Okay, no. Marek can’t keep up with the domestic bliss roleplay. “What are you doing?”
Sei sets his tea down. “Yesterday was very stressful for both of us. But we’re betrothed now, Your Highness. We should talk about what that means.”
That’s very reasonable.
And it’s veryunreasonable for Marek to resent that so much. How can Sei be so cheerful about the complete upending of their lives?
“Of course, your position as wing-marshal comes first,” Sei says. “I don’t want to interfere with your duties. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
Marek can’t picture Sei being of any use to the dragon corps. The soft robe makes him look even more delicate than he looked yesterday. “You won’t get in the way.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Sei straightens up, his posture subtly improving. “What His Majesty said yesterday, about being secretly wed—”
“I’m not secretly married.”
“If you’re seeing someone, though,” Sei says. “That’s all right. I know this arrangement surprised you, and of course I don’t even know if you prefer men or women or anyone else.”
Marek prefers men, though he doesn’t mind women or other genders joining for group play. But instead of answering, Marek sits back. It would be so easy to get dragged into this conversation. Sei is being so reasonable. So accommodating.
Too accommodating. Like Sei is just saying whatever he thinks Marek wants to hear, based on Marek and Imrik’s argument last night.
Instead of acknowledging Sei’s implicit question, Marek asks, “What doyouwant?”
Sei blinks. He pours himself another cup of tea, his thin wrists steady supporting the heavy pot. “Osric needs free passage in and out of the garrison. If you could arrange that with the guards, I would be grateful, Your Highness.”
Not the answer Marek wants. Even when he asks specifically for Sei’s wants, Sei asks for something on behalf of someone else.
“Does Osric eat people?” Marek asks.
“No.” Sei hesitates. “Not without reason, Your Highness.”
“I’ll talk to the garrison guard. Do you need anything else?” Marek sets down his knife before he gestures with it. That tends to alarm people. “You personally. Not Osric.”
Sei is struck silent, and Marek knows this conversation has to end.
Of course, Marek needs to focus on the dragon corps, and figuring out their relationship boundaries is a sensible early step. But that very conversation assumes the permanence of this arrangement.
“I’m not going to marry you,” Marek says. “I’m going to figure out how to end this betrothal.”
Sei’s eyes are dark and wide, like a scared rabbit.
“I’m not seeing anyone else, and I won’t while we’re together. I’d recommend you keep your belt buckled too, until you know your way around court.” Marek doesn’t want his father to wrongfully blame any tryst for the broken betrothal. And he can too easily see Sei tumbling headfirst into some courtier’s schemes. “But do what you want. You’re safe in my household while we’re stuck together. I won’t be cruel to you.”
Sei lowers his eyes. “I appreciate that, Your Highness.”
It’s impossible to tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.
Marek feels bad for deflating Sei like this—the man was so cheerful when the meal started. But Marek won’t play along with this twisted charade. Not when the entire conversation was about how Sei could accommodate Marek’s needs. Marek can’t trust anything Sei says like that.
After their silent breakfast, Marek calls for a herald. He needs to request an audience to get yelled at.
***
Two royal drasgard escort Marek to an audience chamber. Smaller than the throne room, the chamber holds only a tall wooden table and a king in a stone chair.
Imrik appears engrossed in a large, leather-bound notebook. Marek doesn’t usually imagine Imrik as a reader—books are Aliza’s passion. But Imrik approaches the notebook with a soldier’s intensity.
Marek waits until his father looks up.
