Chapter 43
Zarek
WHY WE’RE HERE
“We’re stopping here?” I ask.
Lyam just grunts. The de facto leader of our little group, at least until Prince Syvan returns from wherever in the hells he’s gone, Lyam seems especially on edge today.
They were in a rush this morning, shoving us out of the mayor’s house without the customary lengthy diplomatic breakfast. I was surprised Syvan didn’t appear overnight, and Lilias kept turning back over her shoulder to look at the road behind us.
She’s probably watching for Anura, who should be returning with Lilias’s forgotten cloak.
There’s more to that little story, I’m sure of it, but now isn’t the time for me to pry. Not when we’re surrounded by soldiers in the middle of the mountains that split the kingdom of Marion from the kingdom of Ethiria.
The time to ask would have been last night, if I hadn’t gotten drunk like a complete asshole. Or this morning—
I shift in the saddle as my cock remembers this morning. My horse snorts, reminding me that he does not like me and he will not hesitate to throw me. I lean forward to pat him on the neck as his ears tilt back.
Lyam dismounts without answering my question.
A pair of servants emerges from one of the canvas tents set in this little valley.
It doesn’t look like a particularly good place to spend the night.
We’ve spent the day climbing higher and higher into the mountains, and now we’re almost to the top of a low-slung ridge still dotted with patches of snow.
The wind blowing down the mountains is cold, and it makes the walls of the tents billow like sails.
They look about as cozy as an empty barrel on the side of the road.
If we’d stopped an hour earlier, before crossing one of the many rivers that braid their way through these mountains, we would have been protected from the wind. Or, hells, if we keep going and cross the ridge tonight, we’ll be more sheltered and more comfortable on the other side.
Instead, we came through the woods and found these two tents already fully set up, with servants bustling around the perimeter and the gaudy flag of Vsenrog rippling in the cold wind.
It doesn’t make sense. Why stop in the middle of nowhere? Why not push on to the Dragon Mine, or choose an easier path that runs through a town? That would at least give the royal crier the chance to spread King Malrik’s message of unity between the kingdoms.
I shiver as another gust blows down the granite face of the mountains.
I don’t know exactly where the new gold mine is, unfortunately.
That’s the kind of information kingdoms are cagey about sharing, and it’s not like Malrik asked for my input when he designed the course of our honeymoon and Unity Tour.
I shade my eyes, then stare at the low, rocky saddle between the two mountains.
For all I know, that ridge is the only path to access the mine.
Wasn’t the mine’s location revealed by a dragon, or some nonsense like that?
I snort. This barren, windswept little hollow looks like the kind of place where you’d find a dragon.
I’d expect there would be more of a road here if this is the only way to the mine, but hells, the mine isn’t even operational yet.
It’s supposed to start running this summer.
So why have us tour it now? For that matter, why have us tour a godsdamned mine at all?
“Prince Zarek?”
I look down at the servant standing by my horse. He’s older and looks a bit rough around the edges, probably from the journey out here. I don’t recognize him, which is unusual. The Vsenrog servants and criers have been traveling together ahead of our caravan; by now, I know them all.
“Yes?” I reply.
“If you come this way, my lord, I will show you and your lady to your accommodations,” he says, bowing his head.
I glance at Lilias. Her cheeks glow in the cold wind, and her eyes are wide.
She turns over her shoulder, staring down the road one more time, then nods to me.
Behind her, the sun sinks toward the western horizon, partially obscured by a roiling mess of low, heavy clouds. It looks like it’s going to rain again.
I sigh, then turn back to the servant and the two royal tents in the valley. Wind or not, being inside one of those is going to be more comfortable than sitting on a surly horse and trying to climb a mountain pass in the dark. While it rains.
“Thank you,” I tell the man, and I hand him my reins.
Once I dismount, my body voices a lengthy series of protests about riding horseback for a full week. I smile as the burly servant hands the reins to someone else, then gestures toward the smaller tent.
It’s set off from the larger tent, which should give us a bit of privacy, thank the gods.
When the servant pulls back the tent flap, there’s a brazier flickering in the middle of the room, filling the space with warmth and smoke.
To one side of the tent, there’s a table with two washbasins and towels, and on the other is a rather luxurious bed.
I enter the tent and turn my back to the bed before my cock can get any ideas. Lilias follows me. It’s only once we’re inside that I notice she’s shivering.
“I’ll return with your supper, my lord,” the man says.
There’s something in his expression, the hint of a suppressed smile, perhaps, that makes the skin on the back of my neck crawl. I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight, no matter how comfortable the bed is.
The tent flap swings shut as the man leaves, and the interior plunges into murky darkness. I turn toward Lilias, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
“How are you holding up?” I ask under my breath.
“I’m fine,” she replies.
She moves closer to the brazier and holds her hands over the embers.
“You’re cold,” I say. “I’m sorry. I should have given you my cloak.”
Her lips curve as she smiles at me, and suddenly I’m very aware of how warm it is in this tent, and how close she is to the bed behind her. It’s draped in bridal red, that mattress. It could hardly be less subtle, what we’re supposed to do in here.
“Thank you,” she says. And then, so low I almost have to strain to hear it, she adds, “Why do you think we stopped here?”
The skin on the back of my neck crawls again, the same old warning. There’s danger here, as clear as the low flames flickering across the coals of the brazier.
I swallow my sigh. I don’t want to go back outside that tent. I don’t want to talk to these hostile men, to listen to what they’re not saying, to pass around a bottle of wine and smile and laugh until one of them slips.
Gods above, all I want to do right now is pull my wife into that decadent bed, fuck her long and hard, and then sleep in her arms for at least a week.
And whoever set up this tent designed it for exactly that. Hells, that bed could have come from the Golden Rose brothel. Clearly, I’m supposed to stay here. I’m not supposed to poke around asking questions.
Story of my life. I slip my hand into my coat, brush the hilt of my dagger, and turn to Lilias.
“I don’t know why we’re here,” I whisper. “But I’m going to try to find out.”
Her eyes widen. For a heartbeat, she looks almost like she’s going to argue with me, and then she turns away. Her hair falls across her cheek as she nods. Gods, I want to brush it back.
I step closer to her. My fingers brush hers in the heat radiating off the coals.
“Keep your knife on you,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back.”
She nods again. I step back, and she turns to face me. Her lips brush mine, a sudden, urgent kiss, and then she pulls away. Her cheeks burn in the low light.
“Good luck,” she whispers as she steps back. Her voice is small and breathless.
I blink. Something twists in my chest.
She kissed me. Without an audience, without prompting from the royal crier, without anything at all to gain from it.
I nod. And then, because I can’t think of a single thing to say, I nod again and leave the tent.
Cold wind assails me as soon as I step through the tent flap.
The sun rolls low on the western horizon, turning the light red as it washes over the far mountains.
Our horses have been hobbled, and they graze on sparse grass in the little valley.
Smoke and the sound of low, male voices carry toward me from the other tent.
I brush my lips with my fingers and imagine I can still feel the heat of her mouth.
She kissed me.