Page 68 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I jerk back, pulling away like I’ve been burned. The words of my long-ago sword-fighting instructor come back to me, floating through a numbed haze of wine.

Your opponent is most dangerous after he’s been wounded. Only then will he know you’re a threat.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer.

Syvan leans back and smiles at me. His eyes trace the curve of my breasts in a way that makes my skin crawl.

“You will,” he says.

He pushes back from the table, knocking Anura’s chair over as he goes. He steps past it, leaving it where it fell as he strides away. I stare at the chair, at the embroidered seat slowly soaking up rainwater, until a sudden change in the music drags my attention away.

It’s some sort of royal fanfare, almost like the music that announced the entrance of King Malrik. I stare blearily at the courtyard as the far gates open and several soldiers step through. They look fairly intimidating with their polished swords and bright uniforms, despite the weather.

Zarek hisses next to me. I hadn’t noticed he’d returned. I lean forward, ready to ask him what’s going on, but King Malrik descends from the dais before I can speak.

“The royal escort has arrived,” Malrik declares, sweeping his hands at the soldiers.

Behind them, a tiny, black carriage wobbles into the courtyard, pulled by two nervous-looking geldings with a pale man in the driver’s seat. A smattering of applause fills the rain-soaked courtyard. My gut shifts unpleasantly, and suddenly I regret that fourth glass of wine. Fifth glass of wine. Whatever it was.

Malrik turns toward the crowd, beaming like a proud father. “Our own Prince Zarek needs a mighty escort on this tour of unity,” he declares. His voice is so damned loud, bouncing off the stone walls of the courtyard. “And what better escort is there than my own son and liege, our dear Prince Syvan, just back from defending our eastern borders?”

The applause is a bit more robust this time. Prince Syvan steps down from the dais and sweeps back his cloak. The gold in his crown gleams in the dull light. Something tugs on my hand, and it takes me a minute to realize Zarek is pulling me to my feet.

I stand, trying not to trip on the chair Syvan knocked over beside me. The courtyard sways, and damn it, I really should have eaten something as I was drinking all that wine. I feel like all the soldiers are staring at me as Zarek leads me down the dais. The carriage in the middle of the courtyard looks like something made for a child. Who in the nine hells is going to ride in that thing?

King Malrik turns to us. He takes Zarek’s hand and shakes it.

“Thank you for spreading this message of unity,” he says, far too loudly.

He’s beaming at both of us in a way that makes me deeply uncomfortable. Malrik didn’t pay this much attention to us at the wedding, or at any other time. Hells, he scarcely acknowledged me at our wedding feast.

The king pulls away, then waves his hands at us, like he’s trying to force us together. Zarek turns to face me. He wraps his arm around my waist, and oh gods, he’s going to kiss me again.

His lips touch mine, and all the wine I drank goes straight to my head. The courtyard spins as his tongue slips between my lips. His kiss is so gentle, soft, but unyielding, like he’ll hold me here forever until I open for him.

I close my eyes and yield. It’s all for show, damn it, I know that, but I can’t stop the heat that’s building between my legs, the dull throb of arousal, the pull between us as our tongues dance together, and the crowd cheers.

Zarek steps back. His cheeks are flushed, his lips wet from our kiss. A drop of rain traces a path down his temple, past his dark, wild eyes, and for a heartbeat, that’s the only thing I notice: his eyes, his lips, and the rain.

Then he breaks our gaze and turns away. His fingers wrap around my hand, and he pulls me forward. Only then do I realize who’s going in that tiny little carriage.

We are.

Chapter 38

Zarek

THE CARRIAGE

Very funny, Malrik.

Fucking hilarious, this tiny little carriage. Lilias is practically going to be in my lap as we leave the palace, and fuck me, that’s going to be awkward.

I grit my teeth as one of Syvan’s soldiers opens the door of the carriage. I don’t know any of the men who just strode into the courtyard, and I’m certain that was deliberate. The gods only know why Malrik thinks I need this much security for his ridiculous honeymoon tour of the western border.

I should be more worried about this tour, about being shackled with Syvan and his fucking asshole soldiers. But right now, it’s hard to focus on anything other than the way Lilias’s dress hugs her curves, how rain traces a path down the cleft between her breasts, and fuck, I’m already trying to hide my stiff cock.

Lilias frowns at the door of the carriage. It’s just for a moment, a tiny flicker that tells me she also recognizes this for the joke that it is, and then she braces herself on my arm and steps into the carriage. It wobbles precariously as she pulls her voluminous skirts into the small cabin. I have a momentary vision of pulling those skirts up even further, sinking between her legs, and then tipping the whole damn thing over as I thrust inside her, losing myself in my gorgeous wife.