“I know that,” she snapped. Divine, how she wished to shut that night out of her head… and he had to bring it up again. She already knew about his lover. “Didn’t you… end things with her?” Was that it?
Pressing his lips into a thin line, he nodded. “I did, but…”
But? Divine’s flaming fire, was the woman with child? Could that be it?
He took her hand and met her eyes with an unwavering intensity. “You know I’m Earthbound.”
She nodded.
“The Earthbinding… It required an ancient, barbaric ritual… and a coupling with a virgin.”
Her lips parted, and she jerked her head back. A shudder rode her spine. “You… with a virgin…”
“Yes.”
She shook her head as a hollow formed in her throat. But Bournand surged back to her, that etching in the book—Ancient Blood Rites. A coupling… the king and… “Was she the same woman you… the same one as the lover I…”
“No.” He didn’t look away, but the intensity of his gaze dimmed.
She pulled her hand away from his and scrubbed it over her face. Another one?
His bare chest rose and fell, rose and fell, his paladin sigil tattoos living as he breathed, in and out, in and out. This was the same Jon who’d once sworn a vow of celibacy. The same Jon who’d once asked her to wait before making love, because it meant too much to him to rush through.
This was the same Jon who’d spoken to her of marriage and a life together.
It was a familiar darkness. When Leigh had broken her heart, he’d very publicly bedded a series of lovers after her, with no regard for her feelings. When Brennan had broken her heart, he’d some the same, all the while throwing his head back in laughter at infamously humiliating her.
But Jon… Jon was supposed to have been different. Honorable, loyal, considerate, her complement, her match. And yet… it had only been four months since they were together, and these acts made her shiver like that familiar darkness.
Staring at the bedding, she clenched it in fistfuls. He’d been with another woman. Two. It was…
It wasn’t the same, was it?
He’d thought her dead when he’d taken a lover, had tried to relieve the hurt. He hadn’t intended to hurt her. And this…
She didn’t enjoy picturing him with another woman, but this had been for the Earthbinding ritual, something he’d had to do. A responsibility. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t blame him for it any more than she could blame him for his bloodline.
It would do no good to know more, but like an ear-worm song, the curiosity was insatiable. “Who was she, the woman from the Earthbinding?”
“A servant woman,” he replied with a crestfallen murmur.
A servant of his?
How many servants were there in Trèstellan? Did this one still work there? Had she seen this woman? Been served by her? Did she still serve Jon? “What’s her name?”
He hesitated. “Manon.”
She stiffened. He knew her name? “Is she pretty?”
“Rielle—”
“Is she?”
He blew out a breath. “Yes.”
Of course she was. Of course. She fought back tears. “Did you enjoy it?”
“No,” he blurted out, then paused. “Yes.”
She shifted away from him. “Which is it?”
He closed his eyes and exhaled lengthily. “I didn’t want it. Not before, not during, not after. But I did do it. I completed the ritual, so I can’t deny that it… I mean, that it felt—”
She held up a hand. Listening to even a second more… She shook her head. No, if she heard even another word of that, she would explode. “Was it the only time?”
He frowned. “You think I would—”
“Was it the only time you were with her?” she hissed.
His mouth fell open, but he closed it. “Yes.”
“Does she still work in the palace?”
He nodded. “I thought it would be unfair to—”
“Does she serve you?”
“Yes…” He lowered his gaze.
So he saw her every day? And she saw him? Did they exchange pleasantries? Did he ever think about that night of the ritual, remember the feel of her, the warmth of her skin, the press of her lips against his? Did he ever look at her and see her naked?
And the servant, this Manon, did she ever see him as more than her lord and king? Did she think of his hands on her body, of his kisses, his passion? Did she smile to herself as she prepared his food and made his bed?
“How did you picture it,” she whispered, “if you and I reconciled?”
His pained gaze rose to hers.
“Were you going to move me into the palace, laugh and smile over breakfast with me, while your servant girl poured us tea and cleared our plates?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t think—”
“Have her reassigned,” she whispered. “Please. If you have any respect or consideration for me, have her serve someone else in the palace. Anyone else.”
“I will.”
They sat in silence a long while, so quiet she could hear the breeze rustling the oak trees outside.
More questions lingered on the tip of her tongue, but none of them would improve matters. This wasn’t his fault, and she couldn’t even be angry at him over it. As much as it hurt, it was circumstance that was upsetting, and not any intention of his. It wasn’t as though he’d taken another lover just for pleasure’s sake. The Earthbinding had been his duty.
“Of course I’m not thrilled with this,” she said finally, her voice low. “But it wasn’t your fault. I understand that.”
His hand lingered over her knee before he cautiously let it rest against her skin. His touch in this moment nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t hate him, didn’t want him to leave her alone.
“Terra have mercy, Rielle, but there’s more.”
She shook her head, again and again. “No. No, there isn’t. There isn’t more,” she said hoarsely, pulling away, “not tonight. There isn’t—”
“There were two lovers. Not one.”
His words lingered on the air like smoke, and she coughed. Two. Two lovers.
Two.
