by Maisey Yates
She knew Lazarus. When they traveled, she slept at his feet in the woods, making sure to be the one who kept guard over his body. She had pledged herself. Her heart, her life, to him. And he took care of her. Something that she knew he took great pride in, but that was not the same as feelings.
She had never actually seen an indication that Lazarus had feelings. Loving him was like loving rock. And she had resigned herself to that. Maybe that was sad.
It was why in the end she had said she needed to leave. Because if he didn’t care, if he did not feel bonded to her, if he did not feel like he needed her, then what was there?
But then he had... The way that he had looked coming toward her in the bath.
Her treacherous body betrayed her even now. Her nipples were tight, and the place between her legs was wet and sore.
She would never forget the sight of him. Naked and well muscled. She had never seen a naked man in person before. And of course it should be him. Lazarus.
The very first man she’d ever seen naked.
The muscles on his body were like art. The lines and ridges there a testament to his perfection.
And his... His masculinity.
Thick and large and hard for her.
For you?
Because he had walked away, and if he could walk away... Did it really matter? Did she? She swam farther into the bath, trying to get away from the site of her own weakness.
What would become of her if she wasn’t with him?
She couldn’t imagine a life, she couldn’t imagine herself without him, and that was terrifying. She didn’t know what manner of creature she was if she was not in Lazarus’s care. And there had been a time when she had been... When she had been alone in the world and she’d had to make her own way. She had tried so hard to forget that. But maybe by doing that she had made herself far too dependent. Because he could break her. He could break her and he was on the verge of it, and she did not know what to do about that.
She lay there in the water, floating. And she wondered about herself. Then she submerged herself beneath the water and tried not to think anymore. It didn’t help. Certainly wouldn’t fix the gnawing ache in her soul.
* * *
A few things had become clear to Lazarus while he had set about making sure that the dinner would be to Agnes’s standards. The first was that he must seduce her. However he could. The second was that once he did so, he would make her his wife in truth, not just in a showy way for his brother. No. He did not have time to be thinking of this now, and he knew it, but Agnes was forcing things to a crisis point, as was his newfound desire for her.
And perhaps it was because she had threatened to leave. Perhaps it was because she was abandoning him.
You said you did not need her.
He didn’t. He could protect himself just as well. He had no actual need of Agnes. And that was the strangest thing of all. He was not a man that clung to the things that were superfluous. But Agnes did not feel superfluous. Not in any manner. Rather she felt significant.
But then...
He felt a bond to Agamemnon, long dead though he was, and a responsibility to him, because he had saved his life. And while he would not consider himself a spiritualist in the sense that the people of the wood were, while he did not necessarily literally believe in spirits and fae inhabiting the trees, he could not deny that there did seem to be a spiritual connection inherent in the saving of a life. Lazarus had few connections in his life.
Agnes was the one who remained.
And so perhaps it was not wholly without merit to keep her with him.
He needed a wife eventually. Particularly if he were going to rule Liri in the fashion that monarchs did. The idea made him extremely uncomfortable. He was not a man who craved power. He was not a man who wanted it. But in order to do what needed to be done, he would have to take it. And that meant he would need a Queen. And she would need to bear him heirs.
He had thought of finding himself a soft, lovely princess who had been raised to expect such a fate.
But a woman such as that wouldn’t be able to handle all that he was, and in many ways Agnes had been in training to be by his side for the last eight years. She could share his bed as well. Get round with his child.
The idea made heat run through his veins.
He stood for a long moment, at the beautifully appointed table on the balcony where Agnes would meet him soon. And he tried to think of when exactly his feelings for her had changed.
Perhaps it was just basic male need.
The desire for a bedmate that could match him.
He had not yet found one.
Agnes was his match in battle, and maybe on some level he had always known he was training her for his bed.
No. He had not.
He thought back to her, scared and wide-eyed in the alley in Paris.
He had not felt those things for her then, but one thing he had known was that she would be in his life forever. And he had turned to walk away. He had tried then to break that bond that Agamemnon had told him existed between two people when a life was saved.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my kingdom.”
“Can I go with you?”
And he could remember regarding her then. And wondering what on earth he was going to do with a girl such as her. She was so small. Frail almost.
Her black hair was dull, her expression one of a near permanent frown.
What could be done with her? What could be done with such a creature?
He had taken her back against his better judgment, and they had begun to train. And that sense of confusion as to why she was with him faded as he saw her improve. As her hair became glossy and her petite frame became strengthened by muscle. As her coordination grew and her speed and sense of timing became unerring.
She was a glory. This girl.
And then she had become... Inevitable.
She was with him when he needed to make decisions. She was a constant. As though she were part of him in a way that no one and nothing had ever been.
And only a few weeks ago, she had been tending the fire at the camp, and the flame had caught her expression, lit up her smile, her skin a golden glow in the light.
