Page 25 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

I t looked—and felt—so real. She gripped the sides of her stool.

Bog reappeared with a plate of bread, butter, and a jar of preserves. “For the beautiful bride, and”—he glanced sidelong at Garin—“her friend.”

She frowned, mouth open as the barkeep left them. “Why did he say that? Why would he think we aren’t together?”

Garin tipped the cup back, swallowing before answering. “That was delicious,” he said a little loudly, wiping a dribble from his mouth, then tearing and popping a small corner of the bread into his mouth. “Oh, he thinks we’re together. He just thinks I’m your paramour.”

Lilac glanced around, reddening but too fascinated with watching him eat to pay attention to his second remark. “How are you doing that?”

The bar was getting fuller now, several overnight denizens from the inn on the upper floor emerging, yawning, from the staircase at the back. Other newcomers shuffled through the front, some joining the group in the back corner. Some of them noticed her, their gazes lingering a bit too long.

“Chewing,” Garin answered through his mouthful. “Then swallowing.”

He said nothing more when a second bar hand appeared—a towering maiden—and left a small plate of cheese between them without a word. Her stomach growled, and she shifted in her seat .

Garin gazed out at the slowly growing breakfast crowd over his tankard, his shoulders slowly relaxing. They might have sat at Bog’s dilapidated bar, but he still looked like a prince who’d taken a wrong turn. Spoiled and a little dangerous.

They were just two people, two friends, enjoying breakfast together. One of them happened to be in a wedding gown. She remembered how easily she had assumed he was human, albeit a striking one. Was everyone here as fooled? Or had she just been easy prey?

Bile burned her throat as she watched Garin spread preserves over the piece of bread he’d plucked from the plate; she hadn’t even had any of Lorietta’s pottage and should have eaten on the way.

When he bit largely into the steaming rye and followed it with a corner of cheese, he looked more human than ever, a lock of his dark hair falling onto his forehead.

“Blueberries in rye,” he said, his eyes rolling back.

He examined the bread. “My God. I’ll have to tell Lorietta about this.

An unorthodox pairing, yet entirely logical.

” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Lilac couldn’t help but stare. “You… enjoy food, don’t you?”

“All of our senses are heightened. We enjoy every version of food as an indulgence. At least I do.”

“Won’t it make you sick?” she said under her breath.

He pushed it toward her.

She shook her head, annoyed. But her stomach rumbled loudly this time, giving her away. “I can’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he turned his head and took in her dress.

“Pity. We all crave things we cannot have.” Before she could reply with something scathing, he leaned sideways against the bar, eyes on her.

But instead of the usual warmth in their depths, she saw only a taunting coldness there.

“Did your parents prompt you to marry after that skirmish on the border?”

Lilac’s face turned heated, and she scooted closer to him. “Lower your voice,” she ground out. “It was not a skirmish. They were asked to leave and obliged. How did you hear?” Damn the loose mouths in her court. Had it been her father’s weak councilmen?

“What did you think would happen once you rose to power?” He snorted. “I would not be surprised if your darling mother included wedding invitations in those coronation ball parcels she sent out last week.”

Feeling violated and nauseous, Lilac cleared her throat, smiling at the elderly couple indiscreetly staring as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

She supposed posing as a man of the church, Garin heard all sorts of juicy tidbits, but she hadn’t thought that would extend to state secrets.

She’d dismissed him, but not soon enough.

“She did not,” Lilac said, trying her best to foster calmness with all the eyes on them. Some from the corner table had started to stare, too. She placed her hand reassuringly on Garin’s knee. “There will be no wedding.”

He bent his head toward her. “You think they’ll stay away for long?” He tsked, eyes snaking over her form again. “You do make a stunning bride.”

His obvious insincerity took her by surprise.

Did he think she’d hid France’s border testing from him on purpose?

It had been pushed from her mind the moment she was with him again.

Maybe she should’ve mentioned it to him in his room at the inn, but she’d been so distracted by everything else—by the Accords, and his hands and tongue.

Fuck. Was he hurt? Angry?

Either way, considering the condescending evident disdain with which the vampire regarded her now, he could go to hell.

Lilac tilted her chin. “I do, don’t I? One day, I’ll make a regal adornment on my betrothed’s arm.”

