8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

Drew

T he gardens in winter are not a particularly mesmerizing view, but I cannot seem to muster the wherewithal to do anything else but stand here staring out of the window at them. While the same thoughts whirl around and around my mind. The same thoughts that have been haunting me for two whole days.

My vessel is having an affair.

I don't know why I am so shocked. Lucien is a gorgeous young man. Who I've always assumed was gay. Of course he is going to have a boyfriend. Someone he has probably been madly in love with for years, but could never be in his arms, because he is a vessel and has had to remain a virgin. Technically a virgin, at least. I'm sure he has been up to all sorts with his lover. Gods know penetration is not the only way to have sex.

My jaw aches. I'm grinding my teeth again. Why am I jealous? That makes no sense at all. I should be outraged. Embarrassed. Shamed.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. No, I shouldn't. Those are the reactions of a pompous old-fashioned fool. I, on the other hand, know it is the twenty-first century. I also know that Lucien is twenty-one years old. I know it is completely understandable that he ran to the arms of his lover as soon as he could. I also understand that because he is gay, and apparently prefers to receive, it is going to drain his magic .

If I was truly a modern, reasonable person, I would have no problem with any of this. Our marriage was arranged. A formality. I don't give a shit about the loss of magic. As long as he doesn't go shouting to all of society about his love life, it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't affect me one bit.

Lucien's magic is heady and intoxicating. I adore the way it thrums through my veins and lights up my world and makes me feel invincible. But his affair doesn't change that. Lucien is still my vessel and my consort. He will still submit to me and surrender his magic. There just might be slightly less of it. So there is no logical, justifiable reason why I should care about his infidelity.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. The promise of a distraction, however brief, is deeply alluring. I answer without looking at the screen.

"So, how's married life?" booms Gregory's voice into my ear.

I wince. "Terrible."

"What? Tell me everything!"

"He is having an affair," I blurt. Apparently, I'm desperate to get all of my woes off my chest.

Gregory's sharp intake of breath makes me flinch.

"The little slut!" he bellows.

I move the phone away from my ear. Talking to Gregory is always an experience.

"Always said Mallory was a little snake!" says Gregory, a little quieter.

"I should have listened to you," I say weakly.

Even though we both know that's false. My parents wanted a union with the Mallorys. My thoughts, feelings, and preferences were never going to be taken into consideration. My emotions were, and remain, irrelevant.

Not that it ever stopped Gregory from trying. Every ball, every dinner party, he has always had something to report about what others were saying about the little vessel. Or something to say himself. And it was never anything good. My oldest friend is an excellent judge of character.

He makes a dramatic shuddering noise over the phone. "Now I'm glad my family's negotiations with the Mallorys fell through."

A jolt of surprise runs through me. I had all but forgotten that. Gregory got as far as a few courtship meetings with Lucien, before the Mallorys decided my family was the better prospect. Back when we were sixteen and Lucien was fourteen. Is that why Gregory has always despised Lucien so much?

Shame burns through me. Gregory is not so shallow. Nor so vindictive and mean. Why am I thinking such awful thoughts about my best friend?

"I'm just sorry you're lumbered with the sneaky little git," says Gregory.

"It's fine," I say automatically.

"It is not fine!" insists Gregory. "I'm coming over tonight to help you drown your sorrows!"

The phone goes dead. I frown. That's such an annoying habit of his.

I slide my phone back into my pocket. Drinks with Gregory? Gods, it is probably a bad idea. I always drink far too much when I'm with him. He is a terrible influence. But he never takes no for an answer, and I could do with a friend right now.

A soft tap at the door has me turning from the window.

"Enter."

Katy walks in and she looks worried. My gut tightens. Very little ruffles Katy. This can't be good.

"Your vessel hasn't requested any food for two days. Just lots of different teas."

What the hell? As if sulking in his rooms wasn't bad enough. What kind of attention seeking nonsense is this? This boy is going to be the death of me.

