3. Lilias
Lilias
UNDER YOUR NAME
“Oh,” I say, under my breath. And then I shut my mouth before I can embarrass myself.
The woman, Agnes, came back this afternoon, bringing lunch, and when I’d finished eating, she told me I should go for a little walk to build my strength, only she phrased it in a way that made it sound like I didn’t have much of a choice. Would I like to go to the garden or the lake, she’d asked.
I said the garden, picturing the emerald lawns and elegant statuary of the Vsenrog castle. Or the smaller walled gardens of Marion, with their roses and lilacs. Agnes smiled, took my arm, and led me here.
The garden. Of course. I force my lips to twist into a smile as I stare at rows and rows of vegetables. It’s warm in the sun, and the slight breeze ruffles the leaves of plants I can’t identify.
The garden. For food, not for decoration.
“They’re ready to pick,” Agnes announces.
She pats my hand, then wanders off. When she comes back, she’s holding two small wicker baskets. She hands one to me. I take it and smile like I know what I’m supposed to do here. And then I follow her to a row of vines growing on a little fence.
She bends down, pulls a long, thick pod from the vine, and drops it in the basket. Then she does it again. And again. And again. I stare at her until I finally realize why she handed me the second basket.
Great. I bend down next to her. The first pod I pull takes half the vine with it, and I feel like a complete idiot.
I watch Agnes a little closer, noticing where she grabs the pod and imitating her as best I can.
The sun beats down on the thin cloak covering my shoulders and soaks through the faded green traveling dress Agnes brought me this morning.
Insects hum all around us, and the wind shakes the leaves.
Agnes moves down the row, out of my peripheral vision. My basket slowly fills.
“Hello, Princess,” a thick, deep voice says from behind me.
I jump, almost spilling my basket. When I come to my feet, my cheeks are burning. Zarek stands next to me, smiling in the sunlight, and my gods, he’s so beautiful it almost hurts. He looks at the half-full basket of pods, then back at me.
“You’re a woman of many talents,” he says.
I shrug, although my cheeks flush with an absurd rush of pride at the pile of pods I managed to collect.
“I think Agnes would like us to shell those,” he says. “Would you like me to show you how?”
“Shell?” I ask, staring at the heavy green tubes.
“They’re peas,” Zarek says, softly.
I open my mouth to stammer that of course I know what they are, but some part of me whispers that my husband would see right through that obvious lie. I’ve only ever seen peas on my dinner plate, and they didn’t look anything like this.
Zarek turns, and I follow him along the edge of the garden to a stone bench in the shade of a massive oak tree. I sit next to him, putting the basket on the ground at our feet.
“How are you?” I ask, as he reaches for one of the pods. “Your ribs—”
“Fine,” he replies.
I snort. “That’s what you always say.”
He smiles again, and my breath catches in my throat. I remember those lips on mine, the heat, the feel of his tongue in my mouth.
“Agnes wrapped my ribs,” he says. “It’s helping. How are you?”
I turn away from the intensity of those dark eyes. My cheeks burn, and I realize I’m suddenly, horribly jealous of the old woman who got to wrap a bandage around Zarek’s chest. I should have done that for him.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s stopped. The woman, Agnes, she thinks I lost—”
My voice fails. I can’t quite bring myself to say that she thinks I was pregnant, that the blood was a miscarriage.
“I know,” he replies, his voice low. “Thank the gods the bleeding stopped.”
I glance at him, then back at the nodding leaves in the garden. I remember Blayne’s words as he handed the potion to me. I’m not raising the snake’s spawn. I turn to Zarek, a question rising to my lips.
“Here,” Zarek says, holding one of the green pods between us.
I swallow the question and watch as Zarek puts his fingers on either side of the seam that stretches down the pod. It pops open, revealing a half dozen little peas inside. He runs his thumb down the inside, dropping the peas into the basket. And then he hands a pod to me.
Well, it looks simple enough.
I put my fingers on either side of the seam and tug. Nothing happens. I frown at the damn thing, then press harder.
The pod explodes. Pea juice squirts between my fingers.
“Damn it,” I snap.
Zarek grins as I flick crushed pea insides off my thumb.
“Like this,” he says, handing me another pod.
This time, he wraps his hands around mine, guiding my fingers to either side of the pod. His chest presses against my shoulder; his breath is warm against my neck. My heart flutters inside my ribs as he presses my fingers down, just enough to make the pod yield and open.
“Oh,” I whisper. My voice is high and thin.
Zarek guides my thumb down the soft inside of the pod, pressing the peas into the basket.
When he rocks back, I turn to face him. Our lips are so close.
Memories rush over me, kissing under the lanterns, laughing and toasting our union, dancing together in a dozen town squares, his arms around my waist, his body pressed to mine, the long, hard length of him between my legs—
He leans back, then turns away. And the moment shatters like glass. I stare at the empty pea husk in my hands, telling myself what came next. What always came next. We’d be led to a room, the best room in the town, with a massive, elaborate bed.
And Zarek would leave the room, saying Anura should stay with me instead. Or he’d turn away from me. He’d collapse on the bed, facing the wall, or on the floor in front of the door. Once the door was closed, it was like I didn’t exist.
The kisses were always and only for show.
That question rises again, nagging at me. I take a deep breath, then turn to the man who was forced to marry me.
“You thought I was pregnant,” I say. “Didn’t you? When we got married?”
Zarek blinks, and for a moment I’m absurdly pleased that I managed to surprise him.
“I did.”
He says the words slowly, almost like it hurts to admit. I turn to stare at my pea-stained fingers as they twist in my lap.
“And you knew about the potion,” I continue. “The one that would get rid of a pregnancy.”
Wind rustles the leaves above us, casting shifting pools of light over his dark hair and the furrows on his brow.
“Why didn’t you make me take it?” I ask. My voice is high and thin, but I manage to get the question out.
Zarek stares at me like he doesn’t understand the words coming out of my mouth.
“Because it’s dangerous,” he growls. “Women die from that godsdamned sludge. Look at what it did to you, and you weren’t even pregnant.”
“But,” I stammer. “If you thought I was pregnant, and you married me anyway— You would have let me have someone else’s child? Under your name?”
Zarek laughs. It’s such a strange reaction that I wonder if he’s even heard my question.
“My name,” Zarek mutters, shaking his head. “Look, Princess. I don’t have any royal lineage to protect.”
The moment on the hillside rushes back to me. The man on horseback, spreading his arms and welcoming us to Dungal. Introducing himself as Prince Zarek.
“Of course I would have claimed your child,” Zarek continues. “And I would have protected them as best I could.”
He falls silent. There’s a strange look on his face, something dark and hard, as though he’s staring into some horrible future instead of a half-full basket of pea pods. I move my hand, reaching for him, then think better of it and let it drop to the stone bench between us.
“What happened?” I whisper. “How did you end up in Vsenrog? Why does that man here say he’s Zarek?”
My voice fades, carried away by the wind. Zarek runs his hand through his hair, then turns to me and shakes his head.
“Because he is,” he replies. “I was only supposed to be Prince Zarek for one night.”