Page 33 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)

Thirty-Two

FUCKING HELL.

Cyrus had actually been to hell. He’d been to the devil’s den, to some approximation of purgatory. He’d spent hours and hours alone with the devil himself, and occupying this small cottage with his naked wife was worse.

Far worse.

He might’ve simply left—magicked himself awake and spent the night wandering the grounds—except that he needed to ration his magic on this journey, for he knew not how much time the expedition might require, nor what difficult turns it might take.

They might be trapped here for weeks.

Cyrus drew his hands down his face, hating himself as his body failed to cool.

He would have to sleep sitting up against the front door.

There was no leeway elsewhere. Not enough space to hold the folded height and breadth of his body anywhere but here, at the entrance.

He swallowed painfully, then drew his knees up to his chest. His head rocked back against the wall behind him.

He lifted his eyes to the window, from where the cool glaze of the moon poured into the room, melding with the warm glow of fire and lamplight, casting everything in a cozy, dreamlike haze.

There was a bouquet of wildflowers set in a painted, chipped pitcher on one of the nightstands.

On the other was a carafe of water, two cups, a stack of plates, fruit knives, and a bowl of ripe pomegranates.

He focused his eyes on the pomegranates as if they might save him. Distract him.

Of course, the effort was useless.

The sounds of running water rumbled softly from the bathroom and Cyrus closed his eyes, trying not to imagine the water snaking down her heated curves, or the way she might glide a bar of soap along the silky valleys of her skin.

He exhaled tremulously, opening his eyes only to be attacked by the imprint of her body on the mussed sheets.

Night after night he’d be forced to endure this.

Night after night she would remove her clothes and slit his throat with her smiles. There was only one benefit to the arrangement, and the win was thin indeed.

Kamran had been livid .

The prince had been hardly able to hide his feelings when he realized the two of them would be sharing a single room.

“They’ve put you in the watchtower?” he’d said, stunned. “But it looks hardly big enough for one person, much less two.”

“It is, apparently, quite small,” said Alizeh. “Though I’ve yet to see it.”

“But you’re the queen!” Huda cried. “How is it fair that you should get the smallest room?”

“It’s supposed to be the prettiest room,” said Alizeh diplomatically. “Despite its size.”

Huda scoffed at this. “Do you know its dimensions? Should we register a complaint?”

“The soldier, Akbar, said it was only one room—”

“Only one bedroom?”

“No, only one room,” Alizeh clarified.

Everyone had gone still around them.

“ Only one room? ” said Deen, stunned.

“But even our place has more than one room,” said Omid, who would be boarding with the apothecarist.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” said Alizeh.

Huda had clutched a hand to her chest in horror. “Don’t say you will be required to share a bed?”

“I’m not—” Alizeh tried.

“No,” said Cyrus flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“You must do something about this,” Kamran demanded, turning to Hazan. “You must arrange for different rooms. Tell them that the queen will require greater privacy—”

“That’s impossible,” said Hazan.

“Why impossible?” asked Huda, her voice rising in pitch. “She cannot be forced to lodge with him against her will!”

Hazan turned to Alizeh. “Do you feel you will be in danger alone in his company, Your Majesty?”

“No,” she said at once.

“But the man is an animal,” the prince tried to say.

“ Kamran ,” Alizeh said sharply. “You know that’s not true.”

“We’ve all spent enough time in his company,” said Hazan to the prince, “to know that such an accusation is unfair. If you are to level charges against him, Kamran, you might at least be reasonable, or else your objections will not withstand judgment.”

“I am to one day be her husband,” said Kamran with feeling.

“Her actual, unpretended, genuine husband, and the only man in this room who might truly care for her. You cannot expect me to be calm when I’ve just learned she is to be forced into a veritable cage with a brute three times the size of her. ”

“I appreciate your concern—truly, I do,” said Alizeh. She touched the prince’s arm as if to soothe him, and he leveraged this opening to take her hands, drawing her closer.

Cyrus had wanted to be buried.

“But I think you misunderstand,” she was saying. “I’m not afraid of him. He rarely comes near me. He can hardly even tolerate my company—”

Kamran laughed darkly. “If you believe that,” he said, “I fear you’ve been bewitched—”

“More to the point,” Hazan cut in, “the man is bound by the limitations of two magical bonds. The blood oath will not allow Cyrus to so much as lift a finger toward her if she doesn’t desire to be touched by him, and his wedding vows prevent him from endangering her in any manner at all.

You cannot hope for more protection than that. ”

“But—”

“Enough,” said Hazan, finally losing his temper.

“You don’t understand the stakes. Already the wedding was preceded by ungenerous rumors about a rift between the bride and groom.

If the soldiers begin to doubt that Cyrus cares for their queen, the consequences will be dire.

I will not, and cannot introduce any kind of upheaval at this uncertain time.

They believe him to be her husband; I will not give them reason to lop off his head.

So long as the queen herself does not object to the arrangement, I don’t see why you should have the right to an opinion. ”

“Cyrus?”

The bathroom door opened without warning, and Cyrus drew a sharp breath. He’d lost track of the minutes he’d spent frozen in memory.

“Cyrus, can I come out? You’re not changing, are you?”

He looked about himself as if he were newly divested of a brain. “No,” he said, as if he weren’t sure. “I’m not—”

Alizeh emerged while the words were still forming in his mouth. She arrived in a cloud of star-lit steam, clothed in nothing but a towel.

He averted his eyes at once.

Still, he’d seen her: yards of dark, silky curls unbound; the gleam of warm, dewy arms and legs. His heart pounding, he valiantly turned once more toward the wall, summoning strength from he knew not where.

He would have to leave.

He’d have to sneak out after she fell asleep. He’d find shelter in the forest, or else claw his way into the earth. He would not stay here—he could not withstand this—

“All right,” she said after a few moments. “I’m dressed. You’re safe to turn around now.”

Cyrus turned around as instructed, took one look at her, and experienced what he was certain was a stroke.