King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(43)

My brows knitted together. I was confused by his statement—what else had she villainized? I was also desperate to feel him move. “That is blasphemy.”

“Are you pretending to be pious?” he asked, a small smile on his lips. Perspiration had formed on his face, and I felt heat building between us.

“I don’t know what you mean by pretending,” I said. “I am a saint.”

“Oh, Sparrow, no one who fucks like you is a saint,” he said and filled me in one brutal thrust. I cried out at the feel of him, instinctively lifting my hips and widening my legs to accommodate him deeper. When I focused on his eyes again, he bent to press his lips to my neck and jaw.

“Sing for me, Sparrow,” he commanded and set his pace, moving inside me steadily. It was neither slow nor rapid. All the while, he watched me, his long hair teasing my skin, and I did exactly as he bid—I sang for him, I cried for him, I screamed for him.





Ten


As the sun set, I stepped out of the tent, finding that most of the camp had already been packed. I was exhausted and my body ached; both things would make tonight’s ride difficult. I was also unreasonably frustrated with myself and my feelings for Adrian. I even hated to call them feelings, but I was finding it harder to hate the actual person behind the monster, and that was something I had not expected in our short time together. I reasoned that the answer was simple: Adrian had been kind. He had buried my people according to our customs. He had left his soldiers to aid my father against an unknown threat. He had kept his promises to me.

But those promises were for Lara, not Cordova—and those were my people too. In the end, he would kill anyone who did not submit to his will.

I had to remember that.

“Princess Isolde.”

I turned toward the feminine voice that had used my old title and met the dark stare of Adrian’s vassal. As I studied her, I remembered what Adrian had said—that they were richly rewarded, which was evident in the furs and blue silk she was draped in. Half of her blond hair was pinned up, and the rest fell in curls around her shoulders. Her features were pretty, small and pointed, but there was something vicious in her gaze: a dark thing that lived beneath her slight facade.

I had no trouble showing her my own vicious side, seeing no need to hide it. “I am married to your king, which makes me your queen,” I said.

Her mouth opened, her face paled, but she recovered well, offering a laugh that grated against my ears. “Of course, I apologize. I am Safira, Adrian’s favored vassal.”

My eyes dropped to her gloved hand, which she extended to me.

I did not take it and lifted my gaze to hers once more. “As King Adrian’s favored vassal, I would think you would be familiar with the etiquette of approaching a royal,” I said.

Safira’s fake smile fell. “Of course I am familiar with etiquette,” she answered, though she still did not move to bow. “I merely felt that we were more equal, given we are responsible for Adrian’s pleasure.”

“You thought wrong,” I said. “If you approach me again, I expect you will curtsy and address me by the appropriate title.”

I was a little relieved when Safira dropped her false warmth. Her expression became icy, her cheeks rosy, as she answered, “My, you certainly have adjusted well to your new position.”

“I was bred to be a queen,” I said and took a step toward her. “Just as I was bred to dispose of things that bother me. Will you continue to bother me, Safira?”

Her mouth pressed into a tight line, and she lifted her chin, glaring at me. “If you touch me, you will face Adrian’s wrath.”

I had not been married to Adrian long, but last night, he’d essentially offered me her place. I did not think she was as irreplaceable as she thought. I took another step toward her.

“Do not threaten me with my husband. If I come for you, no one will protect you.” I straightened. “Best to begin planning how you will fight your own battles, Safira. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

The woman stood there a moment, chest heaving, and I had the fleeting thought that if she had a blade, she would go for my heart, but I did not think she was brave enough to go head-to-head with me—not after she’d seen me fight my own people.

She curtsied, and I offered a cold, triumphant smile.

“Your Majesty,” she said in parting before she turned on her heels, curls bouncing, and cut a path through camp.

“Making friends?”

I turned to find Sorin standing behind me, an amused smirk on his face.

“More like managing expectations,” I said.

“Safira is jealous,” Sorin said, as if I could not guess. “Though after what I heard last night, even I am jealous.”

I raised a brow, glaring. “You were across camp.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Sorin,” I warned.

“All I am saying is your cries of pleasure were heard for miles.”

“Does Daroc punish you often for your mouth?”

“All the time,” he said with a wink, and then someone cleared their throat behind us. We turned and found Daroc looming. He obviously did not appreciate my humor as much as Sorin. Adrian’s second-in-command gave me a pointed look before his gaze slid to his lover.

“Sorin, King Adrian has a job for you.”