Chapter 45
It was unlikely that I would ever train with swords, but there was something about watching a duel that put me right into the middle of it.
The burden on my muscles, the labored breath; Quinn took a swing at Marcy and she parried, and I traveled vicariously between their forms, equally enraptured as the rest of the crowd.
“How unfortunate that it was only my left arm,” Quinn taunted. “Otherwise we might be more even.”
Marcy huffed and unclasped her armor, setting it aside with respectful caution.
The crowd reveled at the sight of her in dark underclothes, the fabric hugging muscles in a way no woman’s clothes would dare reveal.
“By all means, continue deluding yourself, Lord Navarro. It will make your defeat all the more amusing.”
I wasn’t sure how the duel had begun, and I spent every waking moment with Marcy in my presence. We’d gone for a walk, the two of them exchanged a look behind my back, and the next thing I knew, Marcy was in that fenced-off ring, traipsing through mud like a little boy.
Without warning, my stomach popped. At least, that was the best way I could describe it.
It was as if a tendon in my muscles remembered that it belonged someplace else and snapped back into place, brought about by absolutely nothing and always a startle.
I flinched, putting a hand on the spot, but recovered before any pitiful gazes could land on me.
“—brokered a trade with Baselia,” I overheard Marquis Trefor say. “We should have a steady supply of wheat in exchange for our ironworks.”
A deal I was sure to hear about in council. This was delightful news; though our own crops were growing now, it would take some time before Gallae was stable. The death toll had been “manageable” according to others, though it was still high enough to make me faint of heart.
Gods, and speaking of food...
I parted from the crowd, taking the rare opportunity to slip from Marcy’s omnipresence, and walked back to the castle with daydreams of snacks. Perhaps I could arrange for the kitchen servants to craft a hand pie and deliver it to my chambers.
An arm hooked through mine. I traced up the limb, tilting my head at Nicolas. Whether I intended to crawl out of my skin or sob with relief, I wasn’t sure yet. That depended on what was about to tumble out of those stupid lips of his. It had better be damned good.
“I’ve dismissed her,” he said quietly. “Permanently.”
My heart stopped. “Don’t tell me you k—”
“No, I didn’t have her killed,” Nicolas hastily amended. “I simply told her to seek employment elsewhere. Damn.”
Well, he could hardly blame me for going there. My scowl persisted, though; it didn’t take away what I’d seen.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, changing subjects. “I saw you flinch again, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss.”
I made an assessment of my body, suddenly aware of everything I’d learned to ignore. “My feet ache, my breasts are tender, and I could eat anything right about now.”
“It’s good that you’re able to eat again.” His arm tensed around mine as he pulled me right instead of left, away from the kitchens and up the stairs. Then we passed my chambers. “I’ll have food sent along. As for the rest…”
He released me and opened the door to our shared room, sweeping his arm toward it in gesture.
My lips thinned. “I should slap you for even insinuating—”
“A moment of your time,” he interrupted. “I’m not asking for forgiveness.”
“So, you believe you did nothing wrong?” My feet betrayed me, stepping into the room, but if he so much as kissed me, I’d curse him with a kidney stone.
Nicolas shut the door and locked it. “No. I was wrong about many things. I won’t ask you to forgive me because you reserve the right to hate me for all of it.”
“Then why am I here?” I eyed the door uneasily.
“Because your feet ache, and I’m going to rub them,” he answered.
“And I won’t have someone walk in on me bowing to my wife.”
“Would that be so wrong?”
He smiled, then motioned his head toward the chaise longue. I went to it and waited. Then Nicolas came over, dropping to his knees before me, and carefully removed my slippers.
“If publicly humiliating me would fix things, then I would let you walk on me in the courtyard.” Something in his tone said he meant that.
He took hold of my left foot, and his thumbs made swift work of my arches.
I leaned back, surprised by how good it felt.
“It’s less about them seeing me bow and more about them overhearing the sounds you’re about to make. ”
“What do y—oh.”
He moved down to the ball of my foot, pressing firm circles into the heart of the ache.
“You’re fighting it,” he observed, moving to knead along my instep. “Your whole leg is rigid.”
“I wonder why,” I muttered. But even as the words left my mouth, my calf relaxed against my will.
He found a particularly tender spot in my heel and worked it out, patiently, until the knot released. A small, involuntary sound escaped my throat.
“There.” Nicolas didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. He moved to my toes, gently pulling and rotating each one. I couldn’t protest as my eyes drifted shut. My head fell back against the chaise as he switched to my other side, beginning the process again.
“Why did—” I began, pausing to suppress another moan. “Why did you dismiss her? Because I threatened you?”
“Because you regarded me like I’d become something repulsive.”
