Page 48 of Queen of War and Ruin

Zarek sinks his fingers into my hair as he fills me again, slowly, rocking against my hips, making my entire body tremble, pushing me up against the edge of too much, far too much, then pulling back again, leaving me begging with wordless gasps again and again, my hands sinking into the wine-soaked carpet, my breath ragged, and my gods, it has to be too much, it feels too good, and still, I want more, more, more. He drives into me, his fist in my hair, and it’s too much and not enough, I can’t take it, I can’t⁠—

Ecstasy crashes through my body, shattering every part of me. I think I’m screaming, calling his name or maybe cursing it, as I fall apart. The room goes dark as my body lets go, the rush of pleasure carrying me away.

Zarek pulls back, cursing, and the heat of his seed hits my thighs. So I don’t have to drink the potion, my numbed brain whispers. Blayne always spilled his seed inside of me, but Zarek doesn’t dare. His voice comes back to me from that morning in the garden in Dungal. Women die from that godsdamned sludge.

I swallow hard as my pleasure recedes. Whatever else he does or doesn’t want with me, at least my husband doesn’t want me to die.

There’s no sound in the room but our desperate panting. The scent of sweat and sex mingles with the spilled wine all around me. Zarek comes to his feet, brings me a towel, and then sits down next to me and pulls me into his arms.

He’s still wearing his shirt. I smile at the absurdity of that, then thread my fingers through the laces on his chest. We sit together on the carpet, my head against his shirt, his arms wrapped around my shoulders.

There are so many things I want to say to him, so many questions we need to answer together. But fear pulls my throat tight as the lamps fade and the room fills with shadows, and I can’t bring myself to say even a single word.

Eventually, Zarek helps me to my feet, and we stagger together to the bed. He pulls the covers back, and I sink into the sheets, my eyelids so heavy I can barely hold them open. He tugs the covers over me.

And then I hear the door open, and close, as my husband leaves me. Again.

Chapter 27

Zarek

DICE

Idon’t dare look back as I grab the half-empty bottle of wine from the soaked rug and leave the room.

Because, damn it, Lilias was right. It was a long, hard trip, crossing the mountains while the three royal guards from Marion looked at me like they were trying to determine the most painful way to kill me. Waking in the night, listening for the whimper of her voice, wishing I could pull her from the swamps of her nightmares but knowing my company was the last thing she wanted.

And I am exhausted. Hells, I was almost asleep on the wine-soaked rug with Lilias curled in my arms when I heard footsteps and low, muttered voices in the hallway outside. When I remembered where I was and all the many horrible mysteries around us that I need to solve before they can stab us in the back.

Shit. I pull the door closed behind me and whisper a prayer under my breath. As if the gods from my childhood could protect the woman inside.

I run my hands through my hair, messing it up, then tip the bottle and splash red wine on my cloak. The guards and servants aren’t going to want to talk to me. It would be better if I could pass as a royal guard myself, someone from Marion who just wants to trade gossip. But enough of the castle staff saw me seated next to Lilias to know I’m no guard. So, I’ll have to disguise myself as the next best thing: a drunken idiot nobleman.

I take a deep breath, then start to stagger down the hallway, acting like I’m painfully drunk. I stop at the stairs, lean against the wall, and slosh what’s left of the wine onto the floor before descending to the third floor as loudly as possible.

All of the doors to the northern wing of the castle are still closed. I lurch toward them, humming tunelessly under my breath, trying to channel every drunk nobleman I’ve ever seen stumbling through the halls of Vsenrog like they own the place.

The first door I try is locked. I frown at it like it’s personally offended me, then drag myself to the next door. It swings open on a brightly lit hallway. There’s a guard standing in the middle of the hall.

“What in the hells are you doing?” the guard growls.

“This’s my room,” I slur defiantly.

“Right,” the guard replies. “Your room’s up the stairs, your lordship.”

He probably assumes I’m drunk enough not to notice the sarcasm dripping off his words. I blink at him like the room is spinning.

“Right,” I finally say. “Course.”

I bring the bottle to my lips, then act surprised that it’s empty. He stares at me for another heartbeat, and then I turn to leave. The door slams closed behind me.

The bastards are hiding something in that northern wing. Or someone.

I go back to the staircase and listen. If they have other visitors, that means new guards, new servants, new attendants. And that means new opportunities to drink together, gossip, and gamble. Probably in the kitchens.

I stomp my way down the stairs, acting oblivious, following those thin threads of conversation as they float through the air. Sure enough, they bring me to the kitchens.

The crowd of guards and servants sitting together in the palace kitchens all freeze when I stumble through the doors. I glance around the place blearily, sizing it up.