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“Lazen cannot be king,” Yvenne reminded him happily. “He’s dead.” Slain by the only arrow she’d ever drawn with the intent to kill. But Yvenne could not risk saying that without also risking her tongue. Maddek still doubted her part in her brother’s death, for the alliance council had been told that Ran Ashev had slain Lazen, instead—and that was why his mother had been beheaded.
Her silence did not mean punishment. It meant she was hurt. All this morning she had been.
So a decision must be made. He could tighten his fist in her hair and guide her down, and know the hot ecstasy of her mouth upon his cock. Or he could open his hand.
But he shouldn’t have woken at all. “How did I live?” “I tried to remind you,” Ardyl said, crouching beside his furs with a small pot in her hand. “Vela said that you might have need of this. We weren’t sure whether to rub it on your cock or into the poisoned wound or make you drink it. So we did all three.”
“What have I done, never saying this to you?” he said hoarsely. “Never telling you these words that I should have said over and over again. What have I done, that you do not know how I would ride across the world just to lay my gaze upon your face? That I would crawl there on the mere hope of knowing your touch again? What have I done, that as I kneel here, you still do not know that with my full heart, I love you?”
Yet not all was happy news. Toric seemed distracted throughout much of the evening, until finally he said, “I must leave the western realms.” All other conversation around the table fell silent, and Yvenne sighed. Well she’d known this might be coming. Vela had said the Dragon’s wings would fly a great distance. And given all that her father had known—but shouldn’t have—she’d guessed what had happened. Because Vela had also said Toric still had the revenant’s poison in him.
