Page 112 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I nod, but it isn’t until I’m sitting at the table downstairs, with breakfast spread before me and steam curling above a mug of tea, that I truly accept what my brother’s words mean.

Tomorrow morning, I travel home.

Chapter 61

Zarek

ANNULLED

Sleep, of course, is out of the question.

I spent the day trying to act like a clueless royal guard, wandering around the grounds, making vague, half-hearted offers to help with preparations for the trip to the palace of Marion. The prince’s men mostly ignored me, although there were a few rude comments about the cock-sucking king I serve. I responded to those with a shrug, and I cataloged the hunting camp. Hiding places, exit routes. Likely spots for an ambush.

I managed to slip unnoticed into one of the old storage sheds in the late afternoon, and I finally found a few daggers. Thank the gods. I sighed with relief as I stood in the dusty sunlight inside the shed, testing the balance on a small, rusty dagger, and offering a silent prayer to any gods who might still be listening that my wife still had my blade on her thigh.

Ridiculous. I snort at myself, then cross my arms over my chest and walk through the darkness of my room to stand by the window. I’m in the small bedroom at the top of the stairs again, although this is far too nice a room to give a guard. Anura led me here after dinner, then gave me a look that said trying to argue about it wouldn’t be worth my time.

Still. I worry the prince’s men will start wondering why a guard was given a room on the top floor.

I rock forward on my toes and peer through the gloom into the courtyard. Someone is standing guard in the shadows behind the massive lodge. There’s another guard at the bottom of the stairs, not necessarily keeping people from leaving, but also not just there for the hell of it. If I had to get out of here, I’d climb through the window, follow the roof, then drop down by the stables⁠—

There’s a knock on the door. I freeze, my hand dropping to the blade tucked into the waistband of my pants.

“Zarek?” a woman whispers. “Are you there?”

Heat and a strange sense of relief pour through me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her until I heard her voice. I open the door, and there she is. The princess of Marion is in a dark robe and a light green dress that’s extremely tight around her chest. I clench my jaw and try to ignore the way my cock suddenly makes his presence known.

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

She frowns, and I realize too late that I’m being a rude asshole.

“Sorry,” I say, stepping out of the doorway. “Please. Come in.”

I wave my hand at the darkness inside my room, which probably looks about as inviting as a tomb. I try to remember the last place I saw matches as Lilias walks into the room. She waits until I find them and light the lamp before she closes the door. I face her in the soft, golden glow of the lamplight. Her hair curls around her shoulders, and her lips part slightly. Gods, I remember the taste of those lips, the press of her body against mine. I want to touch her so desperately it hurts, a deep ache pulsing in the core of me.

I clear my throat, then turn away, grateful for the shadows that will hide the way my body is betraying me.

“Princess,” I say, stepping backward and waving awkwardly at one of the two chairs in the room. “What do you need?”

Lilias sits down, then takes a few minutes to arrange her skirts and robe. It can’t be intentional, the way her dress cuts low across her perfect breasts and the laces catch the light. I pull the second chair into the shadows and sit down, facing her.

When she finally turns to me, her eyes are wide, and she looks almost hesitant, like she’s expecting bad news. Or like she’s delivering it.

“How— How are you feeling?” she asks.

I frown at the odd question. Why in the nine hells does that matter?

“Fine,” I reply.

Her gaze lingers on the remnants of my black eye, then traces my split lip and drops to my chest. I suppress the urge to squirm under her gaze. There’s a mirror in here, just above the washbasin, so I know exactly how shitty I look right now. The swelling around my eye is gone, but the lingering bruising still makes me look about as attractive as a lump of carrion on the side of the road.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t light the lamp when Anura led me back to my room. I don’t even want to look at myself, let alone have my wife see me.

But she’s not my wife, some nasty part of my mind whispers. Legally, she’s married to the prince of Dungal.

I glance up. Lilias is looking at me like she trusts me exactly as far as she could throw me. I try to smile without cracking open my split lip.

“You don’t have to travel with me,” she says suddenly. “You’re still injured. You could stay here, recover with my brother⁠—”