Chapter 46
Zarek
DISTRACT ME FROM WHAT?
Someone is laughing. It’s cold, wherever I am, and it smells like burnt meat, stale wine, and unwashed bodies.
My wrists burn, my arms ache, and my skull feels like someone’s taken a hammer to my temples.
I open my eyes slowly, then slam them shut as the room pulses and sways around me. Gods, I’m going to be sick.
I grit my teeth as the back of my throat turns bitter, then wait for the feeling to pass. The next time I open my eyes, the room around me stays put.
No, it’s not a room. It’s a tent, a barracks for an army. The table where I sat down last night is still here, but now the canvas wall glows golden with the light of the rising sun. Voices drift through the walls.
Panic stabs me in the chest. I yank on my arms, but they don’t move. My wrists burn.
I’m tied to a chair, with my hands bound behind me. I glance down; at least I’m still wearing my clothes. I should still have some of my daggers. I twist my wrists, feeling the rope bite into my skin. If I can just get free—
Someone snorts loudly, just behind me. I freeze.
“Good morning, snake,” Syvan drawls.
Someone chuckles at that. Someone off to my right, just out of my range of vision. Boots thud against the floorboards as Syvan walks in front of me. He pulls up a chair, then sits down and crosses his arms over his chest.
“That should have knocked you out for at least a day,” he says, almost conversationally. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve got the drug tolerance of a bull.”
I glare at him. He smiles at me, and a horrible question bubbles up inside my chest.
“Where is my wife?” I growl.
Syvan examines his fingernails. “Your wife is not my concern.”
I yank on the ropes around my wrists. The chair rocks under me.
“You son of a bitch,” I spit. “Your father is going to have your useless head for this.”
Syvan’s smile widens. He has very white teeth. Perfect teeth, for a perfect prince’s smile. He leans forward.
“Do you really think I would be stupid enough to defy my father?” he asks in a low voice.
My mouth opens, then closes. My arms ache, and for a moment I wonder just how long I’ve been tied to this chair. And just how long was Syvan standing there, waiting for me to wake up?
The Unity Tour. King Malrik’s wedding present, our honeymoon tour through the borders of Vsenrog and Marion, ending at the new gold mine.
I thought Syvan was just being an asshole, drugging me and tying me up just to demonstrate where I stand in the royal Vsenrog hierarchy.
Or to fuck things up between Lilias and me before we have to kiss once more for a bunch of downtrodden workers excavating the hole that’s supposed to become a mine.
But if the king wanted him to do this—
Panic closes like a vise around my chest. I suck in a breath as my heart hammers the inside of my rib cage.
“Where is Lilias?” I demand.
Syvan rocks back in his chair. He runs a hand through his perfect golden hair, then smiles at someone just over my right shoulder.
“You know, it worked better than I thought it would,” Syvan says, bringing his gaze back to me. “Distracting you with a woman. I didn’t think you’d fall for it. I guess I gave you too much credit.”
The world slows. I’m suddenly very aware of every speck of dust floating in the air between me and the prince of Vsenrog, of every fiber in the ropes binding my wrists, of the wood beneath my boots and the chair’s stiff back against my shoulder blades.
“Distracting me from what?” I ask.
Syvan laughs.
And I lunge forward, taking the chair with me.
I twist as I leap, crashing into Syvan with my shoulder and the back of the chair. His skull smacks the wooden floor as the chair he’s sitting on hits the ground. He makes a sound like he’s getting punched in the gut.
I come to my feet, hunched over against the chair tied to my back, prepared to hit him again. I’m only dimly aware of the men behind me, yanking on the chair, forcing me back down. There’s more than one of them. A lot more than one.
“You insolent little shit,” Syvan spits.
He comes to his feet slowly, pressing his hand to his lips. His fingers come away bloody. When he turns to me, his smile is gone. All I see is his rage, the cold, hard part of him that he tries to hide at court. The part that makes me afraid for the future of Vsenrog.
“After everything we did for you,” Syvan growls.
Everything you did? I want to scream. You took me from my home. You burned my kingdom and murdered my family.
“You’ve always acted like you’re better than the rest of us,” Syvan says. “You’re not better than me, snake. You’re the shit I scrape off my boots at night. You’re the prince of nothing!”
He steps back, his eyes burning. Some insane part of me wants to laugh in his face. Because it’s true, isn’t it? Everything he said is true.
Syvan spits blood on the floor, then turns to the men holding my chair.
“Make it look like he put up a fight,” he says.
With that, he walks out of the tent. One of the men laughs behind me as the flap falls shut.
I close my eyes and pray to the gods that I pass out quickly.