Page 33 of Bride of Ash & Dust

There’s a rustle of cloth behind me. I see the flash of my wife’s dark hair as she bends down. There’s another gasp.

“But— This is my seal,” my wife says as she runs her shaking fingers over the wax holding the parchment together.

That’s what he was doing, the fucker. He brought wax to the candle flame, then sealed whatever this is with my wife’s name.

“Don’t open it here,” I say.

I don’t dare look toward the mirror. The gods only know who might be hiding back there now.

“Really,” the man stammers, as I step away from Lilias. “This is all just a terrible misunder⁠—”

I punch him again. In the gut this time, and with my left hand. He makes a sound like a kicked dog as he doubles over. His bare ass hits the desk behind him, knocking the candle over. The flame dies. Wax drips onto the stone floor.

“Get out of here,” I growl.

The man grunts as he comes to his feet. Rage flickers in his pale eyes, and once again, I have the haunting sense that I know this son of a bitch. I’ve seen him before, and with that same expression of rage and disdain.

He steps away from the desk, grabs his bag, and reaches for his rumpled, abandoned pants. I kick them out of his reach. He scowls at me.

“Go,” I say. “Now.”

He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, then closes it. He’s still scowling at me as he creeps toward the door, his bag clutched over his crotch, blood dripping down his chin from his lip. His hand reaches the door, and it swings inward on silent hinges.

“If I ever see you here again,” I tell him, “I will kill you.”

He doesn’t reply, but the look in his eyes suggests the feeling is mutual.

Chapter 20

Lilias

THE WORST IN THE KINGDOM

My hands are shaking. I’m holding the piece of parchment so tightly that its edges crease, and it’s still trembling like a leaf.

None of this makes any sense.

Why did Blayne have a letter in his vest? Why is it marked with my seal? I’ve never sent Blayne a letter. I would never be so foolish. And, even if I were a fool, I would never put my seal on it.

A memory bursts through the numb, shocked fog engulfing my brain. Another golden seal, knocked to the floor. Pools of hardened crimson wax on the table, on my hands. I’d seen my father use his seal, and it called to me in the way powerful, forbidden objects call to all children. I just wanted to try it.

My father picked up the seal and hit me with it, over and over, until blood seeped through my blue dress. For weeks afterward, I’d run my fingers over the scarlet and violet bruises, tracing the stylized M for Marion and the crown that signified the king.

“This is not a toy,” he yelled, again and again.

I’ve been half-terrified of signets and seals ever since. Gods above, I’ve only used my own seal a half dozen times, and usually that was to add my congratulations to official messages sent by my father.

Zarek’s hand closes around my wrist. I try to flinch, to pull back, but his grip only tightens. Slowly, and with my heart racing like a wild bird trapped in a cage, I meet his gaze.

“We can’t talk here,” he says in a rough whisper.

He glances at the mirror, and what’s left of my heart sinks to the polished stone at my feet.

He warned me, didn’t he? Don’t expect privacy in this room. What was I thinking?

The room swims as he tugs me toward the door to the garden.

I’ll have to go back to Marion, now. Perhaps Blayne was right about Prince Laurance, that he wouldn’t care if I’d had lovers before, but I just watched Zarek hold a knife to a man’s throat, and somehow, I don’t think the snake feels the same way.