24. Twenty-One

The bride and groom were carried to the marriage suite where the bride's witness waited. She was an older woman, part of the bride's household. The bride's name was Altani, and she was, indeed, only thirteen, a fact I learned from the bride's witness, who had been her wet nurse and nanny. She'd come with Altani from the village of Ponim by choice. The way she told their story, however, made it clear that Altani had been abducted by force and the wet nurse had been forced along to preserve the girl's honor.

She was doing the same work now, as was I. We came to an agreement without much discussion once the doors were closed, both of us sworn to secrecy under the threat of death.

It was Altani, Niro, the nurse, and I alone in the room, the lights turned down and then out. The nurse helped Altani change out of her bridal clothes into a simple white gown, and that was where the deception began. The proof was done with a knife, a single cut to the girl's upper thigh where no one would search. Just enough blood for the sheets and the gown. Niro did not so much as lay a finger on the girl, retiring to the main part of the suite to have a drink with me while the nurse made the cut.

We waited a half hour while the party continued outside before the nurse and I went forward to present the bloody sheet and give our false testimony, declaring Altani and Niro man and wife. A great cheer went up from the crowd and everyone fell back into their revelry.

My work done, I left the happy couple alone and went back to my room. I expected Elindir would be gone, but he was not. Instead, he was in the room, glaring at the floor.

There were two women in the room, which was one more than I had been expecting. I thought about sending them away, but if I did, they'd report straight back to Vinolia. It'd be seen as an insult, and after everything that'd happened earlier, I couldn't afford as much.

One of the women sat on my lap while the other sat at my feet. They were the type I would have requested, soft, big-breasted, pink lips, pale hair. So different from the slave whom I'd been sharing my bed with. Despite that, they held no interest for me. As soft lips pressed over mine, I thought only of what it would be like to kiss Elindir. He wouldn't be so soft, so submissive. No, he'd fight me for every inch, even if he wanted it. That was the challenge I craved, not the meek little spies Vinolia had sent to satisfy me.

But he was beyond my reach, and he hated me anyway. The Runecleaver women wouldn't be enough, but what was I to do? I had needs, and I was tired of denying them.

"Go to the hall, Elindir," I said as gently as I could.

He stupidly refused to leave. There was something like panic in his eyes as he searched for his slate and quickly wrote, "Don't trust them."

I doubted Vinolia would try to murder me in her own walls with her own whores, even if I had soundly beaten her at her own game earlier. I also wasn't in the mood for a long, drawn-out argument with my slave, nor was I of a mind to discipline him. He had already suffered enough. That didn't give him the right to take liberties. I needed to maintain control of the situation, of him. Of myself.

"Stay if it suits you. You've earned a little leeway tonight."

Elindir stayed by the door, his back to it, watching everything with unreadable eyes.

I helped the lighter-haired girl out of the thin dressing gown she wore, pulling it over her head and casting it aside. There was nothing underneath but pure woman. No knives, no teeth, no venom.

The weight of Elindir's eyes was on me. Normally, such a thing wouldn't bother me. I was no stranger to public sex, or doing things with an audience. When you're the son of the Primarch, and you live half your life on military campaigns, you learn not to be shy about such things. I could fuck if other people were fucking, but Elindir wasn't doing anything. He was just standing there, staring with his dark chestnut eyes so unreadable, so mysterious.

"Do you want to watch me fuck them? Is that what does it for you? You don't fuck, you just watch others do it?" It came out a little meaner than I meant it to, but he was frustrating me.

As always, he was silent.

I narrowed my eyes and pushed one of the girls toward him, my frustrations rising faster than my cock. "Do you want a woman? Is that it? Take one. I have an extra."

He wrote, "I don't want a woman."

"A man then. I can send for one."

He stared at me and then shook his head. "I don't want a man."

Silence fell hot and tight between us. Unspoken words hung on sharp hooks, waiting for one of us to reach out and pluck them free, knowing we'd be pierced in the process.

He lowered his head and wrote, "What happened to your wife?"

I jerked, momentarily transported to another time, another place, another life. Silky, golden hair and a sweet smile. A soft hand in mine. A blanket spread beneath the turning leaves of a blood oak, cake crumbs everywhere.

Of course he would remember Heskir's insults from earlier and have questions. I should have ignored him. Instead, I closed my eyes against the rise of emotion. It was running heavy after earlier events. "Perhaps, ladies, tonight is not the night."

"Did we do something wrong?" one of them asked.

"No, but as you can see, my slave is the unruly sort. I'm going to have to discipline him, and I'm afraid I won't be in the mood for much after. It tires me."

