Page 36 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“I have had all the time to study, Garin—that is all I’ve ever done with my life.

” Her throat was tight as she thought of the ghosts and books that had kept her company and the friends she had now.

She rubbed at the moisture brimming her eyes, drawn by pure loathing.

“You cannot be upset with me for wishing to live my life in a way that isn’t laid out in the histories.

Times are changing and I intend with every fiber of my being to be part of it. ”

“I am not upset. I am merely asking you to spend time at your castle, tending to the matters that are most important. I am asking you to wed, as is done in the order of your kingdom. It will keep France at bay. It will dissuade their king. He is smart. He would gladly spend the minimal resources required to acquire a smaller kingdom like Brittany, but would not think to challenge larger, more equipped forces over your crown. Not now. Not after the war we fought against them with England.”

“There have been no propositions. It’s been weeks. No one will proposition me, not with my history and the legend surrounding our kingdom.”

“But there will be. Your kingdom has too much to offer for trade, and agriculture. And you…” He closed the space between them and slid his fingers between hers, not bothering with slowness or gentleness. “Anyone—ki ng, commoner, Daemon—should be ready and willing to offer you their hand and aid.”

“And you?” Her voice was barely audible.

“I will be there. To protect you, to advise you when warranted?—”

A confusing burst of hope unfurled in her chest, but the desperation in his eyes gave him away.

“You’ll be there?” she said, unable to shed the mocking edge to her tone.

“I will.”

“You won’t be affected when I am rifling through proposals to sign away my life?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “No.”

“And at my wedding?” she said numbly. “When I am sent off for the ceremonies? Or if the wedding is here?”

“Either way, I shall.”

How was he so calm when she felt she might burst?

“And,” she said, the lump in her throat on the verge of choking her, “you will be there when I am given no choice and France inevitably brings its skirmishes closer, and I am forced to bed the king or prince I marry?—”

“Eleanor,” he warned.

“And bear his children?”

The crack in his composure was gone. He nodded slowly. “You have my word. And your offspring, too, will have my protection.” His expression was stern, otherwise open. As if he thought these things should be no question of him at all.

If Garin considered her protection his duty, then he would not show her what he truly felt when it came to matters of the heart.

But she had to know. “You told me that night in my chamber,” Lilac said, almost unable to finish the sentence, feeling so foolish, reddening further as she wiped another tear from her cheek. “You said you would always want me.”

“Yes.” His answer was unflinching. “Nothing about that has changed. If anything, it has grown even more true.”

He should have lied. She wished he did.

Even hearing what she wanted, the rage inside her stoked hotter, and she stamped her foot.

“Then why? If you are willing to go through all those things, why would you watch me proceed with a betrothal?” She paced away toward the mantle, her trembling voice rising.

“How can you entertain watching me marry a person I do not love, be forced by the threat of war to bear their offspring to secure my place and secure their dowry of land and ports, knowing that I never wished those things for myself? How can you, Garin, if you feel as you say?”

His reply was slow and sure, void of any hesitation. “Because it’s the life you deserve. You deserve someone to match your stride and back you with forces that keep enemy powers at bay.”

“And if the life you believe I deserve is not the life I want?”

“What other choice do you have?” His eyes blazed into hers, finally angry at her questioning. “What else could you want?” He crossed his arms, quietly assessing her, then spoke skeptically. “You don’t want those things? Never dreamed of them? With anyone?”

“Does that bother you?” she whispered back.

He only exhaled in answer, swallowing whatever he was going to say with his jaw clenched. He laughed briefly and ran a hand over his face as he strode away from her, toward the corner of the bed.

Then, he stopped when she began to speak.

“There were days spent in my tower, Garin, where my grief felt so heavy that I could not picture a future for myself at all. Sometimes I could not even picture the next day. It is hard to hope for things when you are caged inside your own mind and tower. So, forgive me for not knowing what it is I want. What future would I possibly have dreamt of, when the only one ever optioned to me was Sinclair?”

