Page 56 of The Traitor's Curse
“I won’t,” and his teeth clenched against another wave of pain, another gasp, “do it.”
“I’m commanding you,” I said, although it came out like a plea. “You’re sworn to me as your liege lord, and I’m ordering you not to die!”
Silence, except for his hoarse panting.
“I know you’ve never liked me,” I began, and swallowed hard.
No, he wouldn’t take any commands from me. He’d proven that. But I could beg.
I found that my dignity and my pride had melted away completely, gone without a trace, with the specter of his death looming so large. Benedict’s stiff corpse, gray eyes glazed, big, powerful body that had held me and touched me and fucked me and protected me gone still forever…no, I couldn’t bear it, and I shuddered with horror as it flashed before me, made all too real by the power of my terrified imagination.
“And I know you don’t give a damn how many commands I issue. And you don’t trust me.” He’d turned his head to stare at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t softening, that I could see. “But listen to me. Benedict, please,” I went on, more and more desperate. “I don’t think I can rule without your help. I’ve been—sinking, slowly. Drowning by increments. I need you. All right? Damn you, I need you, and now I’ve said it, and you can laugh at me all you like and mock me and shame me for admitting it, but don’t die, please, don’t leave me to—Benedict!”
He rose up so abruptly that I started, and when he caught me and flipped me onto my back, I could only cry out and catch at his shoulders. We landed in a twisted heap, with him braced on mine, pinning me down.
“Stop!” He shook me, the bed jouncing and creaking under us, and his eyes had gone wide, wild and glittering and half mad. “Gods damn it, Lucian, you’re begging me to do whatI want more than anything in this world or the next, and I can’t, you’d hate me—Ican’t!”
What he wanted more than anything in this world or the next? My heart gave a lurching leap.
I gripped onto him with all my strength, digging in my fingers. “But why not? If you—Benedict, you can’t mean that. Not the way it sounds. If you want me, gods,” and I had to stop to suck in as much air as I could, my lungs suddenly all tight and shallow, “then take me. I won’t hate you. No more than usual, anyway.”
Every line of his body had gone absolutely rigid with tension.
All of him. His cock dug into my thigh, thick and demanding. I squirmed, rubbing against him like a cat in heat, my own body flushing with eagerness. Gods, he’d made me into such a shameless slut. Tavius had been right about that, at least.
“Yes, you will. You’ll be happy to watch me die. So please don’t,” he said, and his voice had a note to it that had the hair rising on the back of my neck. Dark, and hopeless, and utterly despairing.
He pulled in a deep, shuddering breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, I’d never seen that look in them before. It took me a moment to recognize it as fear. Benedict, whom I’d have sworn had never been afraid in his life, was terrified.
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he said, as if each word were being pulled out of him by torture. “I’d give my life to—Lucian, I’m the one who killed him. Your father. It wasn’t poison, it was magic. It was me.”
Chapter Nineteen
I’m the one who killed him. It was me.
Benedict’s pale, agonized face swam in front of me, his words sublimating into a buzzing hum.
Your father. It was magic. It was me.
Tavius had been right. Of all of his accusations and wild theories, that had been the one I instantly dismissed as utterly, impossibly absurd.
And Tavius had been right.
I’m the one who killed him. Your father.
Maybe he had murdered Fabian, after all. The methods appeared to be so similar. Tavius had known all along.
And now Benedict had killed Tavius, too—not that he hadn’t deserved it.
That strange, hysterical sound…right. I’d started laughing, shaking with it, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, and I let go of Benedict to put my hands over my face. The darkness behind my palms felt horribly claustrophobic, and I dropped them again, only to shove at his chest. I needed him off of me,off, and when he rolled away at last I scrambled off the bed, stumbling across the room and fetching up by the fireplace, gripping onto the mantel for dear life and hanging my head down. My laughter subsided into wheezes.
Below me, the fire popped and spat. The rain must have started again, then, a few drops making their way down the chimney to hiss in the flames. Falling on Tavius’s face,perhaps, as Captain Venet’s men carried him across the grounds and through the western palace gate and along the narrow cobblestone street that led directly to the back entrance of the temple. Perhaps it’d wash away the blood. Or simply spread it around. Would the icy water seep into the hole Benedict’s sword had left in his guts?
I bent further over the fireplace, dizzy and retching, holding on to the mantel so tightly my knuckles creaked. Behind me there was a rustle and then a heavy thump.
“Lucian,” Benedict said, and I’d never heard anyone sound more hopeless in my life. Broken.
I turned and found him on the floor, half slumped against the bed as if he’d tried to stand and fallen instead.