He’d thought her dead, turned to a lover for comfort, and what? Couldn’t get enough? Had too much fun? Couldn’t stop? While she was starving, suffering, while Sylvie was dying, this was what he’d been doing?
“I’m dying to know—” she began, through gritted teeth.
He shifted. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“Who ran the kingdom while you were busy tending to two lovers?”
Frowning, he pulled away.
“And grief must be incredibly arousing to you,” she bit out. “Two, Jon? Really? Are you certain it’s not three? Half a dozen? Is there a rotation? A schedule?”
His frown deepened. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. It was wrong, and if I could change it, I would. But you know why I did this. And why I never would’ve done it had I known you were alive.”
She shook her head. “How could you?”
“Do only the sins matter?”
It was a lot to take in. Far too much. She clutched the bedding tighter, bringing it higher, covering herself.
His shoulders went rigid. “Do only the sins matter? None of the circumstances?”
“You thought I was dead, so you just… erased me. Like I didn’t even matter.”
“I thought you were dead, Rielle. Dead. I… Tor took over managing the kingdom while I… I drowned myself in darkness, solitude, and wine. I didn’t want to see anyone, speak to anyone. The more I thought of you, the less I wanted to be here without you. When I thought you were dead, I was dead, too.”
His eyes watered. “But I’d become Earthbound. Tor, Derric, Pons, the Grands… They saw the land turning. Weakening. The snows deepening, the cold biting. The Immortals emerging, destroying villages, towns… The kingdom failing with my own will to l
ive.” His face went slack. “I fell away, away from the land. Rather than giving it my strength, my willpower, it had been supporting me. One night, I drank my wine… and didn’t stop.”
She eyed him peripherally. “Why?”
“I needed to get out of my own head. Living death. Just for a night, or so I told myself, enough time to keep the ghosts from eating me alive.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I should have been strong, but I wasn’t. It was too far, and I lost myself in it, the depth, the isolation.” He shifted to sit against the headboard. “And that was the first night she came to me.”
“She…”
He nodded. “Nora Marcel Vignon. I opened the door, and I let her in, Rielle.” He dropped his head in his hands.
Nora? Brennan’s sister, Nora? So she’d been the lover Jon was with that night?
“Terra have mercy, I was weak, I know it. I’d been empty for so long that I wanted to fill the void with something, anything, to make it stop hurting. To stop feeling the grief. And I tried.”
To stop feeling… She took a deep breath. It was a desire she knew all too well.
“And the Grands, they wanted me to marry. The suitresses had been there for months, and King Macario had sent aid to defend against the pirate attacks on the west coast. I couldn’t let Princess Alessandra leave nor her father abandon us. After losing you, I knew I couldn’t marry for love, so what did it matter? Whatever the kingdom needed, I would do. She knew about Nora, and one day, she… and I…”
She covered her mouth. Of course. Of course they had. Why wouldn’t they have?
Her eyes watered as she nodded, and she wiped at them.
The Sileni princess had expected her soon-to-be fiancé to share a bed with her. And why shouldn’t she have? It stood to reason.
It all made perfect sense, and perfect sense felt like a dagger through her heart.
“That night, it was…”
He didn’t need to say it. It was Alessandra she’d heard him with.
“After you returned, I told her about you. We ended it.”
It was over, it made sense, and she couldn’t hear another word. Something twisted, pulled, and snapped inside of her, and whatever capacity she’d had to listen and to talk, to function at all, vanished.
She lay down and turned her back to him, nestling her cheek into the pillow.
They didn’t have to fix this tonight, if it could be fixed. It would wait. It would have to. Two lovers, ten lovers, a hundred—none of it mattered tonight. Tonight was a mission. A job.
“Rielle…” His voice was soft, gentle. Apologetic.
“No more,” she said brightly. “Please.” She forced a smile to keep from crying. “I don’t think I can stand any more truth tonight.” Her silent tears soaked into the pillow anyway.
“That’s all I’ve done.”
The quiet lengthened.
I was abducted, abused, enslaved, had to bed my master to keep myself and our baby safe, lost her, nearly lost Brennan, nearly died to return to you… while you were bedding two lovers. Leaving me and our baby to die.
All his sins laid bare to her, and yet she hid the gravest of them all—losing Sylvie. A part of her wanted to tell him now, right now, and not because he deserved to know. He did.
But she wanted him to hurt like she did. She wanted to twist the knife, wanted the pain to destroy him like he’d destroyed her. Let him feel the weight of the sadness that had crushed her these past months. Let him crumble beneath it and meet her level beneath the rubble.
But she clenched her fists and her teeth, stared into the dark, and kept those words locked.
Not in the heat of anger and hurt. She had to let it fade, had to calm down, or she’d do something irreversible. Sylvie deserved better, and Jon deserved better.
Everything didn’t have to be resolved tonight. That wasn’t why they were here.
Tonight was only a mission, only a job.
“Say something, Rielle,” he said, hoarse, his voice breaking. “Please.”
She curled her shoulders inward, compacted her body.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She curled up in the cold sheets and let his words fade.
A mission.
A job.
Chapter 57
Bright sunlight played golden behind Rielle’s eyelids, and she snuggled in the cozy, soft bedding. Bed. Sunshine. Morning.
