Page 40 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Marietta

C onfusion and disbelief continued to fill Marietta’s mind as they returned to the suite. Silence stretched between her and Amryth, whose eyebrows knitted with concern. As the door closed, she asked, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

The question surprised Marietta, not expecting a handmaid to ask about her time with the Queen.

With a shake of her head, she walked into the living room and sat in front of the window.

Silently, she stared at the rain falling on the Central Garden.

At some point, Amryth brought over a blanket and draped it on her lap.

Marietta gave her a pitiful smile at the kind gesture.

“I’m going to give you some time alone,” Amryth said, breaking the silence. “If you need anything, have the guards send for me.” With a gentle squeeze on Marietta’s shoulder, she left the suite without another word.

The sky grew dark, Marietta not bothering to light the suite. Queen Valeriya’s information was hard to accept. Tilan was no ordinary blacksmith—he had the creative ingenious to be an inventor as well. Organizations of any kind held little of his interest, let alone secret ones.

Of all their years as a couple, he never struck Marietta as a liar.

Sure, Tilan was a private person and as independent as Marietta, but that was part of how their marriage worked.

Separate lives during the day, but each evening they spent together.

There was ample opportunity to lie, yet Marietta knew Tilan.

Would he have kept that big of a secret from her?

Guilt and shame pitted her stomach and brought heat to her face. Who was she to question her dead husband’s past?

What Marietta needed was the truth, and fortunately for her, Keyain was the person to ask. As the Minister of Protection, he would have information about the group and he made it clear he met Tilan before.

“Marietta? What are you doing?” Keyain asked, startling Marietta from her thoughts. Outside grew dark, globes of gold drifted above the hazy, mist-covered garden, offering the only light. She turned to face Keyain as he lit the room.

“Oh, just sitting.” Marietta stood, leaving the blanket on the chair.

“Wow,” he said, taking in her entire body.

“Wow, what?”

“You look beautiful. The jewelry was a nice touch.” A smile grew on his lips but faltered as she stepped into the light. “Were you crying?”

“I had a rough afternoon.” Marietta crossed her arms, not meeting his eyes.

“What happened? What did Queen Valeriya do?”

“We had tea.” Marietta took a steady breath, thankful that tears didn’t come. Perhaps at that point, she had none left to give. “Queen Valeriya had some enlightening information to share.”

“What kind of information?” Keyain asked, stepping forward with a hand reaching out, brows furrowed.

Unable to stare at him, Marietta turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Tell me about the Exisotis.”

Keyain swore under his breath. “Marietta, we’re not having this conversation.”

“So it’s true.”

“I said we’re not—” A knock on the door stopped the reply as servants entered with dinner. “We’re not talking about this,” he finished, whispering. “You’ll feel better after eating.”

Dinner made her feel worse. Marietta sipped on wine and picked at the braised goat and vegetables, but her appetite was nonexistent. Keyain chatted about nothing important and every few minutes, Marietta would nod to something he said. That satisfied him enough.

What she needed was information on the Exisotis and what Tilan’s role was.

The uncertainty led Marietta’s mind to question every detail of their life together—the late nights at the smithy, knowing random people around town, what he did when she was traveling.

Gods, even how they met seemed suspicious.

And if Tilan could hide the Exisotis from her, what else did he hide?

The servants cleared the remnants of dinner and left. Keyain sat across from Marietta, frowning, as she offered simple replies. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and walked to a cabinet. From it, he pulled out two glasses and a decanter of a dark liquid.

“Here,” he said, pouring a glass and handing it to her. “Go change; get comfortable.”

Marietta took it and stared at the amber whiskey inside, an idea coming to mind. She drained the glass of the burning alcohol and set it back on the table, gesturing for more. The idea would not be enjoyable.

“Oh, it’s that kind of night.” Keyain finished his drink and refilled both while Marietta left to change in the bedroom.

In the living room, Keyain sat on the couch with his legs propped up on the table. He slung an arm across the back. Keyain sat up straighter when she came into view, his jaw slacking.

Marietta stood in a scrap of indigo silk and lace that covered little of her body.

Aware of how much skin showed, she bent over, grabbed a drink, and took a sizable sip.

As she sat down on the other end of the couch, she stretched her legs out towards Keyain.

