The Inadequate Heir, page 17
“The men don’t,” he murmured. “But the women understand it well enough to make up for our idiocy.”
She snorted, because the women of his country were forbidden to fight. “Maridrinian women are weak.”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “They are stronger than you could possibly imagine.” Then one eye opened, regarding her from the shadows. “Do you have siblings?”
A dangerous question, given that too many details would make her identity an easy guess, as there were few senior female officers in the Valcottan garrison, and she had the highest ranking. “Isn’t ours a union resting on anonymity, Maridrina?”
He lifted one shoulder, and then closed his eyes, sighing as she continued to trail her fingers over the muscles of his back.
She found herself wanting to tell him. Wanting to reveal the truth of herself, despite the danger, because it seemed strange that she should feel so much for a man who knew so little about her. And she about him. “No siblings, but many cousins.” She leaned onto her right arm, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through it, the wound she’d taken in battle aching beneath its bandage. “My father died when I was a baby, and you know what happened to my mother. I was raised by one of my aunts.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached up to take hold of her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips. “I lost my own mother young. Would that it had been my father and my life might have turned out far differently.”
“You are at odds with him?”
His body shook with silent laugher. “That would be an understatement. My father is an unrepentant prick the world would be better off without. Though if you asked him, he’d no doubt say the same about me.”
Curiosity flooded her with the need to keep asking questions, but the strength of the sun was growing. And if she didn’t get back to the Anriot before dawn shifted to day, she’d be stuck on the Maridrinian side until nightfall. There was no way Yrina could hide her absence for that long. “I need to go.”
His brow furrowed, and he rolled onto his back, tugging her on top of him. Desire burned across her skin as she felt him harden beneath her. “Once more,” he said under his breath. “We’ll be quick.”
“It’s not once been quick,” she reminded him, but he only lifted her hips, lowering her onto his cock, her aching body shuddering as he filled her. A beam of dawn light peeked through the curtains, and she reached up to pull them wide, wanting to see him at least once without the cloak of shadows.
He turned his face away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut against the brilliance. “Stay all day.” His hips moved against hers. “And all night.”
“I’ll be missed.” Sorrow filled her chest because all she wanted to do was to say yes. To stay here with him and ask him all the questions that burned in her heart.
He sighed, turning his far-too-beautiful face into the sunlight. “As will I.”
And then he opened his eyes.
The glow of the dawn revealed what neither moonlight nor lamplight ever had: irises of such a deep azure blue that it was like staring into the depths of a shifting sea. A color so rich and vibrant that it was almost inhuman. The sight of it sent a shock through Zarrah’s body as sure as if she’d been doused with icy water. For the Maridrinian’s eyes were the identical color to those of the man who’d looked at her and laughed while he’d slaughtered her mother.
Words of a report long forgotten filled her mind: Shoulder-length blond hair. Medium height and light build. Eyes of Veliant blue.
Zarrah’s throat closed, but she still managed to get out, “You’re Keris Veliant.”
His jaw tightened. Reaching up, he jerked the curtain closed so that they were again concealed by shadow. “I was under the impression we weren’t doing names, Valcotta.”
Oh God, what had she done? “Just tell me the truth.”
“What difference does it make?”
All the difference. All the difference in the world. “Tell me!”
He was silent, and her heart skittered in her chest, part of her hoping against hope that she was wrong. That he was someone else entirely. But then he met her gaze. “Yes. I’m Keris Veliant.”
Zarrah recoiled, almost falling off the bed as she scrambled away from him, her skin icy cold and her vision pulsing in and out of focus. What had she done? What had she done?
He followed her off the bed. “What does it matter what my name is?”
“It matters.” Zarrah could barely get the words out, the world shifting as though she stood on a rocking ship, none of her clothes seeming to be where she’d left them.
“Why?” he demanded. “I’m the same man as I was before. The same man you spent the better part of the night fucking, I might add.”
She flinched, covering up the motion by dragging on her trousers, trying not to think about the stickiness of her skin. Trying not to think of how she’d spent the night not in the arms of just a Maridrinian but in the arms of the future king of Maridrina. How the son of her greatest enemy had tasted every inch of her. Had spilled himself into her. Oh God, what if she got with child?
Bile surged up her throat, and Zarrah just barely managed to get to the side table to grab the basin sitting on top of it before she heaved her guts into it. Her eyes stinging, she turned to look at him. “I would never have done this if I’d known who you were. You are more my enemy than anyone in Nerastis.”
Not some hapless nobleman forced into service against his will, but the crown prince in command of Maridrina’s forces. Her opponent in every possible way. Not just a stupid decision, but a treasonous one. Her aunt would have her executed if this was ever discovered, and as it was, her honor would never forgive this.
“I am not my father.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “You more than anyone know that.”
“I didn’t go to your palace to burn it, Veliant,” she whispered. “I came to put a knife in your heart. And if I’d done so, my actions would’ve seen the Empress heap me with accolades for striking a blow against the Rat King, whereas now I should fall on my own sword for the shame of what I’ve done.”
