Page 67 of Bride of Ash & Dust

It’s all for show. Right?

I close my eyes and part my lips. Zarek opens for me, his tongue dancing across my lips, teasing and whispering. His mouth tilts to take me in as his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer. I remember how he looked on our wedding night, his bare chest rippling with scars in the candlelight, the impossible bulge in his tight black shorts.

His tongue thrusts inside me as his hand tightens around the fabric at the small of my back. Heat surges between my legs, drawn to him, to the pressure and pull of his body, the taste of his lips, the dance between our tongues. Gods, I begged Blayne to teach me how to kiss, but he never taught me anything like this⁠—

Zarek pulls away. He turns toward the crowd as they cheer. The applause sounds like thunder, and I realize I’m panting, trembling in his arms. His right hand slowly unwinds from the fabric at the small of my back, and his left hand releases my fingers. When he steps back, the air suddenly feels much colder.

All a show. It’s all a show, of course.

“Exactly,” King Malrik roars. “Now that’s how you show unity!”

Anura steps forward with a glass of wine in her hand. I take what she’s offering and down the entire thing.

It’s going to be a long Planting Festival.

The rain starts again as Malrik launches into another speech, and the band blares on. The fabric canopies above the dais sag under the weight of all the water. A puddle forms on the table in front of me as the cloth drips. The dancers have fled the courtyard, and now even the music sounds depressed. I’m debating having a fourth glass of wine, or maybe a fifth, when a familiar laugh catches my attention.

I turn and see Zarek talking with the guards at the far end of the dais. The men are all laughing, even as the guards shake their heads. Zarek looks so natural with them, as if he were just another soldier. Hells, that man could blend in anywhere.

“Enjoying the festivities?” someone asks from over my shoulder.

The voice makes me shiver. I turn to see a man with a crown gleaming in his golden hair. He leans in close, almost too close.

Prince Syvan. I swallow hard and try not to pull away. What was it Anura said about him? He’s not a nice person?

Syvan’s lips curl like he can read my mind.

“Speechless?” he asks as he pulls back Anura’s seat and takes it for himself. “The presence of genuine royalty can do that.”

I smile as rage beats at the inside of my skull.

“The festivities are lovely,” I reply. “Of course I’m enjoying them.”

Prince Syvan ignores me. His lips press into a hard line as he stares across the dais to where Zarek is making his guards laugh.

“I never thought he’d survive,” Syvan mutters, almost under his breath.

I force my lips closed. The wine makes the rain-soaked planks beneath my feet pitch and tilt like the deck of a ship.

“He was such a scrawny, weak little thing when he turned up here,” Syvan continues. “And then the other one died.”

“Other one?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

Syvan turns to me with a hard smile. “His attendant. Servant. Whatever. Gerrart, I believe his name was. They said the drugs were meant for Zarek, but Gerrart couldn’t stop himself. People from Dungal are weak like that. It’s why they lost the war they started.”

Syvan shrugs, like we’re discussing the weather. My heart thuds dully inside my chest. Dungal. The kingdom where Zarek was born.

I remember Zarek’s scowl when he told me he doesn’t like drugs, and suddenly, I’m thinking of what it must have been like to come to this place as a child.

“Of course, I’m sure you know all about the snake’s past,” Syvan continues. “Your marriage is the picture of unity.”

He’s staring at me with hard, sharp eyes. For the first time in hours, I remember I have a knife strapped to my thigh. I think of Princess Basili with her sad, quiet eyes, and I remember how eagerly she raised her glass when Acelina toasted to our husbands remaining at their distant posts. I smile as sweetly as I can.

“As is your own marriage, Prince Syvan,” I reply.

His expression falters, and I feel a dangerous rush of victory.

“Careful,” Syvan growls, leaning in close enough for me to smell the wine on his breath. “You and I are about to spend a lot of time together, Princess.”