Chapter 38
Zarek
THE CARRIAGE
Very funny, Malrik.
Fucking hilarious, this tiny little carriage. Lilias is practically going to be in my lap as we leave the palace, and fuck me, that’s going to be awkward.
I grit my teeth as one of Syvan’s soldiers opens the door of the carriage. I don’t know any of the men who just strode into the courtyard, and I’m certain that was deliberate. The gods only know why Malrik thinks I need this much security for his ridiculous honeymoon tour of the western border.
I should be more worried about this tour, about being shackled with Syvan and his fucking asshole soldiers.
But right now, it’s hard to focus on anything other than the way Lilias’s dress hugs her curves, how rain traces a path down the cleft between her breasts, and fuck, I’m already trying to hide my stiff cock.
Lilias frowns at the door of the carriage.
It’s just for a moment, a tiny flicker that tells me she also recognizes this for the joke that it is, and then she braces herself on my arm and steps into the carriage.
It wobbles precariously as she pulls her voluminous skirts into the small cabin.
I have a momentary vision of pulling those skirts up even further, sinking between her legs, and then tipping the whole damn thing over as I thrust inside her, losing myself in my gorgeous wife.
Malrik would probably love that. I clench my jaw as Syvan strolls up to me.
His cheeks are bright with either wine or excitement, probably both.
He looks like he’s about to say something that’s going to make me want to punch him.
I grab the sides of the carriage, pull myself inside, and slam the door behind me before he gets the chance.
The carriage rocks as Lilias pushes herself to the side to make room for me on the one hard seat. She smells like red wine and floral perfume, and gods, that’s a scent I could drown in. I settle on the seat, close my eyes, and try to will my cock to calm down.
Malrik says something I can’t quite make out, and the crowd applauds once more. The carriage lurches forward. Lilias’s dress rustles as she leans into me, her thighs pressed against my legs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s fine,” I manage to reply through gritted teeth.
“You’d think the mighty kingdom of Vsenrog could spring for a larger carriage,” she whispers.
I laugh, then let my eyes open. Her skirts are bunched against the wall, and it looks like she’s kneeling on the floor of the carriage.
“Fuck,” I growl, under my breath. “Come here.”
I shift on the seat, pulling her up until she’s pressed against my lap. The carriage rocks in a deeply concerning way, then rights itself. My cock screams as it pulses into the thick silk of her skirts. I try my best to ignore it. We can’t be going far in this godsdamned thing.
Lilias shifts, sending a bolt of pleasure and need through my body that makes me bite back a moan.
“Oh!” she gasps, like I’ve caught her in the middle of something scandalous.
“Yes?” I whisper, desperate for a distraction from the building pressure between my legs.
She makes a sound like a half-swallowed laugh against my chest. That sound does wicked things to my insides. I clench my jaw and try to think about something other than the strips of red silk she wore under her robe on our wedding night.
“Go on,” I growl.
“No, it’s—” she stammers. “It’s just, you’re right. What Blayne told me about the stopping point. That really must not be true.”
It takes my overheated brain a moment to pull the sense from her words.
Right. Her shithead lover told her that a man can’t stop once his cock is hard, that he needs to fuck a woman no matter what.
And she’s sitting in my lap right now. There’s no way she could miss my godsdamn rock-hard cock begging for attention.
“Shit,” I mutter. “If we went at it in here, we’d break this fucking thing apart.”
She laughs, deep and full. I close my eyes as I weigh whether or not it would be worth destroying the carriage.
No. Fuck, what am I thinking? I exhale slowly.
“No,” I whisper. “Like I said, the stopping point, that’s bullshit. It just— It goes away on its own.”
You hear that? I tell my aching, idiot cock. Go away. There’s nothing to see here.
Lilias makes a sound that could almost be disappointment, although it probably only sounds that way because it’s filtered through the haze of sexual frustration that’s clinging to me like a fucking cloak.
She doesn’t want what’s between my legs.
She got forced into this marriage, this stupid tour, and this damned carriage. This woman never would have chosen me.