“Then kill me now.” He was across the room in a flash, scooping up a fallen dagger as he went, forcing it into her hand. Gripping her fingers tight over the hilt and then pressing it to his throat. “Do it,” he repeated, azure eyes liquid bright. “But know that my father will lift a cup of wine in your honor for ridding him of me.”
Do it, a voice whispered inside her. Redeem what honor you have left.
His breath was warm against her face, the lips that had kissed hers so reverently all night thinned with tension as he stared into her eyes, daring her to do it.
Zarrah’s hand quivered. It wasn’t that she’d spent a night in the arms of the Crown Prince of Maridrina that had shaken her to the core; it was all the nights that had come before. All the things that he’d said. That she’d said.
That in the saying, Zarrah had fallen for him in a way she’d never fallen before.
She straightened her fingers, the blade slipping through them to drop to the floor. “I’m going. And let this be as though it never happened.”
As if such a thing were possible.
Slipping around him, she gathered the rest of her things and headed to the door. Only to find him standing there ahead of her, trousers on and hand holding the planks of wood shut.
“You can’t go out there now, Valcotta. The sun is up and the midnight truce is over. If you’re caught, it won’t go well.”
“I won’t get caught.” Even in the daylight, the rooftops would be safe. No one ever looked up.
“Valcotta …”
“Do not stand in my way, Veliant,” she hissed. “You have no right.”
His fingers flexed against the door as though he were considering arguing, but it was he who looked away first. “Be careful.”
“It isn’t your problem.”
Not allowing him the opportunity to say more, Zarrah yanked open the door and then slammed it shut behind her, striding swiftly down the corridor to the stairs. The greasy man remained at the front desk, and he gave her a lascivious smile as she passed, mumbling, “I’ve always preferred Valcottan girls.”
He deserved a broken nose, but she couldn’t risk putting him in his place. Not with the sun fully in the sky and her very much in enemy territory.
Stepping outside, she blinked against the bright sunlight, nausea twisting in her belly and her head starting to throb. The streets of Nerastis were quiet, but in the distance, she could hear the sounds of hoofbeats: Maridrinian soldiers already on patrol.
Hurrying down the length of the building, Zarrah moved into an alley and climbed onto a stack of crates to gain access to the rooftops, then moved swiftly across them in the direction of the Anriot.
The smells of cooking mixed with the scents of chamber pots being emptied into the streets, but she paid them little mind, relying instead on her ears to guide her away from threats, all her thought for picking the voices of soldiers and the hoofbeats of horses out from the shrieks of babies. Of women shouting at men to rouse themselves. Of men returning their own forms of abuse on the women. She felt dizzy and unwell, her balance off, and her body weak.
You fell for Silas Veliant’s son.
The thought distracted her as she leapt between rooftops, and her foot slipped. Biting off a scream, Zarrah flailed her arms as she fell, landing hard on a pile of crates. The wood shattered, pain lancing through her, but she scrambled to her feet, knowing she needed to move quickly.
As she started to climb, a voice from the front of the alley caught her attention, and she turned to find a man flanked by soldiers, his face familiar. “Well, now,” he said, eyes full of recognition. “Look who we have here.”
HIS EARS FILLED with a roaring sound as she abandoned the room, leaving him alone with nothing but the remembrance of her reaction in his head. The horror in her eyes when she’d realized his identity, how her disgust had caused her to spill her guts, everything that had passed between them washed away by his name. By the fucking blue eyes he’d inherited from his father and the legacy that came with them.
“I hate you!” He slammed his fist against the wall, his knuckles splitting and agony racing up his wrist. But the pain was nothing compared to his hatred for his father. A hundred miles away, and still, he took everything Keris ever cared about.
Ever loved.
Doubling over, he sucked in breath after breath, his stomach twisting with hurt that she’d left and fear that she was out in his half of the city alone, everything about her making her a target. But there had been no stopping her.
Valcotta was not a woman to be contained, but he still had to fight the urge to go after her. Had to fight the urge to tail her across the city to ensure she got across the Anriot safely.
What if she doesn’t make the jump?
Bile rose in his stomach, and Keris clenched his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She can do it, he silently told himself. She’s capable—she proved that much last night.
And as it was, his own absence had inevitably been noticed. He’d told Aileena that if he were ever discovered gone from her rooms she should say that he’d left to go back to the palace, which meant if he didn’t arrive there soon, Otis would start a search. Which would only complicate matters for Valcotta.
Swiftly donning his clothing, Keris headed downstairs.
“You’re late,” the pig at the desk said. “That’ll be an extra copper.”
It was tempting to tell the bastard to fuck himself, but instead Keris flung a handful of coins at his face, limiting himself to the satisfaction of watching a silver coin bounce hard off the man’s greasy forehead as he exited the building.
The rising sun was already hot, not a cloud in the sky to mute its blinding rays, and he pulled up his hood as much to shield his eyes as his identity as he strode through the streets toward his broken palace.
I would never have done this if I’d known who you were. You are more my enemy than anyone in Nerastis.
