Page 36

Even now I wanted to drag Tamsyn back to the bed and have her again... and again, until I was satiated. The impulse baffled me. I was always in control. Never led by impulse or cock.

I ducked the oncoming fist and delivered a swift blow to the young man’s ribs, unleashing my wrath, gratified at the crunch beneath my knuckles. He sucked in a breath and staggered back. I moved in to rain down more abuse, but bodies got between us, palace guards protecting their own.

The king and queen were swept from the chamber, their security a priority.

Arkin roared, unsheathing his sword and diving into the melee.

Rapiers were pulled. Women screamed. Decanters and goblets shattered on the floor. The priest started shouting prayers.

Suddenly my wife was there, pressing a hand on my chest, impeding me from inflicting more violence. “Enough!” And then softer, her eyes pleading: “Please.”

One hand on my chest, one word from her, and I stopped. I resisted the impulse to fold my hand over hers and keep it there on my beating heart, imbuing me with her drugging warmth that I remembered only too well.

How was it she had this effect on me in so short a time? I had not met a more treacherous woman in all my days. I despised her and what she had done, and yet she held me in the palm of her hand.

It could not stand.

Everyone stilled. Arkin’s head whipped around before landing on me. “Fell,” he barked in bewilderment, clearly wondering why I had paused rather than bust heads alongside him.

Because she asked me to stop.

I would not dare admit it. I felt weak even thinking it.

The captain of the guard was looking at her now, his expression wounded as he stared at where she touched me with her hand. “Tamsyn,” he croaked, his face crestfallen, as though she had somehow betrayed him. I wanted to strike him down for daring to speak her name aloud when I had not even done so yet. I might not want her for my wife, but she was mine. Mine and not his. I wanted to break him.

She glanced at him briefly and then settled her attention back on me. “Lady Dryhten,” she corrected firmly, sending me a wary look, as though seeking my approval.

Stig’s eyes bulged. “Lady Dryhten?” he choked out, shaking his head as though he could not fathom it. “Tamsyn, no...”

“Yes,” she insisted, nodding slowly, still holding my stare. “Yes. I am Lady Dryhten. If his lordship agrees.”

Agrees?

Now she wanted my agreement? I glared at her. After the fact. After her deceit. After it had become impossible to reject her without causing civil discord.

This little skirmish would be but a taste of it. If I refused her as my wife, the whole of the Borderlands would rally to my side. It would divide the entire kingdom. It would be war.

But maybe it was time.

Hamlin had had his chance, and this country was close to the breaking point. Without the Borderlands propping it up, Penterra would have already fallen. He should be ousted. Toppled from his gilded throne. I looked away from her, this whipping girl, and around the chamber at all the angry faces.

I did not have the whole of the Borderlands here with me now.

I had a dozen warriors. Highly skilled, willing to follow my every command, to fight to the death. And yet resisting, revolting here and now, would mean death for us all. We could not take on the palace guards. There were too many of them. Too few of us.

There was no choice. I had to fake a smile. Agree. And plan my revenge. Bide my time. Plot my next move.

This would not rest. The treachery, the disrespect. I would not forget. I would not forgive.

“Aye,” I said slowly, my gaze skimming over her with a crude thoroughness she could not mistake. There was nothing else I could say at the moment. “I’ll have you.”

And God help her, for I would make her pay the price for it.

11

Tamsyn

IWASN’T DEAD.