Page 39 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Her eyes widen, and her mouth makes a wide O before she brings her hand to her lips.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a gasp. “That’s so unladylike!”

I laugh, actually laugh, for what feels like the first time in weeks. Lilias blinks at me, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode, like suddenly my chest is too small for it.

And then something falls into place, and my laugh dies on my lips.

Maybe there’s another reason why King Malrik arranged this marriage, one that has nothing to do with the gold mine and everything to do with me. I’m a powerful servant for the crown of Vsenrog, but still, he’s never trusted me. He’s always looking for new ways to control me, new strings to tug to make me dance. Giving me a beautiful wife, someone who lives in the palace, someone whose happiness and safety will forever be linked to my loyalty, well, that would be a brutally effective way to bring me to heel.

Especially if I’m foolish enough to fall in love with her.

Chapter 22

Lilias

YOU KNEW

Iwake in the darkness to the sound of a man’s voice.

Panic wraps its cold fist around my chest. I freeze. My head throbs, and I swear I can still taste that horrible ale in the back of my throat.

“Shit,” the man hisses.

Zarek’s voice. The bed shifts beneath me. There’s a rattling sound that I recognize as the curtains around the bed being pulled back. A moment later, there’s rustling, a scratch, and a soft, golden light flickers over my head and dances across the curtains.

“Godsdamn motherfucker,” the snake whispers.

Curiosity wins over caution, and I open my eyes. Zarek is standing next to the bed, looking down at the sheets and shaking his head. He’s wearing a loose, dark shirt and shorts.

I don’t remember him coming to bed last night. He promised to take me on a tour of the city after we left the little pub where I stupidly let myself drink too much, but I can’t remember anything about the actual city. Most of what I remember from our walk is the feel of his arm in mine, the sound of his laugh, and the slowly dawning realization that my husband wasn’t going to send me back to my father in Marion.

I sit up in the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chest.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

And then I see blood on the sheets. I gasp, and Zarek growls. He’s holding something against the inside of his leg.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re hurt,” I say.

The inside of his thigh is streaked with blood. It’s from the cut he gave himself on our wedding night, I realize. The one that made it look like he’d taken my long-absent maidenhead.

He shrugs. “Six days on horseback. It keeps opening up.”

I frown as I crawl across the bed.

“Sit down,” I say.

He opens his mouth, like he’s going to object.

“Sit,” I say.

He sits on the edge of the bed. I reach for the bundle of cloth he’s holding against his leg. It looks like the shirt he was wearing earlier today, which I’m guessing is not exactly clean. I pull it back, then hiss at what I see.

“This is infected,” I say.

“Not badly,” he replies.