I sigh heavily. "I'll go talk to him. "

Despite everything, he is my responsibility. And right now, the weight of that is feeling immense.

Katy nods and follows me out. It doesn't take long to reach Lucien's rooms. I knock sharply on the heavy oak door and wait. Nothing. Nothing but a silence that stretches. Rude little shit. I look at Katy in exasperation. But her expression is mostly concerned. Guilt flows over me. I'm being an asshole. If anyone else in the world was not answering their door, I'd be worried. Lucien truly does bring out the very worst of me.

I knock again. Still nothing. I look at Katy. She shrugs. It feels wrong to let myself in, but it is my flipping house.

Gently, I turn the handle and push the ancient door. It swings open silently. Katy really has the maintenance schedule down to perfection.

His sitting room is empty. Nothing but pale winter sunlight streaming in. It is the same in the bedchamber. This place feels empty. Unlived in. He doesn't seem to have many belongings. It is more like a guest chamber than a home.

Oh, no. Please no. Please tell me he has not run away to be with his lover? Oh my gods, my family will never forgive me for the scandal. This is a disaster!

I hurry over to the bathroom, just so I have checked every room before I start a search party. I push open the door. The sight that greets me has me stumbling backwards in shock. Lucien is crumpled on the floor. His long white nightgown looks like a shroud. He is so small. So helpless and vulnerable.

I drop to my knees and feel for a pulse. He stirs and green eyes blink dazedly up at me. Relief surges through my veins and I exhale sharply. My heart is pounding like a wild thing. I don't remove my fingers from his warm, soft neck.

"Sorry," he whispers. He looks awfully pale.

"Why haven't you been eating?" I frown.

His delicate brows scrunch in confusion. "I wasn't allowed to?"

My jaw drops open. My gut fills with ice. I snatch my hand back as if his flesh suddenly burns. What the actual hell? Why would he think that? I haven't said a word to him. Not since I discovered his affair and sent him to his room.

Another wave of cold horror washes over me.

Oh gods. I never said he could leave. My staff don't serve meals unless requested to, I prefer it that way. It is unusual, but I never gave it much thought. I don't think I ever explained it to Lucien. And, as far as I recall, for his first days here we ate together.

Oh no. This is awful.

Has Lucien really been in his rooms for two whole days, believing the staff were not bringing meals because I had forbidden it?

And he didn't complain? Didn't say a word? Just took the punishment until he fainted?

"I'll go get some broth," says Katy as she dashes off.

I scoop Lucien up into a bridal carry. He doesn't weigh much at all and I don't think that's just from the last two days. Despite how fragile he feels, the slender heat of him pressed against me feels damn good. It is almost as if he belongs in my arms.

I shake my head to clear it of such ridiculous thoughts and place him carefully on the bed. His hands twist into my suit jacket and hold on to me.

His beautiful eyes are wide and imploring. My heart skips a beat and my mouth dries. He does need me. Want me. My touch is not abhorrent to him. There is hope for us.

"I don't need the healer," he says.

The words take a moment to register. Then they rub like a striking surface against the match that is my jumbled emotions. My rage is ignited.

I yank my arms back from Lucien's seductive touch and stagger back from the bed. I cannot believe I nearly fell for it.

"I bet you don't!" I snarl .

Gregory is right. Lucien is nothing more than a snake. A lying, twisting, manipulative snake. Pretending to faint. Making me feel bad. Giving me come-to-bed eyes. All to try to get out of the trouble he is in. Trouble caused by his inability to keep his legs closed.

No wonder he doesn't want the healer. All his lies would be exposed.

Katy said he has been drinking teas. Likely some concoction to sustain him while he appears to fast. All part of his cunning plan devised and designed to tug on my heartstrings.

I turn around and storm away. A sound like a sob reaches my ears, but I don't care. It is not real. Nothing about my vessel is.