Page 124

No, no, no.

Not after last night–not after what hetookfrom me. What Igave.

I stumble out of bed, dragging the tangled sheet around my naked body. My legs tremble. I make it three steps before the door to the bathroom opens.

Steam curls out, warm and damp, and he steps into the room–

Fully dressed.

Buttoned into a black shirt, slacks, polished shoes. His regular mask is back over his face, hiding him from me. No mussed hair. No feverish hands. No kiss-bruised mouth. The man who destroyed me last night is gone. This is the King now. Impenetrable. Remote. I stop, blinking up at him like a fool. Am I? Am I a fool?

My heart flutters, desperate, a trapped thing against my ribs.

"You're here," I breathe, almost laughing with relief.

He doesn't answer.

Just looks at me–cool, assessing. I shuffle closer, the sheet slipping lower on my shoulders. “I thought we would spend the morning together. Ask Graves to send up some breakfast, then we could pick up where we left off?”

I want his hands on me again. His cock inside, driving into me with insatiable want. I want that feeling of beingowned… not the cold spot currently building in my belly.

“The honeymoon is over, Arianette.” He steps past me. “I have work to do.”

"Oh.” I try not to show my upset. It’s obvious he doesn’t like that. “Well, then let me help you. I can–I can make you something to eat," I say quickly, my words tumbling over each other. "Or tea. I’m good at tea. I can... I can be good for you." I don't know why I'm babbling. I just can't seem to stop. "I'myour wife now," I remind him. "I can take care of you. I can do wifely things. Take over for whatever it is Graves does for you. Laundry, sewing, cleaning, cooking…” the words just keep coming. “I learned all of these at the Manor.”

I hover there, trembling, half-naked and clinging to the threadbare sheet, searching his unreadable mask for a crack, a sign, anything–

“I’m not hungry,” he says, voice void of any of the emotion we’d shared overnight, “and I have a busy day ahead.” He tugs at his cuffs, pushing the tiny buttons into place.

“We can do other things,” I offer. “Back in the bed. Or out of the bed.” I reach for his hand, but he jerks away, as if he’s been burned.

“I had Graves bring you some breakfast, water, tea, and some supplements.” He walks calmly over to a tray I didn’t notice in my panic. A dome sits neatly over a plate of food. He lifts a glass of water and carries over the capsules. I blink once, then take the glass from him, and he holds out that smooth hand, the one that made me cry out over and over last night. The one that made me beg. “These will help with the dehydration and any side effects of the revelry last night.” He drops them into my still, open hand. One, two, three…

I look at the pills. One is filled with brown powder. The other white. Then there’s a tablet, hard and pressed. Different from the supplements I’ve been taking. There’s a nagging at the back of my skull.

“What is this?” I ask, staring at it. “It looks different.”

“It is,” he says, looking into a mirror and brushing a loose strand of dark hair into his waves. “It’s an emergency contraceptive. Your uncle was so insistent about your virtue, we didn’t think to plan ahead.”

“Contraceptive?” My eyes flick to his. “To keep me from having a baby.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to have my baby?” I ask, an unexpected emotion crashing into me.

“Last night was a mistake. A loss of judgment after the stress and strain of the ceremony. I allowed myself to get caught up in the celebration, in Samhain, and frankly,” his eyes dart down to where I clutch the sheet, “in you.” A hollow pounding echoes in my ears, and I try to keep upright. He sighs, taking the pill from me and holding it up. “You are a child, Arianette, and neither of us are in a position to bring another one into this world.” He lifts his chin. “Now, be a good girl and take the pill.”

My jaw drops open, and he pops it on my tongue. A moment later I’m swallowing the water and the bitter, chalky pill.

He watches to make sure I swallow, then steps back, dusting his hands as if he's brushing off something unpleasant.

“What is happening?” I ask, trying to make sense of it. “Daddy?”

He winces, then says, "I gave you what I could. Made it good for you in a way that I don’t think your Barons would have."

My lips part. Words scrape against the back of my throat but I can't force them out.

"This is what being my wife looks like," he says. "A beautiful woman who sits by my side when I need her. A fixture for celebrations and ceremonies. Nothing more, nothing less.” The floor seems to tilt under me. “Get dressed. Go to class. Take your dance lesson. See to your Barons. Fulfill your oaths.”