Page 93 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Sixty

Marietta

T he first gift came two days after her visit to the temple, a bouquet made of golden daffodils, sweet-smelling elderflower, flowing vines of honeysuckle, and lavender.

Days of selecting fresh-cut flowers with her mother at the market flooded her memory.

King Wyltam had no clue how the gift touched her.

Along with the bouquet was a brief note.

All beauty is frivolous, yet through you, I’m learning to enjoy such frivolities.

Marietta hated the smile it brought, the swoop that moved through her stomach. King Wyltam wasn’t a man of many words, but he was efficient. The gift did its job.

Keyain didn’t eat dinner with her after seeing the vase of flowers on the table, the leash on his anger slipping when he saw the note.

Instead, he locked himself in his office for the evening.

Marietta coaxed him out a few hours later with a kiss, followed by yet another intimate night.

Since their first night together, they made a habit of it, Marietta remembering exactly how much she enjoyed that side of Keyain.

A couple of days later, another present arrived. A box the size of a dinner plate tied with a ribbon surprised Marietta one afternoon. Fixed atop was another note from the King.

I’ll save you the boredom of this bakery’s long history, but know it’s the oldest in Satiros and a favorite for a reason.

Marietta tore at the ribbon and lifted the lid, surprised to find slices of custard pie with candied lemon slices. A traditional pastry which made sense if it was the oldest in Satiros.

Her custard pie was a wedding favorite in Olkia, the lemon and cinnamon-infused syrup she drizzled overtop being popular among the masses. It was one of the first recipes she learned.

She bit into a piece, unable to wait. The custard center melted on her tongue, thick and sweet between the thin layers of crisp and flaky dough. The syrup had a nutty flavor, indicative of honey, which was the traditional ingredient. Her last bite with the candied lemon was perfection.

Gods damn the King for not sharing with her the name. Marietta wished to visit, to meet the baker, doubtful she knew them if they ran the oldest bakery in Satiros.

Another thought hit her. There were other bakeries in Satiros—ones she had yet to experience. Gods, her friend Grysella owned a bakery there. How did she forget about that? One day, she’d visit. Marietta would see them all, whether as Keyain’s wife or as an Iros to the goddess Therypon.

Keyain tried to ignore the sweets that evening. After Marietta hounded him to try one, he claimed through clenched teeth that he could request something better from the palace kitchens instead. Blinded by his jealousy, he didn’t realize how wrong he was.

His anger snapped the night the King’s note arrived, a servant handing it to him instead of Marietta. “This is too far,” he yelled, slamming his fist and stirring Marietta from her book.

She looked over her shoulder from the couch to where Keyain stood near the dining table. “What’s too far?”

The note crinkled in his fist as his stare found Marietta. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”

Marietta snapped her book shut, setting it on the seat next to her, and stood to face Keyain. “What’s in the note, Keyain?”

“You’re not going, so it doesn’t matter.”

“So the note is for me?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t give it to me?” She crossed her arms, raising a speculative brow.

“No.” He walked to the liquor cabinet, pocketing the note as he reached for a decanter.

Marietta approached from behind. “Of course, you aren’t,” she said, plucking his just-poured glass of whiskey from his hands and taking a sip. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have control over me.”

“Mar, that’s not—”

“It is.” She turned towards the living room, looking back at Keyain. “Does it feel good?”

His mouth parted, unable to form words, though he tried. Things had been good between them, despite the King’s taunting presents, and she knew Keyain didn’t want to spoil it. It was cruel, but so was attacking her home. Abducting her.

She felt no remorse as Keyain wiped his face and poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey. “This is different. The King—”

“So it was from the King.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Exactly.” She walked back into the living room, returning to her book with her drink in hand.

As expected, Keyain followed her, exasperated. “The King isn’t your friend, Marietta.”

“You’re right,” she drawled, not looking up from the pages. “He’s yours.”

“So, him giving you inappropriate attention—”

She jerked her face toward him. “Inappropriate attention? Keyain, he’s making sure I am well-adjusted in Satiros, especially after….” She gestured with her hands at the suite, referring to the days spent rotting away.

“A king shouldn’t be the one to do so.”

“You’re right,” she said, softening her expression. “But someone had to.”

The insult landed. Keyain’s eyes fluttered closed as he took a deep breath. Gods, if he gripped the glass any tighter, then it’d shatter.

