The Beginning of Everything (The Rising Book 1)

by Kristen Ashley

  He was Lord of the Arbor. He was an aristocrat. His very veins flowed with royal blood. And he was married to the daughter of a king.

  Yes, Johan was enraged.

  And he very much hoped his Silence and her brute, Cassius and his warrior, poor True and that slut he had to marry, and the King of the Sea and his bride could quell the Beast.

  Because after they did, Johan was going to make a king beg.

  And he was going to use his daughter to do it.

  Though, as Johan stormed down the hall in the direction the king took, toward the stairs, he thought he would not wait for the defeat of the Beast.

  King Mars was falling in love with his daughter.

  And that gave Johan power.

  And he was going to use it.

  26

  The King’s Bedchamber

  Lady Silence Mattson

  The King’s Bedchamber, Second Floor, West Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City

  FIRENZE

  After dinner, when I walked up the stairs and arrived at the top, I did not turn left to go to my rooms.

  I stopped and looked right.

  Mars’s rooms were at the very end of that hall.

  Or what I knew were Mars’s rooms, now, since I noted all the clamor of the servants when the queen had moved to our end of the hall.

  And although I’d finally had a rather thorough tour of the palace and had been there for days, I’d never seen his rooms.

  And the day after tomorrow, we would be wed.

  He was behind closed doors in his meeting room, apparently something important (and time consuming) was happening, so he, nor any of the kings or princes or Queen Ophelia, had joined us for dinner.

  I should not do what I was thinking about doing.

  And in thinking about doing it, I could not blame the influence of smoke. It had worn off some time ago.

  Though I’d had one more glass of wine than I usually did at dinner that evening.

  But it wasn’t that either.

  It was about her monkey.

  And the fact that the night after tomorrow, I would be married.

  I looked left, then right again, noting, as guests were retiring, the servant boys were busy (thus not in the hall), seeing to bedtime needs.

  This being the case, I quickly stole down the hall, checking over my shoulder repeatedly.

  When I arrived at the closed door to his room, I knocked (just in case), quietly (because I didn’t want anyone to hear).

  His voice didn’t come through the door telling me to enter.

  I entered anyway.

  And for a second, I was immobilized.

  After I realized I was standing in his open bedchamber door, I shut it behind me and stood there staring.

  I had a small bathing pool off my rooms.

  But this before me…

  This was not small.

  It could have all the ladies in it, times about three!

  It was tiled in black and emerald tiles, these tiles inside the pool and all along the floor. The walls around it were a warm peach. There were four lounges down the sides that were more like double-wide divans. There were also four pots with actual trees growing out of them (though they were small and artfully trimmed, they still were trees). Cushions scattered on the floor. Beautiful ceramic vases from which sprung fresh flowers.

  It was enthralling.

  Though as much as it was, I couldn’t stand, staring at Mars’s bathing pool, what would soon be my bathing pool.

  I had to hurry, take my look and leave.

  He could arrive at any moment, and even though I could easily call my shadow to hide me, I didn’t want to take even a slim chance getting caught.

  So I walked in, looked left through an archway, and I felt my mouth drop open as I wandered that way.

  Opulence.

  More peach walls. Fluffy divans. Cushions. Tables scattered here and there. Lamps scattered. Intricate hanging chandeliers. Silks and velvets and rich furs and flowing beaded tassels.

  There were plenty of places to sit and read.

  Plenty more places to lounge and have hundreds, thousands (more!) conversations between husband and wife.

  Or perhaps I’d ask Nyx and Zosime to attend me and I’d share time with my new girlfriends there.

  And there was a desk in the room at a corner facing out. It was not as large as the one downstairs in Mars’s study. But it was large and ornately carved and kingly.

  I moved to it thinking he could work while I read, and when we were done, together we could…

  I stopped thinking beyond that and saw he did, indeed, work up here. There were parchments and scrolls on the desk, as well as two silver pens engraved with some designs, all of this scattered on top. Three inkpots. And four different colored waxes for sealing, one black, one red, one green and one gold. There were also two different stamps.

  I lifted one and looked at the bottom. It was a snake. The other, a lick of flame.

  I wondered what each stamp was used for and each color of wax or if he just used them at his fancy.

  I’d ask.

  One day.

  And he’d answer.

  Because I’d be his wife and I should know such things.

  And I could not deny that this thought made me feel oddly giddy.

  In that moment, however, I could not give in to feeling giddy. I had a whole other room to explore as Mars’s rooms took over the entire end of the west wing.

  I scurried across the room, seeing what I hadn’t before, bookshelves encased on either side of the wall that led to the archway to the pool, and they were filled with books.

  I smiled to myself, even more giddy in the knowledge that I would get to peruse those later, and darted across the tiled floor of the bathing room, through some sheer black curtains…

  And I was in the bedchamber.

  “Faith,” I breathed.

