Page 120 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Blayne glances at the ceiling, then back to me. “I told him that would be a waste,” he says in a soft, even voice, like he’s discussing the weather or what to have for lunch this afternoon. “Tainted though your reputation is, you still have royal blood to pass on to your husband’s heirs. All you need is a husband.”

My gut seizes, but I am not about to give Blayne the satisfaction of knowing how terrified I am.

“I already have a husband,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“Ah, yes,” Blayne says with the smile he used whenever he knew much more than I did. I saw a lot of that smile. “The legendary snake of Vsenrog,” he continues. “It’s such a shame he died in the mountains trying to regain his wayward bride. A surprisingly romantic ending for such a tragic character, is it not?”

I don’t reply. It’s better if they think Zarek is dead, some part of me whispers. It’s better if they don’t come after him.

“Of course, who would want to marry you after your recent scandals?” Blayne continues. “Certainly no one of noble blood is going to take you.”

He sighs, then glances at the low, rough ceiling like he’s appealing to the gods.

“As luck would have it, I offered to solve that particular problem for the good king,” he finishes.

I blink. Blayne is looking at me like he’s made a particularly insightful argument that he doesn’t expect me to understand.

“You,” I hiss.

Blayne bows modestly. “Of course. Who better to tame the wild princess than her former tutor?”

I snarl at him. Was this always his plan? Was this why he told me no one would care that I wasn’t a virgin? Or was this why, years ago, he said it was such a pity I’d never learned how to kiss, that my husband was sure to be disappointed on our wedding night? Because it was that offhand remark, made casually after a long session of solving complicated equations, that spurred my first clumsy attempts to seduce Blayne.

I thought it was my idea, all of it, from our first kiss to the morning when he bent me over the desk and took my maidenhead. It never occurred to me that Blayne might have been leading me to it, like he walked me through all of his other lessons.

“I won’t marry you,” I spit, although even as the words fall from my lips, I realize how weak they sound.

“Oh, my dear,” Blayne replies. “Why on earth would you think you have a choice?”

He falls silent. Somewhere in the distance, I hear water dripping off stone.

He’s right. I’ve never had a choice. I was betrothed to Prince Laurance of Ethiria as soon as I was born, until my father changed his mind and sent me to Vsenrog instead, like a feast day ham in a fancy gift basket.

And now, apparently, I’m being sold off again, as slightly used and damaged goods. I’ve gone from being my father’s property to King Malrik’s property. And I’ll be Blayne’s property next.

“Why?” I manage to whisper.

I want to say more, to ask why Blayne forged the letter in the first place, or why he tried to make it look like I ran from Vsenrog, but Blayne speaks first.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” he says in his crisp, proper voice. “I am saving you from the gallows. In return, my sons will carry your royal blood. And in time, I’m sure the king will see fit to assign me a position in his royal⁠—”

My fist hits his gut before I can hear the rest of Blayne’s insane plan.

He makes a sound like a sack of wet flour hitting a stone floor. He stumbles backward, smacking the iron bars of the cell door and making them rattle. My fingers sting, and I step back, shaking my hand.

Blayne stands up straight. His eyes blaze with fury.

This is him, I realize. This is the real man behind the uptight tutor’s persona. He was never the man who laughed and smiled; he wasn’t even the man who lost control once I pushed him past the stopping point.

No. This is the real Blayne, this flash of rage and fury standing before me in the dungeons. This is the person he was hiding.

Blayne wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, then shakes his head. “Guard!” he calls.

Then he turns back to me, his mouth pulled as tight as a knife’s edge.

“Bitch,” he growls in a voice that’s almost a whisper. “I’m going to take pleasure in teaching you how to submit to your husband.”

The thud of the jailer’s boots echoes down the hallway. Blayne grabs the lantern off the wall and stands before the gate as Bertyl unlocks it. He doesn’t even look back over his shoulder as Bertyl slams the door closed behind him.