And he had known then that he could use her for this. To be the woman by his side when he came into Liri. And truly, he had realized there could be no other.
So why did he think there could be another in truth? There couldn’t be. It would have to be her. And so, he would give her what she needed. For had she not told him exactly what it was? To be special. To be in an exalted position, while he could give her that. And why not? It made sense.
She had come from a gutter, from such an unstable life. It was understandable in the extreme that she should want something better for herself as she made a life going forward. And perhaps he would not have to let her go at all. Perhaps she did not need an education outside of him if he were to expand her knowledge.
It was then that she appeared out on the balcony. Wrapped in that gold gown that had been chosen back at the store in Paris. She was an exquisite thing. And he wished to devour her.
She looked at him, with deep suspicion on her beautiful face. “This is for show?”
“It is for you,” he said.
“For me?”
“Yes. It was set up for show, yes. So that my brother would think that we are together. But it is more than that.” He pulled her chair out, and she crossed the space, pausing in front of it. “Will you not sit?”
She did so, looking up at him with wonder on her face.
“A second fine dining experience in only a week, it is very strange.”
“You want to have these things. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t think there’s anything I ought to have. I have a great deal more than I ever exp
ected to. Stability and home and... I suppose that will change when all of this is over. You will be here.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I will move the seat of power into the wood.”
“How will you rule if the people cannot see you?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. But I never feel uncertain for long. Eventually it becomes clear.”
“You’re very confident.”
“Of course. Have I not always been right?”
“Were you right down in the baths?”
She was baiting him. He should’ve expected nothing less from Agnes. “Yes,” he said. “I was right to leave you because you were uncertain. If there is to be sex between us, Agnes, then you must want it.”
Her face turned red. Like a beet. It was not delicate, and it was... Surprisingly female. In a way that he found appealing.
“I never said I wish there to be. Or that I didn’t. I... I found it overwhelming.”
“And then you are not sure. Sex should not be something you are uncertain about. It should be something you cannot go without. Something you cannot deny. The decision should be made with your body. And once your body is in the space of being able to make that decision for you... Then it is clear. There is no place for uncertainty, not then.”
It became clear to him then what he wanted from Agnes. The next surrender. She had sworn her life to him out of obligation. Now he wanted her to beg for him in desperation. And he could make her do that. Of this he was sure. And it was what he desired above all else. Seduction.
That would make her his. He had her with him all this time, and he had failed to see what it was she actually desired. He would not fail there again.
“And now we eat.”
The food was exactly as he had instructed. Perfectly made and exquisitely presented. Heavy on the sweets.
There was an array of cakes for dessert, in addition to rich chocolate truffles and lovely cream pies. Anything, essentially, that his Agnes could desire.
“Tell me about Ohio,” he said.
Agnes laughed. “That is something that... No one has ever said to me.”
“Will you tell me?”
“I will. What little I remember.” Her lips turned down. “You know, I don’t remember anything. I remember the house. Two story, but not fine. It was drafty in the winter. Sometimes the power was turned off. I remember my mother, but never smiling. And then... Well, and then I remember her funeral. Not many people came. I think her parents were there, what would be my grandparents. But they didn’t stay, and they didn’t talk to my father. They didn’t seem to want to know me.
“I remember my father said they came from Hawaii. So they were cold. It was Ohio and it was winter. I don’t know. That’s all I remember. And then we started to move. My father said that he had a business opportunity and we were going to fly on a plane. And I had never done that before. After that we got on a very long flight. And I had one bag. From there on out we spent my childhood moving around Europe. We started in Germany. Then went to England. Luxembourg. Belgium. We were in Switzerland for a while. Then Norway. I loved it there. It was beautiful and wild. We spent time in Iceland, which I also loved. And along the way I picked up bits of all those languages. I forgot everything about my life before. At least, as much as I could. And I just sort of lived. Whatever reality, whatever moment we were in. It was easier. Easier to forget that I had ever gone to a real school. Easier to forget that I had a mother. That I had grandparents somewhere. It was all just easier. My father ran cons wherever we were. Sometimes with the aid of other people, which was why we would move. Or sometimes the law would close in on us and we would have to leave. I had no less than six passports before I was ten.”
So strong. So brave. He had been too late. Would that he’d been there to save her then.
“That is no kind of life,” he said, his voice rough.
“It was the only one I knew. Then we went to Paris. Which... At fifteen felt very exciting. But it began to wear on me quickly. It’s a beautiful city. But like any place... There’s an underside, and it is often bleak. Grim. All of the glamour and glitter on the top is just that. You take too deep of a breath and you blow it all away, and you just have the grime beneath. But I still loved walking to the Eiffel Tower. Gazing up at it. And I would take what little money I had, then buy myself bread and sit there. And imagine what it would be like if there was someone... Anyone who could take me away from that life. And then you came. And you rescued me when everything seemed lost. I’m grateful to you for that forever.”
