Page 36 of A Pact of Blood

As we carry on our own dance, Marclinus adjusts his grasp on my fingers and slides his other hand down from my waist to my hip. His gray gaze bores into me with unnerving intensity. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen his grin quite this manic.

His voice is all jaunty exuberance. “Isn’t it a wonderful night for a celebration? I think it’s all the better that we had a brief delay.”

I paste my smile even more firmly in place, restraining acringe when he reaches around to paw at my ass. “It is indeed a lovely atmosphere and a worthy celebration.”

My husband has been in a particularly jovial mood since dinner last night after the confirmation rite. His hand never left my thigh throughout the meal, and he ushered me straight back to my bedroom afterward, barely waiting to get through the door before he was on me.

If his drug-induced absence from the regular evening activities was noted by his court, no doubt they saw enough of his lustful enthusiasm not to suspect anything worse than an extended romp in my bed.

The celebration of our—well, mostly his—success with the rite has continued through today. We spent the morning and afternoon parading around the capital’s streets and squares with Marclinus soaking up his people’s adoration as palace staff distributed food and wine.

While most of the city folk’s attention was on their emperor, I received some respectful nods and eager words of greeting myself—more than on my previous ventures into the city. I only noticed a couple of warding gestures, one of which was followed by a neighbor telling the doubter off.

My demonstration has warmed the citizens to me at least a little.

Tonight is dedicated to a celebration in court. Yesterday’s humidity has left the palace stuffy, so Marclinus ordered us all out into the darkness of the gardens. The lawns and paths are serving as our ballroom.

This is the third dance he’s claimed with me so far, each time equally leering and enraptured. I have the impression he’s tracking every flick of my eyes, every twitch of my muscles.

What he’s searching for, I’m not entirely sure. But given how often his hands have strayed to my breasts and ass, Isuspect I don’t have much longer before he drags me off to my chambers again.

Apparently victory riles up all his appetites. If a simple confirmation rite energizes him this much, Great God help me if he ever manages to reclaim the western half of the continent.

In the brief lull between songs, he kisses the back of my hand, followed by my wrist, leaving my skin crawling. Then, to my relief, he releases me. “I’ll find you again soon.”

I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a warning.

One of the elder marchions approaches me, and I take his offered hand. He’s old enough to be my grandfather, and the wary glance he aims after my husband suggests he won’t take the slightest risk of overstepping politeness.

As we step to the newly rising melody, he smiles benevolently down at me. “I have many years behind me, but this is the first time I’ve seen our ruler’s consort complete the divine rite. You’ve come from Accasy with interesting ideas.”

I keep my stance relaxed, though my chest has tightened up. “I want all the people of the empire to have every confidence in me after their sudden loss.”

“An admirable goal. It’s reassuring to all of us to see that at least one of the godlen approves of you too, especially when Marclinus has no heir as yet.” The marchion peers down at me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I expect you’ll be helping him with that before long.”

Better not to mention that at the moment, the thought of carrying anything to do with Marclinusinsideme provokes a full-body shudder.

I dip my head modestly. “I look forward to helping the imperial line continue with all expected strength.”

Sometime possibly years in the future when I can stomach it.

I think I’ve made a little progress with my husband already. It’s hard to tell with his shifting moods, though.

I’m not at all sorry to see the dance end. When I turn around, considering whether I can get away with retreating to the fringes of the party, Raul is standing waiting for me.

The prince offers a deferential bow, but there’s a teasing gleam in his pale blue eyes. “Your Imperial Highness, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

I can hardly refuse him without people wondering why.

I accept his hand, and he sets the other on my waist—with much more care than Marclinus offered. He leaves plenty of space between us as if he assumes his presence isn’t all that welcome.

Raul might be hotheaded, but he isn’t stupid.

As he tugs me deeper into the crowd of dancers, I feel the need to say something anyway, in a low voice no one else will be able to make out over the music and chatter. “Remember that we barely know each other. He’s been watching closely.”

Raul hums and spins me around with a twist of his hand. The paler scars that crisscross his knuckles gleam in the lanternlight.

A teasing note creeps into his voice too. “I’ll be nothing but a gentleman to my empress.”

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