“Indeed.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He looked around, seemingly unconcerned with the eyes his grating tone had attracted. He gripped her metal tankard and took a swig from it. “You’ll make a pretty gift to…” He waited expectantly. “Whom, again?”

A gift ? Lilac stood, her stool toppling back with a crash and garnering several heads turning in their direction. She never expected this to be his reaction.

His long leg casually stretched out at her side, subtly boxing her in. “Come, now. Don’t I at least get to know who you’re marrying?”

“I don’t have a fiancé.” She picked up her stool, her face on fire, her tongue dry as she eyed her tankard in his hand, furious. She could really use that drink.

Marriage. The word tasted rancid on her tongue.

“Yet. ”

How dare he interrogate her in the middle of a mortal bar, where anyone could hear. She sat stiffly down on the edge of her seat, not looking at him.

Garin took her silence as confirmation. “Clever girl. But you must have been propositioned by now. Who might it be, then?” When she didn’t answer, his hand tiptoed across the bar, toward hers. “Scotland?” Her reality and his venom sank deeper with every word, every guess. “England?”

“Garin,” she whispered. “Stop it.”

“What king?” His fingers brushed her knuckles, and she pulled her hand back.

“Not a king.”

“What prince?” He waved a hand. “What duke? Or… marquis .”

“An eligible bachelor from an allied kingdom.” Why was she telling him any of this? She had half a heart to give him answers—to prove wrong whatever it was he was trying to prove—and half a heart to dart out, into the square and away from a future she did not want to face.

“So any royalty?” His eyes tracked hers to the door over his shoulder. “Don’t make me follow you into the square.”

“Not just anyone,” she said, lifting her nose and looking down on him. “Not necessarily a monarch or prince in line for the throne. Any foreign nobility with the armies to stand behind me in order to ward Francois off. I’m going to bargain to keep my sovereignty.”

He snickered loudly, and she resisted the very strong urge to snatch the drink from him and toss it in his face. “So your progenitors have lowered their standards for you even further?”

“Why?” she seethed. “And no, I have not been propositioned. You’re not offering, are you?”

His wicked smile faded. “No,” he said coolly, “I just didn’t think their standards could sink any lower than Sinclair.”

“The bar has been on the floor for as long as I can remember.”

“Wonderful.” Garin’s eyes flashed, so intense she was forced to look away as he took another slow sip from her tankard. “When it’s in hell, you’ll know where to find me.”

All the anger and irritation in her swelled and had nowhere to go. She felt trapped. She would not let him see her cry.

“Then you are still unspoken for.” He said the words plainly, quietly, like they were simple for him to digest. But the way his hungry gaze wandered over her throat and dress was unconvincing. His eyes dropped.

“I suppose I am.” If Garin thought she chose this, he was an idiot. If he thought she wanted this, he did not know her at all. And maybe he didn’t. “Surely none of this surprises you.”

“It shouldn’t have,” he said softly, gazing distantly at her dress, not with hunger—or jealousy—but something else she couldn’t quite place.

“Not with the very real possibility of France gearing up for a real border skirmish. Your parents must have known. They’ve been eyeing your kingdom for years; someone must have suspected they would make a move once you took the throne. ”

“It’s as if I haven’t had everyone telling me I’d be a weak ruler because of my sex,” she whispered frostily.

“The idea of my marriage didn’t catch you off guard, did it?

” The thought made her sick, but rubbing it in his face felt good.

In truth, she had spent little thought of the immediate threat posed by France until receiving news of the scouts yesterday morning.

Upon returning, she’d inevitably be thrown into hours of meetings regarding the matter.

Another issue to stack against her parents and her ill preparation, yet she was in no way surprised.

Garin said nothing.

“I didn’t expect seeing me in a wedding dress would make you so angry.”

He scoffed, his glimmering eyes snapping to her face. “It is not the dress.” He tucked her hair behind her other ear and leaned in as if to whisper sweet nothings to her, elongated canines glinting in the firelight. “That dress is the least of my worries.”

Heated, Lilac turned her head away from him, both horribly aroused by his evident jealousy and disgusted by how he dared use it against her. Even Garin looked far less than his usual, collected self, his hands balled into fists as he unabashedly stared.