He could not help himself. He reached out and pressed his thumb to her cheek, only for a moment. Agnes, warm and alive and his.
She had sworn loyalty to him from the first, but this was different.
Entirely different.
“I don’t know that I deserve gratitude for doing what anyone should have.”
“Many people would have had to call the police. There would’ve been no other choice. They could not have single-handedly destroyed all those men and protected me.”
“Well, that is down to my upbringing. In the end, we are all that we are created,” he said.
“Until we are shown a different way. You took me away from the life that I knew. And you made me something different. Like I told you, I used to think about nothing. Just a moment. And every so often I would dream. But that was it. I didn’t dwell on the things that were around me because they were... I knew that I didn’t want to steal people’s money, but I didn’t know what else to do. I knew that I didn’t want to be a con man, and I knew that I didn’t think what my father did was right. But finding a way out was hard, and I couldn’t see it. So I took my thoughts away, and I just did my best to not have them. It is not the best way to live. It is not. I think we are all what we are shown until someone gives us the strength, the insight, into something new. Until we are safe enough to want more. That’s what you gave to me.”
“Do you remember your last name?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t like to go that deep. I’m sure it’s there, somewhere. I must’ve written it on assignments at school. But it’s just been so long.”
“And it’s part of a person you wish to forget.”
“Yes.”
She looked around. “I cannot imagine being back at my childhood home. What is it like for you?”
He looked around at the expansive, beautiful terrace.
His childhood home. Such an odd thing to call a palace, and yet it was true.
But he had been four years old when he’d left, and Agnes had been more like six. So perhaps that two years carried with it more memories than the previous four could have.
And yet... And yet.
He let his mind go to the watercolor past, which was blurred and beautifully colored, but nothing distinct. But it carried with it feelings, like a painting by a master. The meaning could be unclear, but the emotion was not.
And for the first time he let himself stay in it. Stare at it. Marvel at it.
“What I have are vague pictures. Vague impressions of a time when I was here, more than... More than real memories.”
“Do you remember your room?”
“I carry a picture of it. In my head. And I remember lying beneath the covers of the bed, and a woman reading to me. Perhaps it was my mother. Perhaps it was a nanny. I’m not sure.”
Except he knew it was his mother. Not because he could see her in his mind, but because he could remember the feeling that he had in his chest. Of happiness and contentedness, a sense of well-being that he knew could only, and had only, come from her. He knew this to be true. As sure as he knew anything.
“I remember sitting at the table and having my favorite dinner. It was... Chicken nuggets.”
Agnes laughed. “I would never have thought that I might have something in common with a prince. But that was my favorite too.
I didn’t know they would’ve made it for you at the palace.”
“If I recall correctly I would sit with my brother at a corner of the table opposite my parents, and we were served a different meal.”
“Right. Your brother. I didn’t have any siblings.”
“I didn’t either. After I was four.”
“Tell me about that day. You have spoken of it, but it’s different than telling the story, I think.”
“I... I was playing with my brother on the lawn. I remember that. How our ball rolled into the woods and I remember... I remember going after it. And after that I remember it was dark all around me, and I could not see. I thought for sure that the palace was just behind me, but I kept on walking and it wasn’t there. I didn’t find the ball. I couldn’t find my way back home. What seemed dark at first became overwhelmingly pitch-black. And then I began to hear the wolves howl. I knew about the Big Bad Wolf. Always wolves, wolves coming to eat children. Yes, I knew. I knew and I tried to hide. But I could not see. My eyes refused to adjust to that sort of darkness. I wedged myself as far as I could beneath the rock outcropping and slept for a time. And when I woke the sky was gray. I came out, and there they were. A pack of them. And they began to close in on me, and I tried to get back into my safe spot, but it was blocked. They are hunters, and they know how to track their prey.
“And then Agamemnon came. He beat them back with a large stick and set them on their way. He did not kill them. He told me later it was because the people of the wood had learned to exist with the animals. They did not take more than their share—the wolves did not take from the camp. I didn’t believe him for a long time, but in all my years there, no one was ever taken by a wolf. But the minute my youngest brother wandered in...”
“Yes,” she said. “He was eaten.”
Lazarus nodded. “So perhaps there is truth to it. Agamemnon said I was branded as one of them from that moment on. That I was to swear my loyalty to him, and I did. It was easy enough. Easy enough to do. He told me I would have to forget my family. That they could not get me in the wood, and wouldn’t. Because my father was afraid to go into it. And then he told me. He told me the story of how my great-grandfather had decided that the native faction of the country was too dangerous. How he had driven them from their homes. How he had demanded they not have their own government anymore. And eventually... They sought solace in the woods, because it was the only way they could escape. But many of them were killed. This was their land. Before explorers came from Greece and established their own hold here. And over the years the cultures mingled, but those that did not...
