Chapter 34
Zarek
DO YOU HAVE A DAGGER?
That dress was designed to kill me.
There’s no other reason to have Lilias wear something that daring, that insanely flattering, especially after Malrik told me not to sleep with her.
And now she’s wearing a scarlet dress that makes her look like an erotic goddess come to earth, and I’ll have to spend the entire Planting Festival trying not to stare at her breasts the way a starving man would stare at a feast.
I grit my teeth, then bow at my wife, trying to keep my eyes on the swirl of crimson at her feet.
She’s been in the bathing chamber with her attendant, Anura, for most of the morning.
That dress must have been a bitch to get on, with all those ribbons, and her dark hair is piled atop her head in a mountain of curls and tiny, shiny little beads.
Gods, she’s going to shine like the sun on the dais. Absolutely no one will look at me.
She moves into the room, her skirts rustling as she crosses the polished stone floor. I look up at her, willing myself to ignore the dangerous plunge of her neckline. She looks very young, this princess who is so far from her kingdom. Her hands flutter at her waist as she smiles at me.
And suddenly, the room feels cold. Petrys is teaching her how to fight, but a few lessons in breaking away from a hold aren’t much protection. Not in a place like this. And, gods, she is so very beautiful.
I clear my throat, then turn to Anura. “May I have a moment alone with my wife?” I ask.
Lilias’s eyes widen, but she says nothing.
Anura nods, although her lips press together into a tight, thin line, showing me how much she disapproves of my request. She walks across the room with her back straight and her feet clicking on the stones.
When the door closes behind her, it does so more forcefully than necessary.
I smile. It’s a marker of trust, showing how angry you are with someone. And it’s almost charming that Anura thinks I’m safe enough to be mad at me.
I turn back to Lilias, and she lets her eyes drop to the floor. When I step closer, her breath catches. It’s small and quick, that little gasp. Still, it feels like a punch to my gut.
She’s afraid of me.
I reach for her hand, then stop, my fingers brushing the emptiness between us.
She’s wearing some sort of perfume, something light and floral, and it mixes with her scent in a way that’s so lovely it almost hurts.
I let my hand fall, then clasp my fingers behind my back.
For a moment, the only sound is the dull thrum of rain against the windows.
“Is something wrong?” she asks in a soft voice.
I shake my head, my chest tight. “Do you have a dagger?” I ask.
She glances up at me with a frown. “A what?”
“A knife,” I say, slowly realizing how stupid I sound. “A weapon. On your body.”
Her frown deepens, which is all the answer I need.
I step back, away from that floral perfume, and walk to the desk where that limp-dick bastard used Lilias’s seal on his mysterious letter.
I open the middle drawer, shift aside the empty ink pots and broken quills, then pull back the door to the secret compartment.
It’s not much of a weapon, the little dagger I hid in this desk when Malrik’s servant Mortimyr first assigned me to this room. There’s a slight curve to the blade, which makes it slow to slide from its sheath, and the handle is small.
But it would be easy to hide.
I pull the dagger out, then walk to the wardrobe and dig through the drawers until I find a few straps of black leather. When I turn back to Lilias, she’s watching me through narrowed eyes. I tilt my head toward the bathing chamber.
“In there,” I say.
She glances at the mirror. I nod. I’m sure there are ways to watch the bathing chamber too, of course, but for her sake, I haven’t mentioned that. I hold the bathing chamber’s door open while she walks in.
The smell of perfume is stronger in here, mixed with powder and a mélange of other scents I’d have a hard time identifying. It reminds me of the Golden Rose, of the rooms where the women prepare to entertain their paying customers, although I’m smart enough not to voice that particular observation.
“Why would I need a dagger to go to the Planting Festival?” Lilias whispers as I close the door.
I grin at her. “No reason.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the dagger in my hand. “How many of those are you wearing to the party?”
“Six.”
Her eyes widen. I start to fit the sheath to the leather straps.
“Most likely, you’ll never need it,” I say. “But, the one time you do—” My voice fades, and I hold the dagger out to my wife. “The straps should keep it secure,” I say.
She makes no move to take the blade.
“Where am I supposed to put that?” she asks.
I glance at her ridiculously tight bodice, then down at the waves of crimson silk spilling over her legs.
“On your thigh,” I answer.
“Oh, that’s convenient,” she snaps. “If anyone threatens me while I’m sitting next to the king of Vsenrog for the public Planting Festival, I’ll just ask them to wait a moment while I pull up my skirts.”
“No,” I reply, “you cut a hole in your dress.”
For the first time since I met her on the bleak, cold road outside of Vsenrog, Lilias looks truly shocked.
“Cut?” she says. “This dress?”
I grit my teeth. There it is, some part of me whispers. There’s the difference between life in Marion and life in Vsenrog, right there. My wife grew up in a kingdom where she didn’t need to carry hidden blades.
“Here,” I say, taking a step closer to her. “May I?”
She opens her mouth, like she’s going to argue with me, then closes it. She holds her breath as my fingers brush the cool silk of her skirt.
“You’ll find the pocket,” I say, as I run my hand along her waist, feeling the folds in the silk. “Ah. Here. See?”
I slip my hand into the pocket, pushing past layers of fabric and something that feels like a kerchief.
“Cut a hole right here,” I say. “Then you can reach your dagger.”
She makes a noise, something soft in the back of her throat. Her scent surrounds me, and gods, I’m so close I can see her pulse flutter beneath the skin of her throat. Her dark hair curls around her temple. If I twist my neck, I could brush my lips against the curve of her ear.
I step back, pulling my hand from the thick silk of her dress and grinding my teeth against the sudden rush of interest from my cock. Dumb bastard.
I clear my throat, then raise the dagger once more. The leather straps tremble as I hold it out to Lilias. She’s looking at it like I’ve just suggested she strap a live snake to her thigh.
But she takes it. Her fingers wrap around the sheath, and she holds it in both hands like she’s afraid she’s going to drop it.
“Fine,” she says. “But—how do you put it on?”