69. Lilias
Lilias
DIVORCE
Zarek’s mouth opens. For a moment, I’m afraid my heart is pounding so hard I won’t even be able to hear his response.
And, hells. Maybe I don’t want to hear his response. Yes, he said he loves me, but the man I married isn’t some sentimental farmer. He’s a prince, whether he was born to the role or not. He survived because he’s cunning, because he can play their games.
And he’s already told me our marriage has no strategic value.
“I—” Zarek begins.
He looks at the stream, then at me, then back at the tumbling water rolling off the mountain’s shoulders, and in that strange, trembling moment, I remember exactly how beautiful he looked when he was singing prayers to his gods in the thin light of an early spring morning.
“I want to give you what you want,” he finally says, his words slow and careful. “You didn’t ask for this marriage. You shouldn’t be—” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Trapped.”
I cross my arms over my chest like I can keep my heart from running away.
“And you?” I ask. “What do you want?”
He blinks like he doesn’t understand the question.
“You didn’t ask for this marriage either,” I say. “And, like you said, there’s no strategic value to it, not anymore. So, what do you want now? Do you want a divorce?”
“Fuck, no,” he sputters. The look on his face is suddenly raw and hard. “Princess, I love you. The gods know I tried not to, but the harder I fought it—”
His voice cuts off in a ragged laugh. He tugs his hand through his hair before turning back to me.
“But that doesn’t change anything,” he finally says. “You deserve better.”
I laugh. It comes out before I can stop it, a sharp, hard burst like an explosion. Zarek stares at me.
“Better?” I ask. “Like what, exactly? Like Blayne?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, because he’s not royalty?” I push. “So, better like Laurance? Because he was born a prince?”
“No,” Zarek says, shaking his head. “Not like that. Just— Gods, you saw what happened in Ethiria.”
“Yes,” I reply. “I did. I saw you realize we were in trouble before anyone else did. I saw you come up with a way to get us out. And then I saw you stand up and distract the guards so the rest of us could escape.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “And that didn’t work, did it?”
“It worked just fine,” I reply. “Look, here we are!”
“Damn it, I fell apart!” he snaps.
His voice echoes off the rocks, leaving both of us stunned. Zarek turns away and shakes his head.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You deserve someone who can protect you, Princess. Someone who isn’t—weak.”
“Stop it.” I step forward and grab his hand. “You’re comparing yourself to something that doesn’t exist.”
He makes a sound that’s probably supposed to be a laugh. But he doesn’t look at me. Silence pools between us, as cold as the water tumbling off the mountains.
“You know what I thought when I held that blade to Laurance’s throat?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. I push on anyway.
“I thought I was protecting you,” I admit. “And look how well that worked out. Maybe if I’d gone along with it for one damn day, that elf wouldn’t have dragged you back to Vsenrog. So, it’s not like my plans worked out any better.”
He finally turns to meet my gaze, a small, sad smile on his lips.
“But, here I am,” he whispers. “Your plan wasn’t so bad after all.”
Gods, I can’t stop myself. I kiss him, light and soft, and then pull away before he can react.
“Here I am too,” I whisper. “You did protect me.”
He blinks; his eyes shine in the bright sunlight. And the truth wells up inside me like a spring, fierce and pure and utterly unstoppable.
“You’re right,” I agree. “I didn’t choose this marriage. I never thought I’d have a choice, not for anything important. But—” I swallow hard, then press on. “I would choose it now. I would choose it every day, for the rest of my life. I—”
I’m trembling. I take a breath, then force myself to tell him what I’ve known ever since I found him on the floor in the Vsenrog palace and realized just how much of myself would die if I lost him.
“I love you,” I whisper.
And then I kiss my husband again.
He kisses me back, softly and almost hesitantly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling at me in a way that makes me feel like my heart is going to burst, that it can’t possibly hold all of this. His fingers brush my cheek.
“Princess,” he whispers, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of life I’ll be able to offer you, once all this is over.”
I laugh. I can’t help it; it’s hard enough for me to think about what might happen tomorrow, when we finally reach Elrick. I can’t even begin to think about what my life might look like if we survive this war.
“Gods, Zarek,” I say, wrapping my hand around his. “I do not care what kind of life we have.”
He smiles, but there’s something sad in the curve of his lips. I think about the ruins of the castle of Dungal. The roses climbing over the rubble of the tiny house that once held his entire family.
“Dungal,” I say.
Zarek blinks.
“Remember?” I ask. “The house with the big garden and the lake?”
“Of course,” he replies.
“I loved it there,” I tell him. I glance down at our fingers, twined together. “Maybe we could—go back there? Once all this is over? Maybe we could live there. If there’s a place, a house, I mean, that we could use?”
I glance up. He’s looking at me with a strange expression on his face, something naked and raw.
“That’s—” he stammers. “Dungal’s a far cry from a palace.”
“Good,” I reply. “I’ve had enough of palaces!”
Slowly, a smile creeps across his face. It’s like the sun rising to fill the sky.
“So, you’d live in a shack?” he says.
“I’d live in a shack with you,” I reply. “You could teach me how to shell peas, and wash dishes, and be a proper wife.”
He laughs. It’s so beautiful, I wish I could bottle it up and carry it with me forever.
“Why in the gods’ many names would you ever think I would want a proper wife?” he asks.
And then he kisses me again, harder and deeper.
I reach for him, sinking my hands into his shirt, pulling his body close to mine.
His arm wraps around my waist, and I marvel at just how well our bodies fit together, how it feels like we were always meant to be like this.
His fingers sink into my hair, and I open for him, tasting him, that deep, slow burn of arousal stirring to life inside me.
He pulls back, panting. His dark eyes flash wildly.
“Princess,” he says, his voice rough. “Don’t ever be proper.”
I watch the sun dance across his face and catch in his eyes, the man who rode to meet me outside of the walls of Vsenrog. The man who cut his own leg on our wedding night instead of forcing himself on me.
How did it take me so long to realize I love him?
I reach for him again, pressing my lips to his, following the steps to the dance that started on our wedding day. His lips curve into a smile as he tilts his head to kiss me back—
And someone screams.
My back stiffens. Zarek pulls away, then spins toward the campsite. His hand drops to his waist, and I notice, without any surprise, that he’s somehow found a dagger.
“Damn it,” he mutters, turning back to me. “We’d better get back there before Gerard and Petrys kill each other.”