  An enormous bed on a podium up three steps. These steps were carpeted in a snowy-white fur. The bed had an overhang that came down from the ceiling painted in blacks and reds with accents of gold. From the corners of the overhang, black sheers fell, bunched to blossom a little more than halfway up the bedposts. An apricot velvet padded headboard. Dozens of pillows at the head. Luxurious furs as covers.

  The floor was black marble and it gleamed so brightly, I fancied I could look down and it would mirror my face.

  Tufted footstools. More divans. Mirrored chests. Vases with fresh flowers.

  It wasn’t opulence.

  It wasn’t lavishness.

  It was sumptuous.

  I quickly moved to the two arches on the wall facing east and shoved aside the sheer black curtains that covered one.

  More sumptuousness.

  A dressing room. Velvet covered daybed. Furs for rugs. Shelves of clothes, boots, sandals. Gilt-edged mirrors. All in black with accents of gold and red.

  I moved to the other arch.

  This would be mine.

  I knew because it was the same, except much more feminine, in apricots with accents of red and gold.

  There was a door at the back.

  Likely where Tril would be (I hoped, we didn’t like to be far from one another).

  I turned back to the room.

  So he gave me a monkey.

  And he gave me a palace.

  And he gave me his attention.

  And he thought I was beautiful.

  I did not know what would be my part in quelling the Beast.

  I just was beginning to think that, at the side of the King of Firenze, I would find the courage to do just about anything.

  On that thought, I heard the door to the chamber open.

  “Balls,” I whispered, felt the tingle along my back, threw out my arm and gathered my shadow around me, hurrying across the large room as Mars strode in, pulling his hide shirt over his head.

  I stutter-stepped at the view of his chest.

  He dropped this shirt to the floor, looked right at me, stopp
ed abruptly, and said, “Silence?”

  Erm.

  What?

  I noticed the air undulating all around.

  My shadow was up.

  How did he know I was there?

  “Silence,” he growled, striding to me, his long legs meaning he was to me in a thrice.

  His big hands fell on my shoulders and then they moved to cup the sides of my neck as he bent to me.

  “Is all well?”

  His handsome face with its scars and piercings was filled with concern.

  “You can see me?” I whispered.

  “Yes, piccolina, you’re standing right here,” he replied, giving my neck a wee squeeze.

  I dropped the shadow, but when I did, Mars’s brows inched together, and his head twitched as if he’d seen it go but he didn’t know what it was.

  Only I could see it go.

  How could he see it go?

  “Mars,” I called, and he focused again on me.

  “Do your piercing hurt?” he demanded.

  “Erm…no.”

  “Mama gave you a draught?”

  I nodded.

  “And one for tonight, so you can sleep without discomfort?” he asked.

  I nodded again.

  “You must leave the hoops in, Silence,” he ordered. “And sleep on your back or your left side so they don’t snag the pillows and cause you pain.”

  And again, I nodded.

  “Did your father upset you?” he queried.

  I shook my head, now confused.

  “No,” I answered. “Why would he do that?”

  “I just saw him in the hall. He was being vexing.”

  Oh dear.

  Father being vexing to Mars.

  “What did he do?” I queried.

  “It matters not. Now, what are you doing in my bedchamber?”

  Erm…

  How to explain this?

  “Silence,” he prompted.

  “I wanted to see,” I blurted.

  Now it was he who looked confused.

  And truly…

  How could he make confused look handsome and manly?

  “See what?” he inquired.

  “Where I would, erm…be sleeping.”

  “Ah,” he murmured, lifting up but not taking his hands from me.

  He then studied me with a mixture of tenderness, concern and something I didn’t understand.

  To stop him from doing that as it was making me feel strange, I noted, “You haven’t mentioned what you think about my piercings.”

  “They are beautiful,” he declared, shifting a hand to cup my jaw so he could reach out with a thumb to gently touch the hoop at my lip. “And they will be even more beautiful threaded with my chain.”

  I hoped he thought so.

  “You were right. It didn’t hurt. Just a tinge,” I told him.

  “Mm,” he hummed in a way I felt in my belly.

  “The ceremony almost made me weep,” I shared.

  At that, he looked surprised, then everything left his expression.

  That was everything, except the tenderness.

  “This heartens me,” he said softly.

  “And Piccola is just wonderful,” I went on.

  “Piccola?”

  “My wee monkey.”

  His eyes went soft as did his mouth.

  And that was even more handsome.

  It might be the handsomest of all.

  “You’re pleased?” he asked.

  I nodded but admitted, “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “You gave me this.” He touched his thumb to my hoop again.

  “Yes, I know. But for our wedding.”

  His brow went up. “The bride gives her husband a gift at the wedding in your realm?”

  “No, I mean, yes. They both do. Bride and groom.”

  “How odd,” he murmured.

  I brightened.

  “So you haven’t gotten me anything so I don’t have to rush to a bazaar tomorrow to find something special for you?”

  He bent to me again, putting his face in mine. “My Silence, shall we just say that we’ve already exchanged our gifts? You will take my chain. And I have given you Piccola.”

