outline of his figure, silhouetted against the windows. He thrusts forward. I jump to my feet, raise the chamber pot—
It freezes in midair. I try to yank it away. The man pivots, and suddenly, I’m pressed against the bedpost, a man’s hand on my wrist, his knee between my legs.
“Lilias?”
Oh, gods. I close my eyes as my cheeks burn.
“Husband,” I manage to say through gritted teeth.
Zarek laughs. His body presses into mine, hot and hard against my breasts.
“Did you just hit me with a chamber pot?” he asks.
I try to pull away. Zarek’s leg presses between my thighs in a way that makes me very aware of how little I’m wearing.
“Did you just climb in through the window?” I snap.
He laughs again, soft and low. His breath is hot against my neck.
And then he’s gone. His hand releases my wrist, his leg pulls back.
“Give me a minute,” he says.
I huff. My heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of my rib cage.
There’s a clatter as he drops the chamber pot that he pulled from my hands.
A moment later, there’s a scrape, a hiss, and a match bursts into life.
The light from the flame makes his face glow as he brings the match to a candle.
His dark hair is wet, and a few stray raindrops trace a path down his cheeks. He looks tired. He turns back to me and attempts to smile.
“I’m sorry about this,” he says, waving his hand at the chamber pot on the floor.
I sniff. “What’s wrong? Was the brothel full tonight?”
His eyes dance, and his smile deepens. “Why? Are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” I huff.
He turns, opens the door to the bathing chamber, and disappears inside. A moment later, he comes back, rubbing a towel over his face.
“I am sorry,” he says as he pulls the towel over the back of his neck. “I had no idea you were such a light sleeper.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “There is a door to this room, you know.”
He grins. His dark eyes dance in the candlelight. He lifts his arm, unbuttons his cuff, and rolls up his sleeve.
“You fought well,” he says. “This is going to leave a mark.”
There’s a large red welt on his forearm that’s exactly the size and shape of the chamber pot’s curved edge.
“Shit,” I blurt. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replies. “I don’t know many princesses who would have the guts to fight back like that.”
I swallow. I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or not.
Probably not. Hitting a man with a chamber pot is something a milkmaid would do, not a princess. I think of my father, red-faced and screaming, and turn to stare at the ground.
“And I don’t sleep at the brothel,” Zarek adds softly.
I glance up. He draped the towel over his shoulders, and now he’s staring at the mirror like he’s trying to determine if there’s anyone standing behind it. I cross my arms over my chest. Now that I’ve escaped from the bed, the room feels cold.
“I know,” I say.
He told me he sleeps in the stables. I don’t have any reason to believe him, but strangely, I do. It just seems like such an unlikely thing to lie about.
Zarek turns to face me. The candlelight plays off the shadows under his eyes.
“I don’t do anything in the brothel,” he says. “I paid Rose to tell everyone I’m to blame for the newest bun in her oven. I thought that would be the best way to keep attention away from you. But, if it bothers you, I’ll go somewhere else.”
I snort and turn away. My eyes suddenly sting, and I’m not at all sure how to respond. None of what he just said makes sense; if my husband is going to a brothel every night, I’d have to be an idiot to believe he’s not doing what every other man does in a brothel.
So why do I believe him?
I remember the last time I saw Elrick, when he slipped into my tent as I traveled with the soldiers of Vsenrog to my wedding. He said the mayors of Marion had seen armed visitors from Vsenrog crossing the border. He said to be careful, and then he hugged me and whispered don’t trust the snake.
Great. The last piece of advice my brother gave me, and I’m struggling to follow it.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter where Zarek spends his nights, or with whom. Royal marriages aren’t supposed to be paradigms of fidelity. Still—
“Why did you come in through the window?” I ask.
He smiles, and the room suddenly feels warmer.
“To get my new suit,” he replies.