When he responded, he touched her in kind, the agony of need rolling over her like a molten wave. She could feel it taking him, too.
“Do you love me?” he breathed into her ear.
Stunned, it took her moment to respond. “Yes. I believe I do. Yes.”
He levered himself above her. “Good. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
The velvet brush of Zachary’s lips against her throat made Estora think that she was the delirious one, but the touches and sensations were real, present, and she became greedy, impatient, craving more, wanting it all, and he showed her he was just as eager to provide what she required, his mouth questing across her flesh, her breasts, to secret places. She grew fierce in response, straddled him, wanton and demanding, sheathing him in her with a cry of triumph.
There was no stopping the journey they were on, and despite injury and illness, the strength was in him. He burned and drove hard. He was fire against her skin.
As their pleasure crested, however, even as she rode him into brilliance, the name upon his lips was not her own.
When they parted she lay again on her back breathing hard, staring into the dark, her body thrumming, asking for more, part of her mind, however, unnerved by the revelation of who it was Zachary truly loved.
Finally, as the dark of night dulled to the subtle gray of dawn, he lay slumped by her side deeply exhausted, his arm draped across her belly. She kissed his forehead but there was no response. She too, felt tired, but sated. Every touch no longer incited flame, and she realized whatever herb Destarion had used had worn off. It was time now for rest.
Someone applauded. Estora half sat up, heart thudding and suddenly fully awake. She held the blanket to her breast. Zachary remained insensible beside her.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
“I believe you can guess,” Richmont replied, moving from the deepest corner of the chamber to stand by her side of the bed. He plucked at her blanket. “Why so modest now, my dear cousin? Your performance this night shows otherwise.”
“I thought . . .”
“We were all gone? No, I alone remained as the sole witness. I was more patient than the others, and it paid off. You were my good little cousin and completed the rite. I enjoyed it very much.” He cupped her chin in his hand. She slapped it away and he chuckled. “Still full of feisty energy after all that. And you exhausted the king. The parties concerned shall be pleased by tonight’s results. Speaking of which . . .” He pulled something, a small vial, from a pocket. “A little pig’s blood for the bed. I should not want the servants speculating as to why there was no virgin’s stain upon the sheets when they go to change them, and you know how obsessive about such details members of the court can be if they catch wind of ... irregularities.” He placed the vial on her bedside table.
Estora listened to his footsteps as he crossed the room to the door. Before he opened it, he laughed once more. “Do not worry about that other female. She will be no competition.”
She did not want to give him the satisfaction of her asking, but she could not help herself. “What do you mean?”
“A dead woman is no competition. Do remember all I do, I do for you.” With that he was through the door and it closed behind him.
Estora fell back into her pillow, now cold after her exertions, made colder still by the vile monster Richmont revealed himself to be. What additional danger had Richmont put Karigan in than what she already faced in Blackveil? All at once she was concerned for her friend, but a very human part of her almost hoped it was true so that Zachary would be hers, and hers alone.
She shuddered, and sheltered herself in the warmth of his body.
SHEDDING BLOOD FOR THE REALM
Later that morning, Estora paced in the cold light of the solarium. Zachary had given her the room in the fall as a place to call her own, a place of refuge from relatives and courtiers and endless wedding preparations. It felt a hundred years ago, the problems back then much more simple. It had been such a generous gesture. Zachary had known exactly what she needed, this retreat. And yet, she’d done little to make it her own. A few chairs, a table, some wall hangings, but nothing personal. She used the room rarely, instead spending time shadowing Zachary as he moved through his days, performing his duties as king. That had enlivened her more than hiding away.
The fireplace was dark and rain splattered the windows, blurring her view of the courtyard gardens. The gardens held such promise. It was too early in the season to see growth, but it was there beneath the mulch and fallen leaves of last autumn. All was barren now, but time would bear the fruits of rain and sun and warmth. Some birds had already returned from their wintering grounds and darted about the trees and shrubs, hunting for wrinkled berries, seeds, and grubs.
She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, missing the warmth of Zachary’s bed, of him. He’d been strong during their coupling, but so exhausted after that he hadn’t awakened. He would get well. She knew it, she believed it. He must. She’d simply wished to stay with him all morning, but there were tasks she must attend to. This first was not on the official list Cummings had handed her while she broke her fast.
A tapping came on the door.
Finally, she thought.
Fastion opened the door and stuck his head in. “Lieutenant Connly is here, my lady.”
“Let him in.”
Fastion stepped aside so the Rider could enter the solarium, then closed the door to resume his post out in the corridor.
Connly bowed, his posture hesitant, his gaze uncertain. She could not blame him.