Page 72 of The Traitor's Curse
I wrapped my arms around his neck and stopped arguing.
Epilogue
Benedict and I were wed a little more than two months later, on the cool, sweet-scented evening of the first night of spring. Early flowers had started to bloom, and those apple trees the gardeners had been so busily pruning before had clad themselves in soft, delicate pale pink.
As befitted the Crown Duke and his Lord General, we married in the throne room, standing on the ducal dais. Just below, in a seat decked with flowers and silk, Benedict’s mother had the place of honor reserved for parents of the marrying couple—in solitary splendor. Benedict’s father had been dead for decades, my mother hadn’t replied to my invitation, and the less said about my own father’s reasons for missing his son and stepson’s wedding, the better.
The Dowager Duchess didn’t seem to mind being alone in receiving a parent’s honors, and she was pleased enough by Benedict’s ascension to at least the throne’s dais, if not the throne itself, that she behaved herself. Mostly. She tried to insist that Benedict’s family arms should be hung above the ducal crest on the many flagpoles decorated for the occasion. I left her to argue about it with Lord Zettine, and I wished them joy of each other.
For his part, my Lord Chancellor officiated side by side with the temple’s high priest. In return for my allowing him this mark of favor, his daughter-in-law provided all the wine for the wedding reception.
I might have been madly in love, and happier than I’d ever been in my life, and recklessly facing down the greatest scandal Calatria had enjoyed in decades by marrying the Dowager Duchess’s son, but that didn’t mean I needed to waste money the treasury didn’t have to spare on wine when I could get it as a gift, thank you very much.
Benedict’s hands shook as he wrapped the silk cord around my wrist, and I’d never forget the shining look of wonder in his gray eyes as I recited my vow to honor him in this world and the next.
And then he ruined it, leaning in to whisper, “Do you think they’ll all leave so we can consummate it on the throne? Or we could just let them watch.”
Crown Dukes did not kick their newlywed Lord Consorts in the shins, and so I gave him a pained smile—or tried to. It ended up more of a delighted grin, because I couldn’t seem to make any other facial expressions that day.
He kissed it off my lips and led me away to the cheers and laughter and wild speculations of our courtiers, to the clanging of the temple bells, and likely to the bitter disappointment of half the men in Calatria.
But Benedict belonged to me now. They could all weep into their reasonably tariffed wine.
We spent our wedding night in our new suite: Benedict’s former rooms, but renovated and redecorated and made fresh and beautiful.
And he showed me, again and again, that he did belong to me—and I to him.
As the spring wore on, we discovered a dismaying drawback to our marriage and our bond.
The northern raiders had made their first foray since the snow melted on the lower passes of the mountains, and we were preparing to send our usual reinforcements to the foothill forts.Benedict had always led them himself. And the realization that he couldn’t go without taking me with him didn’t fully sink in until he watched his former second in command, now the leader of the expedition, giving his orders for the march.
“What good am I?” Benedict asked me, voice tight. We stood on the steps in the barracks courtyard watching the preparations, ready to review the troops as they rode out and receive their salutes. “I’m your Lord General, but if I can’t—it’s in name only. Damn it!”
“Most men in your position don’t ride out for every border skirmish, and no one will think any less of you,” I said. Of course, that wouldn’t soothe his disappointment in the slightest. He loved riding out for every border skirmish. That was the point. He’d never given a damn about appearances. “Perhaps—later in the summer, we could travel together to that little castle of my mother’s, it’s only a half day’s journey from the northernmost fort. I’ll stay there while you go and spend two days at a time overseeing things. You can ride back and forth as you need to.”
Although we never reached his curse’s limit, since he fucked me at least every night and usually every morning, we’d tested it twice and discovered that he could go four days and three nights before the curse, and the bond, asserted themselves.
His eyes lit up, and I fought the urge to roll mine—affectionately, of course. For all his commanding presence on the battlefield and in the bedroom, and his ability to talk his way out of nearly anything, he had the same exuberant, boyish enthusiasm for going and hitting other men with pointy sticks as any village lad brawling with his fellows.
“Thank you, Lucian,” he said. “I know you don’t like spending too much time away from all your clerks and the council,” and I had the distinct impression he, in turn, was affectionately rolling his eyes, “but I won’t feel quite so muchas if I’ve abandoned my men if I spend a part of the summer campaign with them.”
“Good. Let’s see them off in style, then, until you can join them,” I said, and we did, watching them ride out in twin columns, kicking up a cloud of dust and cheers from everyone in the city who’d lined up to watch them go.
We rode out after them a month later, taking a much smaller troop of fresh men and a few supply wagons with us. I liked getting out of the city from time to time; if nothing else, it allowed me to meet a broader cross-section of my subjects and to hear their thoughts.
To my chagrin, they were much friendlier than they’d ever been.
“They really do like you more than they like me,” I confessed to Benedict as we lay in bed in the dark in our room in a country nobleman’s house halfway to our destination.
“No,” he said, and kissed me. “They like you more when you’re happier. You’re more approachable. I’ll take the credit, of course.”
“The hell you will!” I rolled on top of him and dug my fingers into his ribs, with utterly predictable results. “Benedict,” I gasped a few minutes later, as he shoved his shoulders between my thighs and bit my hipbone. “You already—mmm, all right, I suppose once more won’t kill me…”
We stayed in the north for nearly a month, at which point I’d started practically frothing at the mouth with the need to be back to work in my familiar surroundings.
Reluctantly, Benedict agreed to leave.
He was much quieter than usual on the journey home. It began to eat at me. We’d been married for less than five months, and already he seemed to be chafing at the restrictions placed on a Lord Consort, particularly given the limitations the bond imposed.
