Roa stepped away from the scowling king, deeper into the stall.
“What did you give her?” Dax’s voice was thunderous.
She shook her head. “I didn’t give her anything.”
“That’s a lie.” His cheeks were wet and his eyelashes clustered together like dark stars. “Under no circumstances would Bekah just let Torwin go.”
Roa tried to hold his furious gaze and failed.
“You’ve been bought,” he said as he stepped in closer, trapping her in the corner of the stall. “Haven’t you?”
It was strange, but in his voice Roa thought she heard a quavering fear.
“Torwin’s free, isn’t he? You have what you want. Who cares how you got it?”
His gaze on her face was a dark, hard thing.
What right did he have to be angry? Roa had marched an army across the desert for this boy. Captured Darmoor for him. Helped throw a revolt with him. Broke off her betrothal and caused a rift between Song and Sky... all for him.
And how had he repaid her?
First he’d broken Lirabel’s heart. Then he broke every one of his treaty promises without a care. And tonight, while she saved Torwin, while Essie was forced into a cage, he’d been openly flirting with Rebekah’s dinner guests and drinking with abandon.
“Things could be worse,” she said bitterly. “You could be the one married to a drunken whore.”
Dax blinked at her, as if surprised.
“Me?” he finally said. “I’mthe whore?”
Roa lifted her chin, glaring up at him, thinking of the woman in the yellow kaftan tonight. The way Dax drank in the sight of her.
Oh, how she hated him.
“Tonight?” he said, as if seeing the thoughts in her head. “Tonight was just business.”
She locked her gaze with his, thinking of Lirabel.“Just business?”How many other girls had he left pregnant, terrified, and crying all alone? “Is itjust businesswhen you warm every other bed in Firgaard but your wife’s?”
She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth.
That wasn’t what she meant to say. She didn’t want him warming her bed.
Dax stepped in closer, taking up all her air. “Areyou my wife?” Soaked as he was, she could see all of him. The hard knot of his shoulders, the smooth curve of his chest. “Do you sleep in my bed or my enemy’s?”
She remembered the last time they were alone in a stable—the day she’d lost a race to him. She still owed him something from that race.
“It’s true,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “I prefer less crowded beds than yours.”
They stood for several heartbeats glaring at each other, their chests rising and falling with their synchronized breaths.
“I never should have married you,” he said.
“I don’t remember you having a choice.”
His fists clenched as he scowled at her.
“It’s too bad you’re such a terrible swordsman,” she went on, gaze locked with his. “Otherwise, you could rid yourself of me right here.” Well and truly angry now, she thought of the seal she’d found in Sirin’s pocket. “You could finish the job you paid someone else to do!”
At those words, the thunder went out of his eyes. “What?”
