The old woman patted her cheek. “Good girl. You can dine in here alone once you are bathed. I’m certain, after the journey from Nerastis, that you’re desperate for privacy and silence. God knows, Keris does like the sound of his own voice.” Yet as she turned, she told the guard, “Keep the door locked and under guard at all times.”
Zarrah allowed the seamstresses to measure her without comment, trying not to stare longingly at the bath as the servants filled it with steaming water and set a tray of salts and soaps and scrubs to one side of it. As soon as the seamstresses departed with their notes, she stripped off her filthy garments and stepped into the steaming water, wincing as she looked down. The poison had leached her strength, eating away at both muscle and curve, and she looked as weak as she felt. It disgusted her, so she sank under the water, all sound turning muffled.
God, how long had it been since she’d had a proper bath? Not since before she’d met Keris on the dam that fateful night. Not since he’d had her in every possible way, and she him. Beneath the water and with her eyes closed, memories of that night drifted over her. Of how he’d devoured her with a look. How he’d made her feel more powerful and alive than she had in years, if ever. How it had felt to be joined with him, not just in flesh but in thought.
That was the Maridrinian. Not Keris Veliant.
She wasn’t certain if it was because of the act he played that she couldn’t reconcile the two or that she subconsciously didn’t want to. Didn’t want the man she’d fallen for to be the same man as the one she reviled in every possible way. And it drove her to madness that in one moment, her gut told her he was on her side, and in the next, that all his words were a manipulation intended to achieve his own ends.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. If he realizes your intent, he’ll try to stop you. Because as much as Keris seemed to hate Silas, the man was still his father.
And yet… Zarrah’s hair drifted in the water, brushing against her cheeks, her eyes still closed as she remembered how he’d spoken of Silas. My father is an unrepentant prick the world would be better off without. His words whispered through her thoughts, tempting her. Making her want to trust him.
The need to breathe grew too intense to be denied, and Zarrah sat upright in the bath, gasping in a mouthful of air and ignoring the alarmed looks of the pair of servant women. Resting her chin on her knees, she squeezed her eyes shut. The words were the bluster of a man pretending to be something he is not, she thought. If he meant them, he’d have taken action long ago.
“Something to drink, my lady?” one of the servants asked, holding out a glass of wine. Zarrah accepted it, suddenly feeling more exhausted than she had since she’d been on her deathbed.
The man you fell for isn’t real, but Keris Veliant is, she told herself. He was a fabrication. An act. A pretense. Which means you didn’t fall for him at all.
Or so she would keep telling herself.
41
KERIS
Valcotta was being exceptionally agreeable.
And that made Keris exceptionally nervous.
For all she’d made no move against his father, there’d been no mistaking the murder in her eyes when she’d come face-to-face with her mother’s killer. She wanted him dead; there was no doubt. And in that, their thoughts were aligned.
It was the method that had him concerned. He’d bought her time today, but that mattered little if she got herself killed in the pursuit of honor and vengeance.
Sitting up straight, Keris winced as his spine cracked from hours of leaning over pen and paper. He was in the heir’s quarters in the tower, though this was the first time he’d been here since Rask died. His things had been brought from his residence in the city, but there were still traces of his elder brother, most notably the furniture. It was all sized as though for a giant, the bed large enough for ten, the heavy wood covered with gold leaf and the bedding vivid indigo and gold stripes.
He hated every piece of it.
But more than that, he hated being parted from Valcotta. For days upon days, he’d been at her side, and her absence, especially in this place, had his nerves on edge. Not only because she was surrounded by enemies, but because he knew her mind, at least, would not be sitting idle. Which meant it was only a matter of time until she took action.
Closing his eyes, Keris allowed his thoughts to drift, visions of Valcotta filling them. He’d seen hardened warriors reduced to tears in his father’s presence. Yet despite the bastard threatening her life and digging into the wound of her mother’s murder, Valcotta had stood defiant, never losing control. Every bit the empress she was destined to become, and the vision of her stirred heat in him that, for long days, had been tempered by circumstance.
“Idiot,” he muttered. “You’re the last man she wants anywhere near her.”
And even if it were otherwise, he’d not pursue pleasureful ends. Not because the risk of being caught was high, for that had never stopped him before, but because he refused to take anything from her while she was held prisoner.
Yet that did nothing to stop memories of their night together from filling his mind’s eye. Memories of her slowly stripping naked, of the way she’d looked at him while she’d touched herself, of the way her ragged breaths made his cock stiffen. God help him, but no woman had ever driven him wild like she had, all thought pushed from his head and replaced with the need to touch her, to taste her, to pleasure her until she screamed his name.
Except she didn’t know your name, you jackass. And if she had, she’d never have allowed you near her.
The thought was akin to having a bucket of ice water dumped on his crotch, and Keris opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, feeling a growing hollowness in his chest. It wasn’t the absence of her body that was carving his insides out; it was the absence of her voice in his ears. That was what he craved, what he needed, more than he cared to admit.
A knock sounded at the door, and rising to unbolt it, Keris bit back an annoyed sigh at the sight of the Magpie standing in the stairwell. “What do you need, Serin? I’ve been on the road, and I am weary.”
“Only a moment of your time, Your Highness.”
It was tempting to slam the door in the spymaster’s face, but Keris was curious as to what the man might want. Stepping back, he gestured into the room. “Wine?”
“Water, if you have it. I’ve work left to do tonight that requires a clear head.”
Work that probably involved torturing the King of Ithicana, but Aren Kertell was not Keris’s primary concern. “As you like.” He poured the spymaster his water and wine for himself, then settled back at his desk. Serin perched on the seat across from him.
“I understand from your father that you’re of a mind to use the Valcottan girl to negotiate with the Empress. I must say, you show more foresight than your predecessors.”
“I am more intelligent than all of them combined. Thank you for noticing.”
Serin made a face. “Indeed, although a penchant for self-aggrandizement is an attribute you all share.”