“I felt bad for borrowing your clothes.”

“You don’t need an excuse. You look... comfortable.” His gaze remained locked on Marietta as if the sight would vanish if he looked away.

“Comfortable?” She raised a brow.

“Well, yeah. And beautiful, but I already said that once tonight. I didn’t think you’d want me to repeat it.”

“What lady doesn’t love to hear they’re beautiful?”

“Fair. You, Marietta, are the most beautiful.” In one hand, he held his drink, sipping the whiskey, and his other fell onto her bare leg. Instinct urged Marietta to move away from his touch, but she fought it, her plan working.

“I am also the most comfortable. Perhaps the Queen had my comfort in mind when she sent me silk nightgowns?” She tried slipping into their familiar banter.

“Oh, most definitely, it was purely a practical decision. I’m not even enjoying it one bit,” Keyain said, looking down at his glass with a blush before glancing back at Marietta.

Marietta laughed, watching Keyain continue to drink as she drained the last of the whiskey.

She stood, leaning to place the empty glass on the table, letting Keyain see exactly how little the nightgown covered.

When she sat, Marietta draped her legs over his lap, tucking her head into the crook of his arm.

Keyain tensed for a moment, then relaxed, his hand finding her leg once more, fingers grazing the skin.

“This is nice,” she said quietly, gazing into his face.

His lips parted as he leaned in, kissing her. Marietta cupped his cheek, kissing him back, ignoring the resentment in her chest. Keyain had killed her husband and forced her to Satiros, and there she was, kissing him as if she could ever forgive him. The plan—it was just for the plan.

There was a thud as Keyain reached to set his glass down, not breaking his face from her own. One arm slid behind her bent knees, the other finding her lower back, shifting Marietta to seat her in his lap.

Marietta’s lips and tongue slid over Keyain’s, the oaky flavor of the liquor fresh. He pulled back with a molten gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Keyain shifted Marietta so that her legs straddled his lap.

The buzz of alcohol silenced the rancor in her head, allowing her to block out who she kissed.

Instead, she focused on kissing along his jaw.

Under the nightgown, Keyain explored her body, his rough and calloused hands pawing at her curves.

When she reached the shell of his ear, she moaned softly as he caressed her ass. “Mar,” he said, his voice rough.

Little fabric remained between them as she straddled him, his excitement clearly pressing through his pants against her.

She pulled back, grabbing his chin and turning his head to the side as she kissed along his neck.

Keyain’s head tilted back as his breathing quickened, near moaning with her effort.

“Are you enjoying this?” Marietta asked.

Keyain’s eyes were half-closed as he nodded.

“You want me to keep going?” she murmured into his skin. Keyain’s body writhed, his grip tighter as he nodded again.

“Then tell me about the Exisotis.”

“What?” Keyain asked, breathy and scowling.

A rock of her hips caused his head to drop back again. “Just share what you know, then we can keep going.” She grabbed his hands, placing his grip on her hips as she continued to move.

“Mar.” Keyain’s voice was gravelly and filled with a warning, caught between what he wanted to do and what he should do—exactly where Marietta wanted him. Pride be damned. She needed to know the truth.

The nightgown rose as she led his hands up her body. Keyain cupped her breasts, thumbing the tips. “You just have to give me some information, and I’ll be yours. I promise.” She smiled at him playfully, her voice like honey.

“Marietta, I can’t. Not no-” He stopped mid-sentence to let out another moan, her hips grinding as Keyain tried to lift off her nightgown.

“Not so fast. You can have all of it. Just talk to me.” One hand held his chin, and the other one explored the hardness in his lap, earning a writhing shake.

“Marietta, please,” Keyain said, his head dropping back.

Her mouth found his neck again, working her way to his ear as she moaned Keyain’s name. He panted, straining against his self-control as he thrust his hips.

“Tell me, Keyain.”

“No.” Anger laced his voice as he held her away from his body.

“This is what you want, right?” Marietta reached to cup his face, but he snatched her hand.

“Not like this.” The muscle in his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth. With gentle and exact movements, he lifted her off and left the couch. He kept his back to her as he leaned against the fireplace, attempting to regain his composure.

“Keyain, please tell me.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”