Page 65 of Bride of Ash & Dust

His fingers close around my wrist, pulling my hand forward. My heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest, and my gods, I need to remember to breathe.

He presses his hand on top of mine, then guides my fingers into my pocket. The tear is near the top, along the seam, just small enough for me to reach through it and feel the hard handle of the dagger as it rests against my thigh.

“If you need it,” Zarek whispers, “it’s there.”

I try to think of something to say, something snappy or clever, something that will make me sound like a princess and not like someone whose skin is burning and whose heart is trying to break free. But all I can manage is a little murmur of agreement, like we’re at a tea party and he’s just told a story I’ve heard a hundred times before.

Great. Now he’ll think I’m even more of an idiot.

Zarek pulls his hand away and steps back. I run my fingers over the dagger’s handle.

“Thanks?” I say.

I don’t mean it as a question, but my voice rises at the end, making it sound like I’m being ironic. I expect him to grin or say something sarcastic, but he just stares at me with his inscrutable dark eyes.

“Well,” I say, trying to ignore the stupid little wobble in my voice. “Now that we’re both fully armed, should we go to the party?”

He holds his arm out to me. I take it, sliding my fingers over the smooth fabric of his dark jacket, and together, we walk out of the bath chamber, across the bedroom, and into the hall. Anura meets my eyes as Zarek pushes open the door, then falls into step behind us.

It’s only once we step through the wide doors of the palace’s main entrance that I realize how close Zarek’s hand is to the hole he just cut in my dress and the dagger he strapped to my thigh. Guards bow before us, music rises in the air, and I think about the six blades my husband is wearing.

And the seventh one he gave me. Because who would expect him to hide a dagger on his wife?

Chapter 36

Zarek

OUR OWN ROYAL UNION

The air still holds a chill, but at least the rain has stopped. Thick, gray clouds scuttle across the sky, scraping their bellies against the spires of the palace. The deep blue and scarlet canopies spread over the main courtyard sag and drip onto the stones, and the few couples brave enough to start dancing are in the open air, splashing through puddles. Lively music fills the air, mixing with the scent of fried meat and sweet breads.

We turn the last corner into the courtyard and face the royal dais. I know what I’m going to see; still, my back stiffens, and I grind my teeth.

Prince Syvan sprawls across the second-highest chair, grinning at the festivities like a wolf watching a herd of sheep. He’s wearing a crown today, a thick circlet of gold that gleams in the dull light. Fear creeps through my body like ice spreading across a lake.

His wife, Princess Basili, sits next to him. The gauzy veil over her face almost obscures the swelling around her right eye, and a dull thud of rage joins the fear coiling in my gut. Syvan has always been a sadistic piece of shit. If he’d been paired with someone who could stand up to him, or someone who held sway over powerful allies, he could have been taken down a notch.

Instead, King Malrik paired him with the meek daughter of a merchant family who had more money than the gods but not a drop of royal blood. Her dowry funds Syvan’s army and makes her family royalty. And if she’s miserable, well, I don’t think anyone in the palace notices.

Lilias gasps softly, and I realize I’ve wrapped my hand around hers so tightly it probably hurts. I force myself to smile as I approach the dais. King Malrik hasn’t arrived yet. Prince Syvan ignores me.

Princess Acelina, the wife of Malrik’s eldest son, Girart, who I dearly hope has the good sense to avoid the palace when Syvan is here, comes to her feet and reaches for Lilias.

“My dear, you look absolutely stunning,” Acelina declares.

“Your dressmaker is a miracle worker,” Lilias replies.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Syvan drawls from his throne.

His eyes catch on my wife’s bodice as we climb the steps of the dais, and I feel the silent weight of all six blades I’ve hidden on my body. If he hurts Lilias, so help me gods, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.

“Princess Lilias of Marion is my wife,” I say as we reach the top of the little wooden stage.

“Is that so?” Syvan replies. “She doesn’t look nearly cold-blooded enough to be with the snake.”

The two guards closest to Syvan chuckle. I don’t recognize them; they’re probably part of his army. I remember what Petrys said about most of Syvan’s army traveling to the west, then glance at the guards with renewed interest. Perhaps I could take them out on the town, gambling and drinking, and get the full story from them.

The music changes abruptly, and the guards suddenly stand at full attention. Lilias and I turn to see King Malrik sweeping into the courtyard, surrounded by armed guards and attendants doing everything but throwing rose petals on the ground at his feet. I grit my teeth as the crowd applauds.