“He is not your only option,” he retorted, but his face twisted. That, he could not mask. “Not now.”

“If my only options are Sinclair and anyone not Sinclair, then why bother?” she shouted.

“I should have married him! Their family already heads my local armies, unprepared as they might be—it would have been less of a burden on you to worry about.” She didn’t mean it, of course, but the words cut him deep enough.

“All right, Your Majesty,” he said with a mocking bow, motioning at her. “What is it you want?”

The question caught her off guard.

“Tell me. More time with me? Forever?” He clicked his tongue.

“Forever in your delicate, mortal terms? Or on the other side of eternity?” he offered coolly, glancing back at the chamber door.

“You think I won’t give that to you? You’d be enslaved then, but at least it would be to your own bloodlust and not mine.

At least then, there would be no concern of me thralling you.

You know what? I’ll get Bast in here right now.

My brother would happily slit your neck with his blood forced down that pretty throat of yours. I’ll only have to say the word.”

A set of sharp raps came at the door, as if the others had been listening all this time. Meriam’s voice floated through. “Garin Trevelyan! I will not have the death of the queen under my roof!”

“Ready the carriage,” Garin barked.

Lilac marched up to him, snatching her bag. She would not be forced out and humiliated further. “I would rather suffer the poor consequences of being your thrall than marry a stranger.”

“Oh?” His brows rose mockingly, humming, as if he’d considered something new. Lilac moved to pass him, but his arm shot out, catching around her waist.

His lips grazed her ear. “Do you truly think I would hesitate on an invitation to snatch Henri and Marguerite’s precious daughter from right under their noses?

Do you think I give a bloody fuck about France?

The only stake I have in this is Brocéliande.

Francois would do what your family never had the heart to and burn all of the woodland in the Argoat to ashes. ”

She pulled back, glaring. “Brocéliande is your only stake?”

“Stakes involve shared interests. I don’t share what is mine.” His voice had dropped to a seductive whisper, and she was forced to look away. She did—down at the dagger glinting on the bed. “I will see you again.”

“When?”

“Give me one week at least. One week to ensure any magic in your system filters out in the absence of other arcana. And to make sure that any of this,” he said, eyeing her arms and fingers that had been so inhumanly nimble against his own reflexes, “is gone. Then, we will commence our Accords. Meanwhile, I’ll work on contacting Kestrel about his chest.”

She did she feel like her heart would shatter at the mere thought of a week away from him.

She nodded curtly, but as she tried to move away from him, her chest ached.

She couldn’t get enough air. Her hands rose, letting the bag fall to the floor, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

She wanted to stay, between his storytelling, her hallucinations of the haunting, glimmering cathedral, and the dream of his sincere tenderness—the last thing Lilac wanted was to leave.

He surveyed her, and with every passing moment of silence between them, his expression smoothed into that calculated calm she’d grown to loathe .

In the back of her mind, she knew this wasn’t right. This was unlike her. Unbecoming, as Marguerite would say. She would not beg for his affections, would not make her yearning known more than she already had. She was far above it—or so she believed.

Maybe it was for the best. There was a kingdom to save, a greedy king to ward off. A powerful leader out there who might make a loving husband one day.

The thought immediately repulsed her, only driving her to look upon the bed again. She imagined slitting her palm and bringing her dagger, dripping, to Garin’s full lips. Staining his mouth in her, dragging the edge along his tongue. Watching as he slipped in and out of his mask of self-control.

She wanted him. She wanted him now and felt she always would. No matter what it took, regardless of the cost. But what she wanted most, more than anything in the world, was impossible with France at her throat, too.

Garin’s smile faded immediately as he eyed her. Before Lilac could react to his words, the air around him began to shimmer.

“Look at me,” he pleaded.

Lilac fought against the urge, but it was no use. Despite the unusual strength in her limbs, he was much, much stronger.

“Go home, Lilac. You will consider your options. And you will marry.”