The honesty in his voice hurt worse than any pretty lie. My traitorous body was limp from his ministrations, vulnerable. But my heart was wounded.
“You hurt me,” I whispered.
“Princes and kings do as they please with little regard for how it affects others. But no one dares to wear their disdain so openly,” he went on.
“What is wrong to the commoner is not usually applied to royalty, or even nobility. By precedent, I shouldn’t care that I hurt you…
but I felt like I’d swallowed poison. I sought counsel, and it was made rather clear to me that, of all the idiots who’ve ever lived, I am king among them. ”
He took his hands from me and my eyes opened. His head was lowered.
“I’m tired of precedent,” he said. “I want to see what you look like, now that our child is growing. I want to lie with you again.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Counsel. Of course. Not me, but counsel. And who changed your mind? Your mother?”
“Quinn.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Right before he thoroughly trounced me in the sparring ring. He said it was a favor to you.”
Despite myself, heat flooded my cheeks. Why on earth would Quinn fight to help our marriage? It certainly didn’t serve him to do so.
“He also said I didn’t deserve you.” Nicolas turned away, lowering his voice. “...With such contempt.”
“Why would he…?”
Nicolas’ eyes shut, his hands flexing on his knees. “Quinn has strong opinions on duty and honor. It’s his job to be protective of you, Alana. When he heard how I’d failed you as a husband, he took it upon himself to correct me.”
“With his fists?”
My idiot husband made a wry smile. “He took care not to bruise my face.”
“I might have saved us all some time if I’d throttled you myself.” I scoffed. My arms folded over my chest, and I took a slow breath. “I don’t forgive you.”
“I know,” he replied. “Quinn said I should…grovel. That I was a lowly worm, and should consider myself lucky if you’d even meet my gaze.”
Damn me for laughing.
As Nicolas slid from his kneeling position to the floor, lowering himself until his forehead touched the ground, something dark and satisfied curled in my belly. Here was the King of Antier, penitent before me. With his gaze fixed downward, he opened his mouth.
Damn me.
“Look at me when you speak,” I ordered.
Nicolas raised his head, hesitating. His throat bobbed, and he tried again. “I’m sorry.”
I stood slowly, circling him. He was perfectly still, tracking me only with his eyes. My body hummed with morphing anger.
“Stay there,” I commanded.
His gaze darkened.
I crouched in front of him and lifted his chin with a finger.
“You want to see how I’ve changed? You want to lie with me?”
“Yes.” The faintest shame crept into his voice, like he anticipated some punishment or sharp reproach.
“Then understand this: what I’m about to do isn’t love or reconciliation. I’m taking what I need.” I pulled the pins from my hair and let it fall. “Do you accept that?”
His shoulders sagged. He had to clear his throat before speaking. “Yes.”
“Good.” I turned toward the bed. “Undress me. Carefully.”
The sound he made was unholy, but he obeyed. That malevolent satisfaction grew headier inside of me as his fingers fumbled with the laces.
It took twice as long as it should have, and I absorbed every second of it. This…control. His desire. Power.
When the last of my layers fell to the floor, I watched his eyes prowl over me, taking in all the little changes. They gradually widened, his brow knitting together in awe.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. I knew he meant it, too, and I’d needed to hear it. The change would make any woman uncertain, no less one whose husband had abandoned her bed.
His compliment might have relieved me, but it did little to ease the sins taking shape in the back of my mind. All the capital vices of man warred for dominance.
“Quiet.” I tugged him over to the bed. “Take off your clothes. Say nothing without my command, and don’t touch me until I say so. Do you understand?”
Nicolas’ eyes were dark with curious want. He nodded, working himself out of his finery.
I pushed him onto the mattress and climbed over him, holding his gaze. He shuddered beneath me, squeezed firm between my thighs, and I leaned forward to grab his wrists and pin him.
“I’ll use you,” I promised. “Like you’ve used others.”
He gasped when I moved my hips, teasing him with my heat. I could feel his forearms tensing between my fingers.
“Who are you lying with?” I asked.
Nicolas parted his lips. “You, Alana.”
“Remember that.” I sank onto him, rolling back my head. It had been too long, and my body was unused to him, but with a roll of my hips, I adjusted quickly.
I stopped being gentle. My hands freed one of his wrists and lowered to his mouth, to silence him as those groans escalated. Then to his throat, which he allowed, even when his breathing wore ragged.
My lips lowered to his chest, kissing a trail to his nipple. He shouted when I bit down, sinking his head back into the bed when my tongue smoothed him over.
I shushed him.
Fucked him.
Reminded him of where he was—below me—and denied his release for as long as I could, right up until my own senses faltered.
Then I said his name, not in love but in victory, and watched him come utterly undone.