The women exchanged glances before quickly picking up their clothes and leaving.

Elindir sat with his slate and his curiosity, not knowing what he'd asked. How could he? Poor, dumb human, so ignorant of everything.

I closed my eyes. "She's dead."

The rope drew tight around a slender neck.

Tears. Pleading. "Please, father, don't do this."

"You should have thought of that before you insulted the Runecleavers."

I swallowed. "She was a slave in my service. Someone I never should have noticed, but how could I not? It was her voice. I heard her singing, and I knew…" I opened my eyes and found him staring hard at me. "It wasn't like that," I said firmly. "I didn't touch her for years. Even when I did, it was she who came to me. I rejected her twice, thinking she couldn't really want me. I was a prince. She was a slave. But we spent months talking, and as we did…" I shook my head and turned away.

"You loved her," he wrote.

I scoffed. "I am the Primarch's son. I have no room for love."

My father's voice, raised. "Don't look away. I want you to watch."

"I married her in secret. But I was promised to another. A Runecleaver," I said. "A strategic political marriage. When my father found out, he was furious. He…" I clenched my fists. "He had her raped in front of me by several of his men and then hanged. And then, because simply taking away something I wanted wasn't enough, he ordered a decimation of the slaves. Every clan was ordered to kill one tenth of their slaves or face fines from the assembly. Thousands died because I loved a woman. A slave."

I exhaled, teetering on the edge of slipping into a place I did not want to be. I steeled myself, building a wall of iron around my heart. The facts. Just the facts. "The Runecleavers, of course, were insulted and have never forgiven me. I was, perhaps, downplaying just how much danger we are in here."

I lifted my head to the sound of chalk sliding over slate.

"Would you have let them do it?" he wrote.

Would I have let the Runecleavers strip him down and make a sport out of passing him around, laughing and jeering at him while they toyed with him? They would have pushed me until I told them to stop. That was the nature of the game. They wanted to know what he meant to me, how valuable my hostage was. I wanted them to believe he was nothing to me, but that wasn't true. He was quickly proving he was everything I had hoped for and more.

But if I thought it would get me what I wanted, would I have let them do as they pleased with him? It was only humiliation. A man could survive humiliation. That's what I'd told myself as they tore off his clothes, as they spoke at the tables about giving him to their boys to see what it was like to fuck a human. Sate their curiosity young, before their first campaign. Less messy. They could pay me in coin for my trouble.

I should have been willing to sacrifice everything for the goal. Instead, I found myself sitting at that table, memorizing names, faces, making a list of people I might have to kill before the night was out. I had been thinking about destroying everything, years of carefully laid plans, for this bastard whose voice I had never even heard.

Elindir held up his slate. It read, "What is my punishment?"

He was ready for it. Everything I could do to him had already been done. I knew it. He knew it. Some things had yet to play out. The knife was in, and the twist was coming, but we weren't there yet.

"Do you prefer men over women, then?" I asked.

He considered me briefly before writing, "I like women just fine."

"I mean to fuck, you insolent bastard."

A look crossed his face that I hadn't seen before, but it was gone a second later. He shrugged and wrote, "I've always had men."

In a sudden burst of anger, I rose and crossed the room. My fist closed around the simple tunic, which had replaced the torn one, and I lifted him from the floor. He didn't fight me. Gods, I wanted him to. Where was the fight he had that first night when he tried to bite my hand? Where was the hatred that I so desperately craved?

The walls were too thin to take an impact, so I brought him back to the bedroom and shoved him on the bed. "Do you want to fuck me? Is that it?"

He just stared at me and started writing on the slate.

I snarled and knocked it out of his hands. "Tell me what you want!"

It occurred to me too late that I had taken away his only means to do so, and now had my body arched over him, preventing him from retrieving it without somehow finding a way to physically move me.

Elindir's chestnut eyes roamed over my face, too familiar. Too intimate. There was pity there, and I didn't want it. I wanted his anger, his ire, the burning hot fire of the sun, not the fading warmth of its retreat.

He put his hands on my chest, over my beating heart.

For the first time in many years, I didn't know what I should do.

No, that was a lie. I knew exactly what I should do. My goals were clear, and men had already died to bring me this far. Good men. I could not—would not—make their deaths in vain.

I sat up and gave him my back. "I require nothing further from you tonight, slave. Leave me."

There was a ripple in the air, a reaction from him that I didn't turn around to see. Sheets rustled. Footsteps retreated. The door slid open. A pause. It shut, and he was gone, his absence leaving a gnawing ache in my chest.