“Come sit,” Marietta said, patting the seat next to her.

Keyain trudged over, taking a hefty swig as he sat. Her fingers played with the short brown waves of his hair, the touch easing his jaw.

“I know you’re not trying to control me,” she murmured, “but you must realize that’s what you’re doing. King Wyltam is your friend, and he’s extending that friendship to me.” Keyain faced forward, unable to see the lie plain on her face. “Please, give me the note. It wasn’t yours.”

With a deep sigh, Keyain dug into his pocket and handed the crumpled-up paper. Scrawled in the King’s handwriting was another short and simple note.

I have made arrangements for us to visit the Ertwyrmer Sculpture Gardens in the morning if you still wish to visit. It would be my honor to give you your first tour. I await your reply.

Marietta fought the smile that her lips wanted to form. During their carriage ride, the King mentioned the sculpture garden. She had said she’d love to visit. He remembered.

“It’s unsafe for both of you to be in a public garden,” Keyain said, watching her closely. “Too many hidden areas, dense underbrush. Even if guards sweep the gardens before you arrive, it’ll still leave an opportunity for you to be abducted.”

She should have held her tongue, but anger blossomed at her center. “Ah yes, it would be wrong to abduct me.”

Keyain shot her an annoyed glance. “I thought you’ve been enjoying your time here with me. My apologies.”

He went to stand, but she caught his arm, sitting him back on the couch. She folded his hand into hers with a kiss. “I’m sorry,” she lied, “but I don’t like not making my own decisions. I want to go. The King won’t put me at risk.” She pressed a kiss onto his cheek.

He sighed, finishing his drink before placing the empty glass on the table. “Come here,” he murmured. Marietta set her drink and book to the side, climbing into his lap. “I love you, Marietta.”

She shouldn’t say it. To tell Keyain such a lie would be the most cruel. “I love you, too.”

He pulled back, staring at her face. “What did you say?”

“I love you, too.”

Keyain’s mouth found hers, his arms pulling her close as he pushed her onto her back. Not bothering to move to the bed, Keyain unzipped her dress, hastily pulling the fabric away.

Marietta started on the buttons of his shirt, but Keyain grabbed the bottom hem, pulling it off and tossing it to the side. His pants came off just as quickly, and then he was inside her, both moaning from the touch, the release.

Perhaps it was too far to say those words to him, but they worked. Marietta was wedging herself between Keyain and the King faster than she ever anticipated. And as Keyain whispered the words into her neck as he thrust, she felt no remorse as she repeated them back.

Though it was well before noon, the weather was hot and dry, summer fully coming to fruition.

To appease Keyain, Marietta wore a relatively modest dress of light white fabric.

The handmaids helped tie Marietta’s curls into a loose knot on top of her head to keep her hair off her neck.

On her feet were sandals instead of slippers.

The King’s outfit surprised Marietta, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. He wore all black despite the heat, but his shirt was of a thinner fabric. He left the top buttons undone to let a section of his chest show.

The carriage ride to the Ertwymer Sculpture Gardens was quick, she and the King exchanging short pleasantries.

When they arrived, the King emerged first, offering his arm to Marietta.

Guards stepped up closed around them as she left the carriage and her jaw dropped when she saw the garden’s entrance.

Between the buildings of Petal Row, the sculpture gardens stood in contrast with its sweeping canopies, thick blooming flower beds, and sculptures of creatures.

More sizable than any living being, two statues of females sunk into the trunks of stone trees, hair twisting into the meticulously carved bark, the branches of each reaching across the top of the gate to form an arch.

“Dryads,” the King said, bent down to murmur in her ear.

“They’re beautiful.” Her eyes scanned each one as the guards escorted them into the gardens.

“Wait until you see the others.”

A thin, wiry elven man approached them, his nose long and lips curled into an unnatural smile. “King Wyltam,” he said with a sweeping bow. “My honor to have you back at the Ertwymer Statue Gardens. Will you need assistance today or—”

“With me is a noble lady you forgot to greet.” King Wyltam’s deep voice cut through the entrance, the guards at the sides stilling as the King’s mood shifted.

“Apologies,” he said with another sweeping bow. “I didn’t realize the clip—”

“I suggest your next words be a proper greeting for her. You know exactly who she is.”