Chapter 37
Lilias
ALL A SHOW
Idon’t have time to react. My mind is still stuck on what the king of Vsenrog just said; reunited with Marion. Ailing father. Unity Tour.
And then Zarek spins to face me, and his lips touch mine, and every thought I’ve ever had vanishes like smoke.
I’m dimly aware of cheering and clapping, of the band playing some variation on the wedding song that thrummed through the chapel when I walked down the aisle.
Zarek’s lips are soft but firm, insistent, pleading for me to open.
His hand closes around my fingers, like he’s trying to give me a message.
It’s all for show. Right?
I close my eyes and part my lips. Zarek opens for me, his tongue dancing across my lips, teasing and whispering.
His mouth tilts to take me in as his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer.
I remember how he looked on our wedding night, his bare chest rippling with scars in the candlelight, the impossible bulge in his tight black shorts.
His tongue thrusts inside me as his hand tightens around the fabric at the small of my back.
Heat surges between my legs, drawn to him, to the pressure and pull of his body, the taste of his lips, the dance between our tongues.
Gods, I begged Blayne to teach me how to kiss, but he never taught me anything like this—
Zarek pulls away. He turns toward the crowd as they cheer.
The applause sounds like thunder, and I realize I’m panting, trembling in his arms. His right hand slowly unwinds from the fabric at the small of my back, and his left hand releases my fingers.
When he steps back, the air suddenly feels much colder.
All a show. It’s all a show, of course.
“Exactly,” King Malrik roars. “Now that’s how you show unity!”
Anura steps forward with a glass of wine in her hand. I take what she’s offering and down the entire thing.
It’s going to be a long Planting Festival.
The rain starts again as Malrik launches into another speech, and the band blares on.
The fabric canopies above the dais sag under the weight of all the water.
A puddle forms on the table in front of me as the cloth drips.
The dancers have fled the courtyard, and now even the music sounds depressed.
I’m debating having a fourth glass of wine, or maybe a fifth, when a familiar laugh catches my attention.
I turn and see Zarek talking with the guards at the far end of the dais. The men are all laughing, even as the guards shake their heads. Zarek looks so natural with them, as if he were just another soldier. Hells, that man could blend in anywhere.
“Enjoying the festivities?” someone asks from over my shoulder.
The voice makes me shiver. I turn to see a man with a crown gleaming in his golden hair. He leans in close, almost too close.
Prince Syvan. I swallow hard and try not to pull away. What was it Anura said about him? He’s not a nice person?
Syvan’s lips curl like he can read my mind.
“Speechless?” he asks as he pulls back Anura’s seat and takes it for himself. “The presence of genuine royalty can do that.”
I smile as rage beats at the inside of my skull.
“The festivities are lovely,” I reply. “Of course I’m enjoying them.”
Prince Syvan ignores me. His lips press into a hard line as he stares across the dais to where Zarek is making his guards laugh.
“I never thought he’d survive,” Syvan mutters, almost under his breath.
I force my lips closed. The wine makes the rain-soaked planks beneath my feet pitch and tilt like the deck of a ship.
“He was such a scrawny, weak little thing when he turned up here,” Syvan continues. “And then the other one died.”
“Other one?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
Syvan turns to me with a hard smile. “His attendant. Servant. Whatever. Gerrart, I believe his name was. They said the drugs were meant for Zarek, but Gerrart couldn’t stop himself. People from Dungal are weak like that. It’s why they lost the war they started.”
Syvan shrugs, like we’re discussing the weather. My heart thuds dully inside my chest. Dungal. The kingdom where Zarek was born.
I remember Zarek’s scowl when he told me he doesn’t like drugs, and suddenly, I’m thinking of what it must have been like to come to this place as a child.
“Of course, I’m sure you know all about the snake’s past,” Syvan continues. “Your marriage is the picture of unity.”
He’s staring at me with hard, sharp eyes.
For the first time in hours, I remember I have a knife strapped to my thigh.