With a soft yawn, she blinked her eyes open. Jon smiled warmly, a world of light silhouetting him before the radiant day. He wrapped a lock of her hair around a finger.
She smiled back, wriggling closer, and eased a slow, happy breath, tracing a scrolling black sigil tattoo down his forearm with a fingertip. He watched her with interest, and a line etched between his eyebrows.
The canopied bed, the view of the oaks past the window. Couronne. Last night came rushing back in hurtful words and tears, but she pushed it all away.
Lying in bed together like this, as they had so many times months ago, was too nostalgic to focus on fighting.
“How long have you been awake?” she whispered.
He looked away. “About an hour. Listening for footsteps.”
Footsteps…?
Of course. Her household. She nodded, licking her lips.
She and Jon were supposed to be caught in a compromising position. A scandalous position.
She sat up, reached for the goblet of water on her nightstand, and drained it. The bowl of apples, lusciously red, waited next to it; she grabbed one, turned to Jon, held it to his lips.
He eyed her mischievously, then sprang and bit into it.
With a yelp, she jolted in the bed, suppressing a laugh, and bit into it herself while he took hold of her arm.
“I wasn’t done,” he grumbled, but his grin betrayed his play.
“Looks like you are,” she joked back, then took another bite and held the apple away.
“You forget”—he pounced onto her, and she scrambled higher, laughing—“my arms are longer.” He captured her hand and brought the apple to his mouth again for another bite.
“Thief.”
He chewed loudly. “Witch,” he said, around a mouthful of fruit.
Grinning, he chewed open mouthed, and she covered his lips with her fingers… stroked them, slowly descending, caressing his lower lip. He stilled, his gaze locked on hers.
Footsteps in the hall—
He raised his eyebrows, and she nodded; it was time to perform.
He slid a hand under her head, buried in her hair, and lowered his apple-scented mouth to hers. His kiss was hungry, demanding, raising goosebumps on her skin, his mere touch making her shiver. A soft moan escaped as her body writhed beneath him of its own volition, arms curling around him, fingertips pressing into his firmly muscled back. Strong and familiar. Divine, he felt good. So good. Solid, warm, hers. Closer—she pulled him closer, arched her back, longed to bridge the distance between them, every distance, until she was part of him and he part of her.
The door opened, and quiet footsteps flitted about the corners. Soft voices and softer giggles. They didn’t matter.
His tongue found hers, sweet and tart and wanting, taking, taking all she had, all she was and wanted to give to him. She sprawled under him, wrapped a leg around him, drew him in, close—Divine, firm and hot against her, so good, but not nearly close enough. He leaned into her. A soft whimper—hers—and his large palm found her backside, squeezed, pressed. His fingers gathered the fabric of her nightgown, feathering silk up her thigh.
A click. The door shutting.
He broke away, gazed down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, and breathed ragged, forceful breaths. His wanting gaze kept her pinned as effectively as the rest of him had.
She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and never let go. Please.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and moved to sit next to her, pulled the sheets over his lap, and a pillow.
She lay there, unmoving. Divine help her, liquid flame flowe
d through her veins, need seizing her body like an army of merciless soldiers.
A performance. It had only been a performance. Nothing more. He had taken two lovers while she’d been fighting for her life and Sylvie’s, something she knew well, but her body had yet to remember.
“What are we doing, Rielle?” he bit out, and inhaled deeply.
“Acting.”
“Is that what it is? If so, your ‘acting’ has convinced every part of me.”
“Convinced you of what?”
“That I’m not the only one wanting to reconcile.”
Reconcile.
She looked away. “We have a lot to do before tonight. We should head to Trèstellan, so I can lay the sangremancy wards in the gardens and your quarters.”
“No.”
She jerked to face him. “No?”
He stared down at her, his face set, and he set the pillow aside. “There’s nothing more important than mending this rift between us. Everything else can wait.”
She closed her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
Since that night she’d come to his quarters, he’d done nothing but try to make sincere amends. Yet that didn’t mend the wound in her heart.
“Tell me how to fix this,” he said quietly.
Last night, when she’d thrown herself at him like a fool, he hadn’t taken her, hadn’t taken advantage of her. He’d ended things with his lovers, had been honest with her, had promised to have the servant girl reassigned. He was already doing everything he could.
But she was still heartsore. Her heart, injured and afraid, wouldn’t listen to reason.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, lowering his gaze. “Please.”
Her eyes watering, she reached for his hand, and he took hers. “I do, Jon. I forgive you.”
He stroked her knuckles gently with his thumb. “Can we… can we move past this?”
“I don’t know.” Wanting to and being able to seemed like two very different concepts. “I’d love to let go of everything that happened, but it’s still too near, do you understand? Sometimes, just being near you, I hear it again.”
His lips pressed tight, he nodded and looked away.
“I don’t know when that’ll stop hurting,” she said. “But give me some time.” Their love could overcome anything, couldn’t it? He’d taken two lovers in four months… thinking her dead. Since then, he’d been entirely apologetic. Maybe someday they could be as they’d once been.
By Dark Deeds (Blade and Rose Book 2) Page 60
