King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(65)

“Isolde, tell me what I did wrong.”

“Can you not read minds?” I countered, frustrated, though I really hoped he couldn’t in this moment. I didn’t want him to know the truth—that I could not handle the care with which he had looked at me, that I felt more emotion than I could manage when I looked at him.

“I’m trying to give you privacy,” he said, and it was the first time I sensed his exasperation with me.

“I just…did not know you would make a habit of visiting my bed every night. It is not as if we need to produce an heir, so it is hardly necessary.”

He released me but turned fully toward me, towering, eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you tire of me, my queen?”

I hated the way those words hurt my chest, and I hated how uncertain I sounded as I answered, breathless. “Yes.”

Adrian stared a moment longer, as if he thought I would change my mind beneath his scrutiny, but I didn’t—I couldn’t—and I hoped that if he had chosen to read my mind in this moment, my thoughts reflected the same. Adrian and I were supposed to be enemies, and I could only stand our closeness so long as I still felt anger toward him.

Finally, he took his leave, offering only a single bow. I wondered how long I’d be able to keep my distance before that unexplained need for him took over and betrayed my self-control.

I returned to my quarters after court to find Ana sitting with Vesna. The two looked up as I entered and then stood to curtsy.

“My queen,” Vesna said, keeping her eyes on her feet.

“You will have to learn to meet my gaze if you are to work for me, Vesna,” I said, and when she did, she blushed a deep crimson.

“I apologize, my queen.”

“Do not apologize,” I said. “Ana, will you summon Violeta?”

She nodded and left the room. Alone with Vesna, I invited her to sit beside me on the bed, once again keeping my distance from the hearth.

“I must inform you of your father’s death, Vesna,” I said. “I…”

I did not know what to add.

I murdered him, I thought, but I did not have the chance to add anything to my statement. Vesna burst into tears. It was a torrent of emotion that lasted only a few seconds before she was able to compose herself.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t apologizing for killing her father, but I was apologizing for her hurt.

“No, please. Do not be sorry. I just…do not know how to feel. He was terrible, to be sure, a true monster not only to me and my sisters but our mother and the townspeople. To be truthful, I do not know how he survived this long.”

She told me of instances when her father’s food or drink had been poisoned, but he’d escaped any attempts by feeding the contaminated fare to their animals. I felt sick at the thought.

“Still, he was my father,” she said.

“You do not have to decide how to feel today or tomorrow or ever if that is your choice,” I said. “But I cannot have men selling their daughters without consequences.”

“I understand,” she whispered. “I am only glad that I can protect my sisters from him.”

“Tell me about them,” I said.

Vesna smiled when I asked. They were nine and eleven, and their names were Jasenka and Kseniya. She told a story of how much they loved flowers and how they would shriek with delight when they spotted white butterflies resting on petals, and as they flew away, the girls would follow, dancing as they went.

“We called it the butterfly dance,” she said, smiling even as tears stained her face. “I think I remember those times so well because there was sun just beyond the border, and sometimes, we would run beneath it.”

The sun.

It was strange how the thought of it filled me with mourning as I remembered how I’d sought the tallest hills in Lara just so I could lie closer to its rays. Homesickness swamped me.

“What about your mother?” I asked, swallowing hard, blinking back the tears burning my eyes.

At the question, Vesna’s mouth began to quiver. “I do not know what will become of her. I…” She fell forward and sobbed into her hands, and the only thing I could think to do was hold her. After she had cried a while, she was able to tell me more about her mother. “She used to sing,” Vesna said. “But my father would yell, so she only sang when he was gone. Then he began to hit, and her singing stopped altogether.”

I sent her with Violeta after that, promising before she left, “You may leave to visit your family as often as you wish.”

She smiled at me. “Thank you, my queen.”

Alone, I lay upon my bed, and as I stared up at the canopy, the tangled pattern blurred with my tears. I missed my father and the presence of my mother so much, my chest ached. I closed my eyes against the pain and rolled onto my side, humming my mother’s lullaby, the one that had played from the music box my father had given me—the one he would bring me in less than two weeks’ time.

You still have him, I reminded myself.

And yet his absence burrowed deeper, and for the first time since I’d left Lara, I felt very much alone.





Fourteen


I had no self-control.

Adrian did not visit my bed that night, and while I knew he was honoring exactly what I’d asked for, I’d never wanted him to defy my wishes so much in my life. It was not dramatic to say I writhed. I was so uncomfortable in my skin. Each caress against my nipples and engorged clit was a reminder of Adrian’s absence. I pushed the covers away until I was exposed to the night. The chill air blanketed my body, and as I closed my eyes, fingers parting my flesh, I heard Adrian’s voice.