Page 22 of Mortdale

“Yeah, besides that. Though that alone must take an awful lot of time and energy. Might explain why he looks so drained.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, but I caught a glimpse at his attempt at smothering a smile which coincidentally gave me another peek at his sharp fangs. “Well, for starters, he’s Duke of Darkheim and a representative in the parliament. He’s also in charge of the king’s guard and makes sure no harm comes to the people of Mortdale. To add to that, this case of Madness has been spreading amongst our kind, so the king appointed him to make sure it doesn’t spread any further than it already has.”

Why had Agnes never mentioned anything about this Madness? Why had no one heard about it past the Mortdale borders? “How will he do that?”

He swallowed his sip of tea slowly, giving me a confused look. “Population control.”

I blinked. “He distributes contraception?”

Liam choked. “Uhm…uh, he hunts down and gets rid of the infected so they don’t infect others. And he’s really good at it. Before he came to take the title of Duke after his second brother died, the Madness had nearly overrun a few cities near the human borders.”

“Ah,” I nodded, trying not to blatantly ask if my husband was a killer even though I was sure I knew that answer already.

Cocking his head back, he gave me a doubtful look. “No one told you anything about him.”

“Besides that he is a lord of this keep and has a peculiar diet which includes myself, not really,” I lied.

His brows flew up. “And you accepted your union just like that?”

“The Blood Pact demands a witch and a witch was given. None of us really have a choice.” I leaned forward, “What’s he like?

“Logan?”

“No, your father. How’s he doing by the way?”

His mouth twitched. “Dead.”

“Much and many sorrows. Well, since my husband is pretty much alive, I’d like to hear some about him, too.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Logan was the youngest of three brothers and not an heir, so he was sent off to the naval regiments—spent some time in the Eastern Continent to monitor the sea trades. Even before that, he was raised by the king’s hand in dirty bunks and sent off to war with the Farseer Pirates when he was barely fifteen. He was a naval commander until a few years ago when his second brother died—Heath was the king’s guard. Logan succeeded that position once he returned to Darkheim.”

“How did his brother die?”

From the way he winced, I knew I’d pushed too far. “It’s complicated. And Logan was never meant to inherit this title since he’s a soldier more than he’ll ever be a lord, so there was some opposition about dissolving his estate and denouncing his title. But that lasted about five seconds. He’s good at what he does. The parliament knows what it would mean to lose his support even though he’s the only thing standing between our incompetent fraud of a king and them.”

“The parliament wants to absolve the monarchy?”

“It’s complicated.” He winced again, probably realising he might have said too much. “The Basilica—our clergy—is pushing for a theocratic run state. And since the parliament really wants to see King Ulric step down from the seat, they’re siding with the clergy.”

“And my husband is standing in the middle of all that?”

“Squarely.” He leaned forward after a full minute of silence, giving me a sympathetic look. “I wouldn’t be too expectant of him. He doesn’t know the first thing about being someone’s son, let alone someone’s husband.”

“I don’t think either of us got into this expecting anything more than what the agreement entailed. I am as clueless as him in that regard.”

“And you’re happy with that?”

Happy? I’d been handed off from one hand to the other ever since my birth. No one had ever held me long enough to call them family, and the only friend I had was often kept far from me to control me. Logan was just another on the list. “I’ve learnt to not depend on another to be happy. As long as he doesn’t suck me dry, I am content just bearing his name.”

“You’re safe. Logan doesn’t feed on witches.” He cleared his throat and itched his head, probably figuring out he’d told me something I wasn’t supposed to know.

“Who does he feed from?”

“Nice try,” he said, getting up. “He’d kill me if I told you.”

His plate was still stacked with stale toast. “You didn’t touch anything.”

His brows flew up. “I thought you knew we don’t really eat. Some of us eat for the taste, but most of us just can’t stomach it. If I’m going to eat anything, it wouldn't be toast. It tastes like hay to me.”