Page 105 of A Queen's Game
Nerves knotted her stomach. “And what would that be, King Wyltam?”
“Seek retribution; give Keyain grievance for his actions by accepting my flirtations.”
Marietta laughed, unable to help herself. “What kind of proposal is that?”
His demeanor hardened. “You know Keyain, and you understand how deep his jealousy runs.”
Marietta shook her head, looking off into the garden. “You’re asking to flirt with me in order to spike Keyain’s jealousy.”
“Do you not hate your husband?” the King asked. “Quick to anger, possessive of you? Accept my advances—kind words, small presents, my attention—and you can be the source of what pains him.”
The idea was tempting, to make Keyain helpless against his friend, to anger and irritate him where it hurt most. Gods, maybe she should accept; yet, it was a game—one that used Marietta. She wouldn’t allow herself to be used as such. “You think of me as a pawn,” she said, breaking their silence. “One you can manipulate as you please. Yes, I am beyond livid with Keyain for more reasons than you can fathom, King Wyltam, butnow that I have a bit of freedom, I won’t ruin it by stoking his anger.”
“Even knowing that my word carries more weight than his?” he asked. “I can intervene if he tries to lock you away again. I can stop his removal of you from the palace.”
“I would hope you’d intervene regardless of this arrangement.” She crossed her arms, glaring at the King. “Find someone else you can use to agitate Keyain. I want no part in it.”
The King released a slow breath, his gaze darting over the garden. “You’re being stubborn. Perhaps, if given time to think on it, you will warm to the idea.”
“I think not,” she said. “My time in Satiros is strenuous enough without your attention.”
“All I ask is that you think on it.”
“Fine.” All Marietta wanted was to be free of the garden and his presence.
King Wyltam regarded her for a moment longer, the muscle in his jaw tightening, before turning to face the garden with his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re dismissed, Lady Marietta.”
Chapter Forty-One
Marietta
Once again, tea time with the Queen led Marietta to spiral; yet this time had no tea or queen—just the King and his ridiculous plan to agitate Keyain. Irritated, she paced in the hallway to the Queen’s Garden. Why would the King offer Marietta retribution against Keyain? His Minister of Protection? His offer made little sense. Even if she were willing to be his pawn, why would agitating Keyain benefit him?
Marietta had witnessed Keyain’s wrath and jealousy. Often in the last weeks of their relationship, he would act out violently against those who talked with her, unable to control his emotions. He became near-obsessive, clingy, and overprotective. Hate burned in her chest at the memory. No, the King’s deal would only make her situation worse.
Not having a reason for the King’s proposal nagged at her mind. This went deeper than Keyain hiding his marriage. He might have made King Wyltam look foolish, but whatever his actual reasoning went beyond that. The question burned at the tip of her tongue: why?
Not being able to gauge the King’s emotions left her at a disadvantage. He was an emotionless void, cold and fathomless; yet, her mind lingered on the moments his icy demeanor meltedwith a small smile, amusement in his eyes. Sure, he was cold, but he was also intriguing. An enigma. A threat. A headache.
“Marietta? Is everything alright?” Amryth said, approaching from down the hall.
“Just a very odd afternoon.” Odd didn’t even describe it.
“You’re rattled like last time.” Amryth’s expression said what her words didn’t.Did the Queen do something?
“I’m alright but I can’t go back to the suite like this. I need a distraction.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Can I show you something? Something you can’t share with Keyain or anyone else?” She itched under her skin to move, to be busy.
“You think I’d tell him anything at this point?”
Marietta smiled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Can you take me to the kitchens?”
“Welcome back, Lady Marietta!” called a voice as they entered the bustling kitchens. The older elven man from her last visit approached with a smile. “That pie was splendid! We made the changes you had suggested.”
Amryth looked at Marietta with furrowed brows.
The tension in Marietta’s shoulders eased. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” she said, smiling. “Though I’m afraid I forgot to ask for your name the last time I visited.”
The old elven man dropped into a bow, silver hair gleaming in the light. “Chef Emynuel, my lady.”