  “I think that would be…that would be…” I couldn’t catch a thought with his face that close, his body that close, his hands on me…in his bedchamber.

  “It would be…?” he prompted when I got lost in how black his eyes were.

  They were like liquid.

  “Good,” I forced out.

  “Mm,” he hummed again, lifted up, touched his lips to my forehead, I felt the tickle of his beard, his soft lips, and I froze.

  True kissed my forehead.

  On the rare occasion I did something about which my father approved (this was a grand total of two times in my life), my father kissed my forehead.

  When I was younger and shorter, my mother kissed my forehead.

  I didn’t like Mars kissing my forehead.

  “I shall walk you to your bedchamber,” he announced.

  I didn’t want to go to my bedchamber.

  I wanted to…

  I didn’t know.

  “How did my father vex you?” I asked the skin of his chest.

  His hand at my jaw slid down to cup my neck again, but his thumb still moved, this time to stroke my jaw.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured.

  My eyes dropped to his stomach, and I saw the boxes there.

  How did he get those?

  I could not say I’d seen many men’s chests.

  But I’d never seen those.

  “I don’t like my father vexing you,” I mumbled.

  “As it wasn’t you who vexed me, I’ll share again, mia bellezza, it doesn’t matter.

  His beauty.

  And he was going to be my beauty.

  Without me willing it to do so, mesmerized in some way by his flesh, I lifted a hand and touched it to one of the dents in his belly.

  He sucked in breath.

  I didn’t notice.

  “But I do like your bedchamber,” I muttered.

  “I’m glad,” he said in a voice that sounded strange—deeper, thick.

  I slid the tip of my finger down the center groove, which was the deepest.

  “Silence,” he whispered.

  “How do you get your belly to look like this?” I whispered back, sweeping my finger along a side dip under a swell.

  “Silence.”

  That wasn’t thick

  It was hoarse.

  I tipped my head back at the sound.

  And with one look at him, my body caught fire.

  “Mars,” I breathed.

  “I would kiss you,” he murmured, staring fixedly at my mouth.

  “I would like you to kiss me,” I whispered back, veering inexorably toward his body.

  He stopped me by putting his finger under my chin, tipping my head back farther, dipping his down, and touching his lips to mine.

  He then retreated.

  As other suitors retreated who stole a kiss.

  A peck on the mouth.

  Then gone.

  “Oh,” I mumbled.

  “Oh?” he asked.

  I looked into his eyes. “I um, well, yes. Thank you. That was nice.”

  “Nice?”

  Oh dear.

  He didn’t look happy.

  “Do you play games?” he queried.

  My brow furrowed, and I answered. “No.”

  His eyes moved over my face a moment before he asked another question.

  “Do you truly want my kiss?”

  Taking in his expression, I wasn’t so certain.

  “Come here, piccolina,” he ordered.

  “I’m here, Mars.”

  He bent low, wrapped an arm around my waist, and drew me against his body.

  “Oh,” I breathed.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Oh.”

  He felt hard against me.

  Not only his body (whic
h was hard) but a certain part of his body (which was hard and pressing into me).

  “This is what your touch does to me, Silence,” he said.

  “All right,” I whispered.

  “Does it frighten you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I admitted quietly.

  “I will fix that.”

  I didn’t know if that was possible.

  “All right,” I repeated.

  “I’m going to kiss you now. A kiss that is not…nice.”

  Eep!

  “All right.”

  He pulled me up to my toes as his hand at my neck tilted my head far, far back with a thumb at the hinge of my jaw.

  And his head came down.

  He pressed his lips to mine and he did this firmly.

  His lips were strong, yet soft. I liked the feel of them. The prickle of his beard. The smell of him all around me. The touch of his tall, powerful body against mine. The heat of his skin. Even the sting at my piercing.

  I relaxed into him and lifted my arms to put my hands on his shoulders.

  He touched the tip of his tongue to my lips.

  My body jerked, and my head came back.

  His hand sifted up into my hair to cup the back of my head and hold me steady.

  And his lips came back to mine.

  “Open your mouth for me,” he murmured against them.

  “W-why?” I asked nervously.

  “Because you will take my tongue.”

  I would?

  Was that what he meant days before when he caught me to tell me he did not like me running from him?

  I would take his tongue in my mouth?

  “No, my Silence,” he whispered, reading my thoughts. “You will take my tongue in your mouth and you will also take other parts of me there.”

  His arm around me fit me tighter to him, namely a certain part of him, making his point, and I felt my lips part as I stared into his eyes.

  “You do not mean this parting for me,” he muttered, his gaze again at my lips. “But I will take it.”

  He then angled his head, his lips pressed to mine, and his tongue swept inside.

  Oh, oh, oh…

  But he tasted…

  Heavenly.

  I whimpered and melted into him, arching my back, drifting my fingers up and into his thick hair.

  He growled down my throat, slanted my head farther, leaned deeper forward, bending me over his arm, taking me to the tips of my toes, and he tangled his tongue with mine.

  His was…