Page 4 of A Pact of Blood

He does me the favor of changing the subject himself, adjusting his position so he sprawls in a more typical languid pose on the seat across from me. “In any case, you needn’t worry about your safety. Your host of guards is nearly as gifted as my own. If anything hard enough to do damage had been flung at you, they’d have sensed it coming and intervened. And the new clothes commissioned for you are godlen-blessed to deflect any weapon, which will protect most of your vital areas.”

His mention of “nearly” reminds me of the other talent I’ve heard some of the palace guards possess. “What of attacks by magic?”

Marclinus snorts. “I doubt you’ll need to worry about that. We don’t hire staff with gifts that could pose a significant threat, and anytime you’re out in the wider world, you should be with me. A few of my guards can recognize magic the moment it’s invoked. They’ll shield both of us if you’re nearby.”

My own guards can’t pick up on the working of a magical gift, then. That’s good to know, considering I expect to be working my gift quite a bit in the privacy of my chambers. I’d rather not face questions about my activities from the soldiers stationed outside my door.

The carriage pulls through the grand imperial gate and draws to a stop in front of the immense palace’s front stairs. As the footmen hustle around to set down a step so we can disembark, Marclinus and I get up.

My husband slides his arm around me and gives my ass afirmer pat than his brief grope during the funeral. “I have a few things to attend to before dinner, but I look forward to what’ll come afterward. We’ll finally be able to enjoy our first marital night.”

He hops down from the carriage ahead of me and strides off into the palace with a few guards trailing behind him at a discreet distance.

I descend as quickly as my long skirt allows, the contents of my stomach curdling at his reminder.

Between the shock of Emperor Tarquin’s death, the hasty funeral preparations, and the private rites, I’ve managed to avoid the expected activities of my wedding night twice. It’d have been a little much to expect that reprieve to continue.

I need to be prepared.

I hustle through the palace halls to my newly-appointed apartment in the imperial family’s section of the palace. My thumb slides over the rippled surface of the gold and sapphire ring I brought with me from Accasy.

It held the concoction that killed Tarquin within its hidden crevice. I had time yesterday to clean it and refill it with a potion of a different nature.

Unfortunately, when I was preparing for my marriage, I had no idea just how much I’d recoil from the thought of enduring Marclinus’s intimate attentions. I only brewed a small amount of the concoction that’ll give me some grace, in case of extreme circumstances.

How could I have known how extreme even the essentials of palace life would so quickly become?

The very thought of him using my body to take his pleasure makes me want to vomit—gods only know how I’d respond to the reality of it. I don’t know if I can convincingly fake the appearance of the sort of eager lover Marclinus will expect.

He clearly thinks highly of his seductive appeal. None ofthe court ladies I’ve watched him fondle have done anything to dissuade his confidence.

There’s enough of the drug in my ring to protect me tonight, but there’s no telling how frequently he’ll want to enjoy full marital relations. If I want to spare myself that awfulness and the chance of revealing my true feelings, I’ll need a plentiful supply.

I prod my gift, focusing my mind on my sense of purpose: a “cure” of sorts for carnal urges, in a roundabout way. Images of the ingredients I need rise up with a relieving familiarity.

As much time as I spent perfecting this concoction, it’s good to have the confirmation that my memory is correct. I didn’t dare write down the recipe.

Technically, the magical gift Elox blessed me with in exchange for my sacrificed spleen is only meant to help me craft actual cures and salves. It just happens that nearly any purpose can be presented as a healing one if you think of it in the right way.

Even the poison that shut down Tarquin’s body would have been beneficial to someone in the throes of a contradictory disease.

Of course, I sweep into my bedroom to find my two new maids waiting for me. Jinalle and Eusette dip into matching curtsies.

They’re a more welcome sight than the first maid assigned to me at the palace would have been. Melisse let my rivals bribe her so they could ruin my belongings during the trials. As soon as I moved to this apartment yesterday morning, I informed the palace head of staff that I needed a different attendant.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that an empress is accorded at least two, but it does mean twice as many curious eyes I need to be wary of.

“Welcome, Your Imperial Highness,” Jinalle chirps, pushing her pale hair behind her ears in an anxious gesture. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

I glance down at my soiled dress. Actually, there is. I can change the elaborate imperial outfits much faster with help.

I offer them a quick smile. “I need a new gown. Something we can get on without needing to redo my hair, ideally.” The upswept styles expected of married Darium women are a lot more of a hassle to arrange as well.

The two maids spring into action, easing off the black mourning dress and retrieving another from my expansive new wardrobe with only a few innocuous remarks. They’re being nothing short of kind and perfectly polite, but as they maneuver me into the gown, an ache wraps around my heart.

For a short time, I had another maid here. A fellow noblewoman I took on in supposed disgrace, but really as a ploy to save her life.

But Emperor Tarquin and his son’s sadistic schemes still took Lady Rochelle’s life in the end.

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