Page 4 of Bride of Ash & Dust

“Two weeks,” Malrik announces, before draining his wine glass.

The back of my mouth suddenly tastes bitter behind the wall of my smile. Two weeks? Holy flying fuck, that’s hardly enough time to have a jacket and cloak fitted.

The princess of Marion must be pregnant already. There’s no other reason for such an insane rush to the altar.

I drain my glass, hoping the wine will wash away the bitterness in my throat.

Chapter 3

Lilias

LIKE COMING HOME

I’m pacing.

I stop walking, take a deep breath, and smooth my hands down the front of my skirt. Then I walk very slowly to the window and look out at the courtyard. It’s cold out there, and the wind is throwing fistfuls of rain against the windows as winter puts up its usual fight against the onslaught of spring.

There’s no sign of my brother, Elrick. And weather like this is going to delay him, even if one of the messengers I begged to carry my letters manages to find him. No one in the stables knew what route he’d taken. Or at least no one would tell me.

And I’m leaving this afternoon. The delegation from Vsenrog must have been camped just outside the palace, because they appeared for dinner just after my father announced my engagement.

So I’m leaving. Despite the weather, or perhaps because my father wants to punish me for some slight I’m not even aware I’ve committed. Or maybe the king of Vsenrog is the one pulling the strings, and my father is just dancing along. Whatever the reasons, I’ll be married in less than two weeks to a prince who isn’t really a prince.

I sigh as I spin on my heels. My feet tap against the stone floor as I walk back to the door.

I’m not under any illusions about Elrick’s ability to help me. My brother cares for me, of course, but he can’t change the king’s mind. And even if he did, what would that get me? Another arranged marriage, that’s what, to another man I wouldn’t even recognize in a dance hall.

I know more about Prince Laurance of Ethiria than I know about Zarek of Vsenrog, yes, but I don’t know any of the things that matter about either one of them. Like, would they be a good husband? Or are they the kind of men who want their wives to stay silent in the castle, locked away like marble statues?

With a huff, I spin on my heel and stalk toward the window yet again, pacing like an animal in a cage. It doesn’t matter if Zarek will be a good husband. Good, bad, indifferent. I have to bind my life to his, no matter what kind of man he is. That’s the price I pay for being born in a palace.

There’s a click, and the door behind me creaks open. I turn as my tutor, Blayne, walks into my private quarters. A knot rises in my throat, and the tears I’ve been expecting all morning rush forward.

I wait until he locks the door behind him before throwing my arms around Blayne’s shoulders. His hands rub my back as I struggle not to cry. Not for the first time, some panicked part of me realizes I took things much too far with him.

And then, also not for the first time, I pull back and press my lips to his.

He opens for me slowly, like he always does, his hands sinking into my dress and my hair, his cock stiffening through the layers of cloth between us, his soft, muffled moan sending a bolt of heat through my core and slicking the space between my legs.

Gods, this is what I needed. I didn’t know how much I ached for him until I begged Blayne to teach me what I would need to know as the wife of a prince. Now, I never want to stop.

But Blayne breaks our kiss and pulls away. His perfect blond hair is slightly mussed, and he runs his hand down the side of his head to smooth it, then turns back to me.

“Lilias,” he purrs. “Gods, you temptress. You’re going to destroy me.”

I step forward, closer to the heat of his body, but he moves back and shakes his head.

“But not this morning,” he snaps. “Don’t push me. We have too much to cover.”

I cross my arms over my chest and pout, like a child. I’d stamp my foot on the ground too, if I thought it would do any good. But Blayne entered my life as my tutor, and he’s been doggedly determined to fulfill that role no matter how desperately I try to distract him.

He takes the bag from his shoulder and unfurls a piece of parchment over the table. It looks like a map of Vsenrog, although the western border shouldn’t extend through the mountains⁠—

Oh. I step closer, the throb of sexual frustration fading as I examine the map.

It is Vsenrog, but from a century ago. Back when Ethiria and Marion were little more than secret hopes and dreams in the hearts of the farmers and ranchers who lived here. When the king of Vsenrog felt slighted by the lords of the western mountains, he set fire to wheat fields and let the people starve.

I swallow hard, then raise my eyes to Blayne. Elrick told me once about the summer of misery that sparked the war that gave Marion her freedom. He said the farmers who live in the mountains have not forgotten.