Page 82 of A Dance of Shadows

The thought of my real lovers being torn away from me. The thought of watching all the empire’s awfulness and never getting the chance to set it right after all.

I lift my uninjured shoulder in a slight shrug. “Is that not the temperament you were seeking with all those trials you put us through?”

“I suppose it was. I just never—” He reaches for my face again. “I’m sorry I chided you. All this conflict—all the cruelty my brother’s been dreaming up—even in my dreams, there’s so much wrath and bloodshed. He infects everything he’s around like a fucking poison.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Except you.”

The apology and the genuine affection I think I can hear in those words rattles me more than I was prepared for. My voice comes out rough. “As much good as it does me.”

“It does.” Marc grazes his fingertips ever-so-carefully from my temple to my cheek. “I want you to be fierce with me. I want you knowing your mind and speaking it. That’s what my empress should be. If I start ruling through the fear of speaking up, I’ll tumble right down the horrible hole Linus has already ended up in.”

I don’t know how long this unexpected change of heart will last, but I have to encourage it however I can. I tip my face into his touch as if relishing the caress. “I only want to see you and our empire thriving in every possible way.”

“As honorable a goal as one could ask for. My valiant, unshakeable wife.”

He eases closer to bring his mouth to mine. I accept the tender kiss with a tremor through my nerves that’s an unsettling mix of satisfaction and uneasiness.

When Marc draws back, to my surprise, he turns toward my trunks. “What do you have already concocted that will soothe your shoulder? We should see to that now. And you must be exhausted after spending all night in pain. You should take the day to rest—we had appearances planned, but I can simply say you’re mildly unwell.”

I might not trust either side of my husband, but I’ll give Marc this: his twin wouldn’t have cared about my well-being more than how it’d look for him to carry out his duties without his empress by his side.

“I can take care of my treatment.” I move to the trunks and open the one with my tea box.

Setting it on the room’s desk and unlatching it is easy enough with just one hand. Prying out the top tray proves harder.

I start to lift my injured arm, and Marc leaps in. “Just tell me what you need. You’ll heal faster if you strain the joint as little as possible.”

Once he’s opened up the lower compartment, I school my expression totally unaffected as if the bottle of the potion I top up my ring’s secret compartment with means nothing. If I don’t act as if I have anything to hide, he'll have no reason to suspect I do.

I pluck out a jar of ointment for encouraging muscles to heal and the packet of the powder that can dampen pain when ingested. Marc loosens the ties on my dress and slides down the fabric to bare my injured shoulder. At the sight of the purple-red bruises, he winces.

“He should havebothhis arms wrenched out and see how he likes it,” he mutters, but the brush of his fingers applying the ointment is nothing but gentle.

Even though he’s gotten me halfway undressed, he makes no leering remarks or attempts to bare me farther. Once the ointment is applied, he tugs my sleeve back up and helps me mix a dose of the powder into a glass of water.

As he walks with me over to the bed as if to make sure I’ll actually lie down, his gaze travels over my body pensively. “Is there anything else I could arrange to have brought up that would make you more comfortable?”

A numbing effect is already spreading through my wounded joint. I rest my head on the pillow, stretch my legs atop the bedspread, and give him a reassuring smile. “I have everything I need. After a short nap, I should be well enough to make an appearance—perhaps as soon as lunch time.”

Marc’s forehead furrows. “You needn’t rush. We’ll be here for at least a couple more weeks. You should take what respite you can.”

The respite from his twin’s demands, he means, possibly without even realizing that’s the implication of his words.

He strokes the side of my face one more time and stands as if to go without even claiming one last kiss.

Perhaps it’s my fatigue or the daze brought on by the release from pain, but a question I’d have thought twice about asking otherwise tumbles off my tongue. “Why have you never taken me to bed?”

Marc peers down at me with a subtle arch of his eyebrows, probably because he has just literally taken me to a bed. “Pardon?”

A flush prickles over my cheeks, but I’ve mired myself now.

I grope for the right way to ask the question without embarrassing myself more than I already have. “You’ve been acting as Marclinus just as often as Linus has. But from what I understand—from what you’ve said, and knowing how you each behave—the only times you and I have been… intimate were in Rexoran, when I approached you. You’ve never initiated that sort of encounter.”

He has told me that Linus is the more avid socialite and flirt, but I didn’t get the impression that Marc was feigning his attraction to me the two times he believes we’ve had sex. He obviously thinks of me as his wife. Why wouldn’t he want all the benefits?

Marc’s face twitches as if he’s struggling to come up with an answer as much as I did asking the question. “Well, I’ve been handling most of the practicalities of running the empire, when he isn’t butting in with some new catastrophe. I always have new concerns to attend to. And it’s really more his area of expertise.”

He says the last part dryly, but his explanation makes me think that might be more of the reason than the rest. He can’t have beensobusy he couldn’t tug his wife aside for a quick tumble.

When we were in Rexoran, a couple of the comments he made suggested he thought I might be disappointed with his more sober demeanor.

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