Page 37 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Marietta

M arietta sat in the living room, pretending to be interested in the book she read as she heard the door to the suite open. Her head whipped to Amryth with a smile—Keyain came back to let her out of the suite. Gods, when did she start sounding like a pet?

Without waiting for another second, she threw down the book, running to the other room. “Finally,” she said, “you’re taking precious time out of your busy day to get me out of this gods damned—” The words died in her throat when she saw Keyain.

Blood dripped from his nose, his face ragged, clothing soaked from head to toe. The broken look on his face woke something in her chest. Was it sympathy? No, it couldn’t be.

“Unfortunately, no,” Keyain said, walking to the bedroom as water continued to drip onto the floor.

Marietta glanced at Amryth, who shrugged and went back to reading.

“Are you alright?” she asked, stepping into the bedroom.

Keyain’s voice carried from the bathroom. “Yeah, I’m alright.” There was a slop of wet clothes hitting the tile, followed by his footsteps.

When he came back to the bedroom, the only clothing left was his underclothes, the thin white fabric hiding nothing while wet.

In an attempt to avoid looking below his waist, Marietta stared at his abdomen, finding it peppered with red welts.

With cautious hands, she reached out, touching next to them. “Keyain, what happened?”

He took her hand, brushing his thumb across her fingers. “Nothing.”

“So you’re going to come back soaking wet in the middle of the afternoon, covered in bruises and blood, but not share what happened?” She slipped her hand out of his grasp.

Keyain frowned, turning away and heading to the closet. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

Marietta followed. “Well, I’m very curious, and you know how I get when I have to search for an answer.”

Keyain grunted in response.

“Okay, then I’ll have to guess. You sang for a group of your soldiers and they pelted you with rocks and buckets of water because of your lousy voice?

” When he didn’t answer, Marietta continued.

“Or perhaps you decided to fight a fountain and you’re too embarrassed to tell me because you lost.” She turned the corner to the closet.

“Oh! A satyr statue came alive and—” Her words cut off as she saw Keyain had ditched his underclothes.

Fully turning to her, he offered a tired smile. “Keep trying to steal peeks?” he teased, the humor not reaching his eyes.

Marietta scowled, not letting embarrassment get the best of her. “Enlighten me. I’m sure your story is more interesting than any of your books.”

Keyain sighed as he pulled on new clothes. “I was cutting through the Central Garden—the big one from the other day—and I saw Elyse. A male I didn’t recognize had her pinned down behind some bushes, and she had this bruise on her forehead.”

Marietta brought her hand to her throat, surprised that something like that could happen in the palace. “Gods, was she alright?”

“I may have misread the situation, and he was… courting her, if you will,” he said as he pulled on a new tunic.

Marietta dropped her hand. “Ah,” she said, taking in the welts on his abdomen.

“You lost control of your anger and attacked him?” That was just like Keyain.

Back when they were together, he often picked fights with strangers for little to no reasons, acting first before questioning if it was a good idea. It seemed that he hadn’t changed much.

Biting his tongue, he turned away. “No,” he ground out, “the male called you a clip and your words from the other day stuck with me. If I don’t stand up for you, if I let others treat you in such a way, then it’s no different from saying that word myself.”

Stunned silence held Marietta as she watched him continue to change. “Oh.” Perhaps he could change, though a decade too late.

“Yes, ‘oh,’” he repeated in a sour tone. Keyain approached, placing his hands on her shoulders. Marietta raised her head to stare at his face. “For what it’s worth, I’m trying to be better. It will never make up for everything—not even close to it, but I’m trying.”

Her eyes searched his face, finding the genuine pain laced in his expression. Never did she think he could reflect on his actions—or inaction—and attempt to be better. Where would they be if he tried all those years ago? “Well, thank you,” she whispered, “for standing up for me.”

He offered a half-smile before dropping his hands. “As I’ve said before, Marietta, I would do anything for you.”

Keyain walked around her, leaving Marietta alone in the closet. How was he still that hung up on her? How, after all these years, has his heart stayed gripped onto her so tightly? It made little sense.

But love didn’t need to. Keyain’s love was always twisted—a contorted mess of wanting to be a caring partner to Marietta and wanting to do what served him best. At her core, she knew that he must have loved her.

She felt it all those years on the road, living in inn after inn.

Memories from those days had been some of her favorites.

When Marietta left Keyain, she blocked them all out—ignored any lingering emotions she had.

She assumed Keyain had done the same. Yet after being apart for years to only reunite after he abducted her, something became very clear: Keyain was still in love with her.

Such emotion should have touched her heart, yet all Marietta saw was an opportunity.