Still she stared at him. “Because you already eased your need upon me?”
“Never will my need for you be eased. So with my mouth I will see to your pleasure until—”
“I will see to my own.” Abruptly she pulled forward. His cock slipped from her sheath, his spent member glistening with blood and honey and seed. Flicking the skirt of her robe back into place, Yvenne covered her soft bottom and crawled up onto the bed. “I should have purchased the cockmonger’s shaft.”
Shame scorched Maddek’s face. “When I stiffen again, I will keep my promises to you.”
In the center of the bed, she sat and regarded him—her walls high again, with no sign of the arousal that had overcome her defenses, no indication of the need that had invited him in. Yet they were walls more brittle than he’d ever seen, as if built not of moonstone but of shattered glass, glittering in her eyes like tears.
Usually her walls concealed her emotions, yet these did not. So much devastation Maddek saw, and he struggled against the need to reach for her with a comforting hand, knowing she would reject his attempt. His gut churned, sick and heavy with shame and dread. She would not take a husband who did not see to her pleasure. Yet at this moment she clearly did not want him to touch her.
“It has been a long night of battles, Yvenne.” And Maddek could not fight his bride or her blade of a tongue now. “Let us take our rest, and then—”
“Battles!” She gave a laugh like nothing he’d ever heard from her, high and wild, and with such pain in it—the sound an animal caught in a trap might make, if it laughed and screamed at once. Or the sound a queen who did not cry might make, for as she laughed tears spilled from her eyes.
“Yvenne?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you crying?”
“No,” she said, still laughing but wiping her cheeks. “Though if ever a queen had a reason to cry where someone might see, this would be it. For there is no greater pain than losing one’s children.”
Her children? Tension gripped the back of his neck. “What do you speak of?”
“I thought to be content. We would have children. I would look to them for love and affection. And they would be strong, because you are.” Her laughter slowly faded as she spoke, but her breaths still shuddered through her slim form as if in the aftermath of sobbing. “But now I know that the first time they ride into battle will also be their last—because if they inherit their father’s strength, they will only have stamina enough for one thrust of their sword before they falter. Our poor doomed children,” she ended on a heavy sigh.
He stared at her in awe. Such a sharp tongue she had. If Maddek had not already been gutted by his own shame, she would have eviscerated him.
Instead he leaned nearer and told her with unmistakable resolution, “This is not the battle we will fight on this bed, Yvenne. And after we sleep, you will have no doubt of my stamina.”
Her glittering eyes narrowed. He heard the pain that lay at the sharpened edge of her voice as she demanded, “You want to sleep next to a queenkiller?”
“I do.” He cared not what had occurred. He only cared that Queen Vyssen’s death had hurt her, and that he knew not how to breach the walls she’d erected and soothe her pain.
“But I do not wish to share a bed with someone who views me as you do.” Her lips trembled, and she turned away, presenting him with only her frail shoulders and back. “When your cock rises again, you may return to ease your need upon me—but do not bother to wake me for it.”
Once more she caught him with that blade of a tongue. Though it was sharp, however, hers was not a poisonous one. She left nothing in him that was not already there. No anger toward her was in him as he said harshly, “I will return and keep my promises to you.”
“As you say.” Her breath hitched. “But go now.”
So that she might be alone to cry. Everything in Maddek rebelled at the thought of leaving her in this way. Yet she did not want him here.
With aching chest, he strode to the stairs leading out of the chamber. Yvenne did not cry where there were eyes to see. She also did not cry when there were ears to hear.
Yet Maddek did hear. As if the sob broke from her before he left the chamber because she couldn’t contain it anymore—though she tried. That sob she quickly muffled. But still he heard, and the sound was sharper than any word that ever came from her tongue.
As if it wore claws, one quiet sob tore out Maddek’s heart. Yet even that ragged and bleeding wound was not as painful as knowing he was the cause, or as painful as not knowing the remedy.
So many promises he’d made and not fulfilled this night. Not only to Yvenne, but to himself. For he might have protected Yvenne from her brother, but he hadn’t protected her from himself. And he’d not truly had her.
And now he might have lost her.
CHAPTER 29
MADDEK
Swift wind blew into Maddek’s face as he stepped onto the deck. Unfurled, the white sails were at full billow, and the ship skimmed across low, rolling waves.
Laughter and voices coming from quarters near the tail led Maddek to his warriors. A long night they’d also had, and more than a full turn of hard riding since leaving the Lave. Fatigued they must be, yet much had occurred since their last waking, and much to discuss and celebrate. For a tennight they’d spent every moment in expectation of soldiers coming upon them and the battle that would follow, and when Yvenne had told them those soldiers’ numbers, each warrior had likely felt Rani coming from behind them. Yet that battle they’d won with little bloodshed and no injuries to their own. And the goddess Vela herself had recognized each, showing favor that must swell the heart and pride of any warrior—even Parsatheans who rarely prayed to any gods.
On his approach, Maddek heard them turning over that favor and examining it, suggesting possible meanings for Vela’s claim that Toric would fly far on a dragon’s wings and no longer be himself on his return. Many meanings they would likely find, and of none could they be certain. Except for silent Mother Temra and truthful silver-fingered Rani, gods were the most sly-tongued of all beings.
The chambers were not sleeping quarters but similar to the prince’s solar, with a table surrounded by low cushions and sofas, with more scattered about the room. No longer wearing their armor, the Dragon sprawled around the table loaded down with fruits and meats and drink.
As Maddek came in, Kelir looked up from cleaning the blood from his spaulders. The warrior’s wet hair hung heavily around his scarred face, and he wore only a smallcloth around his waist.
At a glimpse of Maddek’s expression, his own became dismay. “Did you not reach her before moonset?”
“I did. She is no longer a virgin.”