I think of Princess Basili with her sad, quiet eyes, and I remember how eagerly she raised her glass when Acelina toasted to our husbands remaining at their distant posts. I smile as sweetly as I can.
“As is your own marriage, Prince Syvan,” I reply.
His expression falters, and I feel a dangerous rush of victory.
“Careful,” Syvan growls, leaning in close enough for me to smell the wine on his breath. “You and I are about to spend a lot of time together, Princess.”
I jerk back, pulling away like I’ve been burned. The words of my long-ago sword-fighting instructor come back to me, floating through a numbed haze of wine.
Your opponent is most dangerous after he’s been wounded. Only then will he know you’re a threat.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer.
Syvan leans back and smiles at me. His eyes trace the curve of my breasts in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“You will,” he says.
He pushes back from the table, knocking Anura’s chair over as he goes. He steps past it, leaving it where it fell as he strides away. I stare at the chair, at the embroidered seat slowly soaking up rainwater, until a sudden change in the music drags my attention away.
It’s some sort of royal fanfare, almost like the music that announced the entrance of King Malrik. I stare blearily at the courtyard as the far gates open and several soldiers step through. They look fairly intimidating with their polished swords and bright uniforms, despite the weather.
Zarek hisses next to me. I hadn’t noticed he’d returned. I lean forward, ready to ask him what’s going on, but King Malrik descends from the dais before I can speak.
“The royal escort has arrived,” Malrik declares, sweeping his hands at the soldiers.
Behind them, a tiny, black carriage wobbles into the courtyard, pulled by two nervous-looking geldings with a pale man in the driver’s seat.
A smattering of applause fills the rain-soaked courtyard.
My gut shifts unpleasantly, and suddenly I regret that fourth glass of wine. Fifth glass of wine. Whatever it was.
Malrik turns toward the crowd, beaming like a proud father.
“Our own Prince Zarek needs a mighty escort on this tour of unity,” he declares.
His voice is so damned loud, bouncing off the stone walls of the courtyard.
“And what better escort is there than my own son and liege, our dear Prince Syvan, just back from defending our eastern borders?”
The applause is a bit more robust this time. Prince Syvan steps down from the dais and sweeps back his cloak. The gold in his crown gleams in the dull light. Something tugs on my hand, and it takes me a minute to realize Zarek is pulling me to my feet.
I stand, trying not to trip on the chair Syvan knocked over beside me.
The courtyard sways, and damn it, I really should have eaten something as I was drinking all that wine.
I feel like all the soldiers are staring at me as Zarek leads me down the dais.
The carriage in the middle of the courtyard looks like something made for a child.
Who in the nine hells is going to ride in that thing?
King Malrik turns to us. He takes Zarek’s hand and shakes it.
“Thank you for spreading this message of unity,” he says, far too loudly.
He’s beaming at both of us in a way that makes me deeply uncomfortable. Malrik didn’t pay this much attention to us at the wedding, or at any other time. Hells, he scarcely acknowledged me at our wedding feast.
The king pulls away, then waves his hands at us, like he’s trying to force us together. Zarek turns to face me. He wraps his arm around my waist, and oh gods, he’s going to kiss me again.
His lips touch mine, and all the wine I drank goes straight to my head. The courtyard spins as his tongue slips between my lips. His kiss is so gentle, soft, but unyielding, like he’ll hold me here forever until I open for him.
I close my eyes and yield. It’s all for show, damn it, I know that, but I can’t stop the heat that’s building between my legs, the dull throb of arousal, the pull between us as our tongues dance together, and the crowd cheers.
Zarek steps back. His cheeks are flushed, his lips wet from our kiss. A drop of rain traces a path down his temple, past his dark, wild eyes, and for a heartbeat, that’s the only thing I notice: his eyes, his lips, and the rain.
Then he breaks our gaze and turns away. His fingers wrap around my hand, and he pulls me forward. Only then do I realize who’s going in that tiny little carriage.
We are.