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Better to get it over with as soon as possible. One less thing to do.
Taristan glanced at Ronin before Erida could, his expression tight. “Be ready to leave.”
The wizard didn’t argue, and turned in a smooth arc, his red cloak sweeping behind him. He left the long sitting room without a word, disappearing through another doorway, seeking a back stair.Only a few weeks and he knows the palace as well as my oldest servants.
It was not often that Queen Erida of Galland opened a door for herself, and she endeavored not to struggle with the thick oak ones leading to her bedchamber. They swung on greased hinges, heavier than she remembered, to reveal what looked like the heart of another cathedral.
Rugs patterned the floor, frames of priceless mirror glass decorated the walls, and curtains hung the columns and archways. Red flowers bloomed in vases, perfuming the air. A rose window illuminated the chamber, an ancient bed caught in the circle of rainbow light. In winter, curtains could be drawn around it, to insulate against the cold, but they were flung open in summer, the down pillows and brocade silk blankets difficult to ignore. Erida had never seen this room so empty or so still. With a jolt, she realized she had never been alone in her bedchamber, not once in her life.
The door shut with a snap. In spite of herself and the calm she tried to exude, Erida jumped in her skin.
Taristan dropped her hand. “This is of little use,” he grumbled, gesturing between them.
Then he shucked off the golden chain between his shoulders. His cloak fell with it, a pool of silk blood. He walked, not to the bed but to the closest window. It looked over the spires of the New Palace, beyond the walls to the river, the canals, the bridges. Ascal splayed out, served up on a plate. He looked eager to devour it whole.
Erida removed her crown with more care, laying it on a dressing table. “To me, yes,” she answered, grateful for something to argue. It would make this less strange. “But an heir would cementyourprecarious position here.”
He leaned against one of the columns, arms and ankles crossed. “A waste of time. I don’t need a child; I need Spindles,” he replied. “I’ll consider our dynasty when the Ward is won.”
The Queen scoffed and set to the pearl buttons marching down the back of her dress. They were difficult, near impossible without her fleet of maids. Taristan let her struggle, never moving from the window.
“You’re a rare man,” she said, eyeing him over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, Husband, we can only remake the world when we own it. But for now there are rules.”
The pearls unfastened, slipping through their loops, until the gown hung off her frame. Erida stepped out from it as nonchalantly as she could, clad only in her underclothes. A fine silk shift, light as a dove’s wing, left little to the imagination. Still, Taristan did not move, even when the Queen perched on the edge of the great bed.
“Make no mistake, my cousin Konegin would seize any opportunity to cast you down and annul any marriage of mine he opposes.”
“Then kill him,” he said dryly, dripping with disinterest.
Erida would be lying if she said she had not considered such a thing, especially in recent days. Konegin had his uses, but they were steadily becoming outweighed by his dangers.
“If only life were that simple,” she said, picking at her sheer skirt.Perhaps if I do away with clothing all together, I might stir him to action and get this over with.Then another thought seized her, and she snapped up her head, eyes wide as she looked over her consort. “By the gods, are you chaste, Taristan?”
His responding smile was crooked, drawn up to show a single, deep dimple in his cheek. Somehow, the scratches down his face complemented the grin. Those flat black eyes sparked, and Erida fought the urge to break his stare.
“Hardly,” he said, a hand straying to the gold clasps of his doublet. “But aren’t you? Isn’t that one of yourrules?” He cast a hand around the room, using the other to unfasten the fabric at his throat. Pale skin showed beneath.
Finally,Erida thought, gritting her teeth. She wasn’t sure which was more frustrating—her obtuse husband or the rising thud of her own heartbeat.
“Some rules are less important than others, and easier to break, if you know how,” she said dismissively. The Queen of Galland was only bound by what the court saw, and it was easier to hide dalliances than a fever or cold, with both men and women. “So get on with it, then.”
His doublet hung open, revealing his own underclothes. The neck of his shirt was unlaced, strings hanging. The planes of his bare chest stood out, sculpted like a maiden’s dream, well formed by the years. But the smooth skin was scarred in a way Erida had never seen, white lines tracing over his collarbone. As her eyes followed their paths, she realized they were his veins, standing out like roots or branching lightning. He closed the distance between them as she looked, her blue eyes wide and consuming.Is his whole body like this?She wondered.Is this the price the Spindles demand?
“Is this what you want, Erida of Galland?”
Suddenly he stood over her, glaring down, a lock of dark red hair falling over his forehead. She reached up to remove his doublet, fingers grasping at his collar, but he seized her by both wrists. His skin seared against her own, though his grip was gentle as he pulled her hands away.
“Get on with it,” she said again, a whisper this time. A plea as much as a command.
He leaned forward, coming closer. Erida could smell the tang of smoke on his skin, the new embers of flame.
Then he dropped her wrists. “Not like this.”
She didn’t move when he reached behind her, swiping pillows and blankets to the floor. Silk and fine linens peeled away, spilling off the bed at haphazard angles. He even shifted the mattress for good measure, forcing her to jump to her feet.
“What are you doing?” Erida demanded, looking between him and the ruined bed.
He didn’t answer and assessed the blankets. After a long moment, he nodded, satisfied. Then he rounded on the Queen, his focus unbroken, his eyes combing over her hair. His fingers soon followed, loosing her braids, mussing the ash-brown curls until they fell in errant waves, unkempt and out of place. Erida stared at him through it all, speechless, furious. She wanted to slap him away. She wanted to pull him closer, the heat of his fingers a threat and a promise. Taristan kept his lips pursed, his breathing even, his eyes far from her own as he worked. And, finally, he tugged at the shift, lowering one side of the collar, until a white shoulder peeked through, spotted with three small freckles few men had ever seen.