The carriage ride drags on. I concentrate on the sound of the rain hitting the hood. Lilias is so silent I wonder if the wine and the rocking of the carriage have put her to sleep.
“Zarek?” she asks, after the carriage has jolted back and forth for so long that I could swear we must be at the western border already.
I make a murmuring sound of affirmation, letting her know I’m still awake.
“Syvan told me about Gerrart,” she whispers.
And just like that, any traces of sexual arousal lingering in my body melt into the floorboards.
“Oh,” I reply as my hand makes fist around the thin wooden strip of the door sash.
“I— I don’t know why he told me,” she says. “I just, I thought you should know. If we’re not keeping any secrets.”
The sound that comes out of me is almost a laugh. I choke it back, try to turn it into a cough.
“Thank you,” I say, finally managing to dredge up an appropriate response to her honesty.
She falls silent again. I tip my head back against the hard wooden seat and close my eyes. The story beats against the inside of my chest like a bird trapped in a cage, throwing itself against the bars. Why would Syvan tell her about Gerrart? Was it just to torture me?
“What did he tell you?” I whisper, half hoping she’s fallen asleep this time.
Lilias shifts against my chest. Her skirts rustle.
“That he died,” she says in a low voice. “And that it was drugs. I— I’m sorry.”
I sigh. “That’s all?”
She hesitates. There’s no way in the nine hells that Syvan would leave out the most insidious part of the story, the part that everyone in Vsenrog threw in my face for years. The only part of the story that wasn’t true.
“He said the drugs were for you,” Lilias whispers quickly, like she’s trying to get the words out before she can change her mind. She pulls back, then turns to frown at me. “Or from you. But that can’t be true. You hate drugs.”
“I do hate drugs,” I reply. “And the story’s not true. The shit that killed Gerrart, it didn’t come from me. Just like your father’s not sick, is he? But does it matter what’s actually true if everyone believes something else?”
Her frown deepens. The story burns inside me. I’ve never told anyone what happened that night. Not even Petrys knows.
“Still,” I whisper as rain patters the wood above us. “It was my fault.”
I close my eyes and tip my head back so I don’t have to see the look on her face. Anger, confusion, disbelief, sure, I’d take any of those.
But sympathy? I hate it when people look like they feel sorry for me. As if I’m deserving of sympathy, here in prince’s clothes, in the godsdamned palace of Vsenrog.
“Gerrart hated it here,” I say. “More than me, more than Petrys. He was miserable, and I— I knew it.” My voice pinches.
I pause, then push on. “I don’t know when the drugs started, but I know why.
Someone thought it would be a good way to control us, to have something to hold over our heads, something to exchange for information.
But for Gerrart, he just— He just wanted to feel happy again, I think. ”
Lilias makes a soft little sound in the back of her throat. I ignore it.
“I knew about it,” I continue. “Hells, I might have been the only one who did, aside from whoever was giving him that shit. I confronted him about it, screamed at him, but I—”
My voice cracks. I swallow hard.
“I didn’t help him,” I admit. Guilt pulses inside my gut like a living being, a parasite feeding on all the many things I’ve done wrong. “I knew he was suffering, and I just screamed at him.”
Lilias gasps again. “Gods, Zarek,” she whispers. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I shake my head, then run my hand through my hair. My eyes burn. All these years gone by, and the weight of Gerrart’s cold body in that empty stall still rests on my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” Lilias says into the silence between us. “To lose a friend like that—”
“He was my brother,” I admit.
She doesn’t reply.
I suck in a breath. Why in the gods’ many names did I just admit that? I’m treading far too close to the lie that’s kept me alive for all these years, the foundation upon which the snake’s entire life is built.
Lilias’s fingers close around mine. Her hand is warm and soft, and for some reason, her touch makes me want to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, “for your loss.”
I open my mouth to thank her for her concern, but my throat is too tight to form words. Instead, my arm wraps around her waist, and my head drops to rest against hers, and we hold each other as the wobbly little carriage carries us into the darkness.