Page 66 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Malrik sweeps up the dais, past us, and to his throne. Then he turns to face the crowd. He begins his usual speech, full of awkward double entendres about planting seeds and vague appeals to the wholesome lives of those who work the soil, none of whom are in this crowd, of course. The farming villages will have their own planting festivals, filled with laughter and honey cakes and dancing by the firelight. I remember my mother, with ribbons in her hair, spinning as my father clapped⁠—

“And we have our own royal union to celebrate this year,” Malrik continues, waving his hand at me.

The crowd gives a smattering of applause. I nod at the wealthy nobles and palace artisans, most of whom already look bored.

“The union of Vsenrog and Marion,” Malrik declares, “represented by our own fine Prince Zarek and Princess Lilias, the only daughter of the king of Marion, may the gods grant him peace.”

Lilias’s hand tightens around my arm. Asking for the gods to grant peace is usually done after someone has died, but hells, it’s not like anyone in this crowd is going to argue with Malrik.

“Come now,” Malrik says, watching me with a gleam in his eyes that I don’t particularly care for, “show us the merry union of our kingdoms!”

It takes me a heartbeat to understand what he’s asking. Then, as the crowd continues to clap politely, I lean toward Lilias and brush my lips against her cheek.

Malrik sputters like I’ve just told a bad joke.

“Zarek, please,” the king spits. “Is that any way to begin your Unity Tour?”

I inhale slowly. I have a very bad feeling about this. Malrik turns back to the crowd as Syvan watches me, his black eyes like two stones on the back of my neck.

“Yes,” Malrik begins, as if he’s answering a question no one asked, “this is a great day for Vsenrog! We are finally reunited with Marion, who has long been a part of this proud kingdom.”

Lilias’s breath catches. Her arm trembles against me. I wrap my hand over hers.

“To celebrate this historic occasion,” Malrik continues, “Prince Zarek, who took shelter in Vsenrog’s might as a young boy and has grown into a respected member of my court⁠—”

He doesn’t call me son, I note. He’s not claiming parentage right now.

“And the lovely Princess Lilias, pride of her ailing father,” Malrik says, sweeping a hand at us without taking his eyes off the crowd, “will be touring the western borders to spread our beautiful message of unity between the kingdoms. What better way to celebrate an alliance? And a marriage?”

The applause is a bit more robust this time. I wonder how much gold this crowd has to gain if Malrik somehow manages to seize control of the new gold mine in Marion.

“Just think of this,” Malrik continues, smiling at the crowd, “as my honeymoon present.”

More applause. Laughter. I feel like I’m watching the scene unfold from somewhere far, far away. The fallen kingdom of Dungal, perhaps.

This explains the new clothes, and Lilias asking where we’re going. Malrik is sending us away on a ridiculous honeymoon tour.

He must want to get rid of me for some reason. But why does he want Lilias out of the palace as well? My mind spins, and for one frantic moment, I’m searching the crowd for Petrys, although I damn well know he’s too smart to show his face at the palace Planting Festival.

King Malrik turns his predatory eyes to me.

“Now, Prince Zarek,” he says. “The two of you represent the unity between our two kingdoms. You’d better kiss your wife like you mean it.”

There’s a hard glint in his pale eyes, and I’m suddenly certain the beautiful dress really was meant to torture me. My earlier words to Lilias come back to haunt me. He thinks he can make me dance.

I turn away from the king, bend toward my wife, and kiss her like I mean it.

Chapter 37

Lilias

ALL A SHOW

Idon’t have time to react. My mind is still stuck on what the king of Vsenrog just said; reunited with Marion. Ailing father. Unity Tour.

And then Zarek spins to face me, and his lips touch mine, and every thought I’ve ever had vanishes like smoke.

I’m dimly aware of cheering and clapping, of the band playing some variation on the wedding song that thrummed through the chapel when I walked down the aisle. Zarek’s lips are soft but firm, insistent, pleading for me to open. His hand closes around my fingers, like he’s trying to give me a message.