He felt sick, in need of sleep and an entire pitcher of water, his throat dry as dust, his eyes burning. But it was grief that choked him, drowning his anger and leaving him hollow.
There would be no more nights meeting her at the dam. No more conversation with what seemed the only person in this cursed city he could actually talk to. And never again would he have the chance to touch her perfect skin, to kiss those lips, to bury himself between her thighs, the wild pleasure of the prior night unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
What did you expect? he asked himself. Your name is poison, and everything you touch turns to rot.
Ahead, the gates to the palace loomed, and though all was quiet, there was a tension in the air that didn’t exist during the midnight truce. The people who were already out and going about their business had a caution to them, knowing full well that with the sun in the sky, either side might be priming for an attack.
Stopping in front of the gate, Keris pulled back his hood, the eyes of the guards on duty widening in recognition and shock. “Your Highness,” one of them said as they opened the gate. “We’ve been searching for you all morning. Prince Otis is scouring the riverfront.”
Shit. “Too much wine,” he answered. “I fell asleep on my way back.”
One of his father’s generals approached, his thick arms crossed over his monstrous chest. The huge man cleared his throat, and Keris girded himself for whatever chiding would come from wandering the city without an escort, but instead the man said, “We received word that the Ithicanian king has been captured and is being brought to Vencia.”
Captured. Keris cared little for Aren Kertell himself, what he’d learned about the man from Raina not endearing the Ithicanian king to him in any way, but his stomach clenched at what it meant for Ithicana. Whether he was worthy or not, Aren’s people followed him, and without his leadership, their resistance to the Maridrinian invaders might crumple. Which was logically what he should want, except the thought of his father triumphing—of him becoming the Master of the Bridge, in truth—made Keris want to vomit. “I see.”
“With the capture, your father foresees an end to the conflict in Ithicana, which means we’ll have the resources to escalate our own situation. To take back the southern half of Nerastis from the Valcottans. It is your father’s will that you commit yourself to achieving this particular end.”
Commit himself to war.
Keris’s head began to throb, and he rubbed at one temple. “Let’s wait until our hold on Ithicana is certain before biting off more than we can chew with the Valcottans. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
A loud commotion from outside caught his attention, shouts and cries of triumph splitting the air. Keris turned to see Otis striding in his direction, a wide grin on his brother’s face. Which was rather unexpected, given that Otis had been out hunting for him. “Of all the days for you to be up at this hour, Keris, this was the one to do it. We’ve caught ourselves quite the prize.”
His gaze skipped past his brother to the pair of his soldiers dragging a figure between them dressed in Valcottan garments. The individual had a sack over her head, but that didn’t stop him from recognizing the slender brown arms that were bound at the wrist. Arms that had been wrapped around him not an hour ago.
Keris’s stomach dropped, his skin turning to ice as she was forced to her knees in front of him, her wrists bleeding from the tight ropes and arms marked with livid red blotches that would turn to wicked bruises, the wound on her arm no longer bandaged but torn open and bleeding.
“Caught her in an alley on her way to the Anriot,” Otis said. “She put up quite the fight, but we were able to subdue her.”
“Who is she?” The words slipped out, a question Keris had asked himself a thousand times but now one he wished he’d never have an answer to.
“The most powerful woman in Nerastis.” Otis jerked the sack off to reveal the face Keris saw in his dreams. The face of the woman he’d fallen for in a way he hadn’t believed possible.
Otis caught Valcotta by the hair, jerking her head back. “Allow me to introduce General Zarrah Anaphora.”
SHE STARED UP at him, though it was hard to see with one of her eyes swollen shut and her brain fuzzy from the blows she’d taken. But she heard the Maridrinian clear enough as he said, “Who harmed her?”
The princeling who’d captured her frowned. “What difference does it make? She fought back. This is Zarrah Anaphora, Keris. She’s the Empress of Valcotta’s niece. The heir apparent. Do you know what a blow to the Valcottans her capture will be?”
“Not as big a blow as us catapulting her back across the Anriot, piece by piece,” one of the soldiers said, and the rest of them laughed, their eyes full of murder. Zarrah struggled not to flinch, because she knew they’d do it. Had seen them do it.
“No,” the Maridrinian—Crown Prince Keris, she reminded herself—said after a long pause, his brow furrowing, “that won’t be what we are doing.”
“Now isn’t the time to get squeamish, Keris,” Otis hissed. “This bitch killed Rask.”
Keris gave a weary sigh. “It’s not the manner in which you wish to execute her that concerns me, Otis, but rather that you intend to kill her at all.”
Otis. O. It had been his letters that she’d stolen and that Keris had chased her across the city to get back. Which meant it was Prince Otis, one of the most brutal murderers of her people since Silas himself had commanded the garrison, whom the Maridrinian held in such high regard.
“As you said,” Keris continued, “this woman is a prize second only to the Empress herself. And yet you’d spend all her worth on a few minutes of satisfaction?” He tsked. “A short-sighted decision, and I think not one Father would thank me for allowing you to make.”
