Page 182 of A Queen's Game
As he stared into his eyes, she knew in her heart how much she wanted him, wanted to be with him. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking of a lifetime of him and his worshiping. “Pull me into your lap and kiss me until your jaw aches.”
A smile grew on Brynden’s face as Elyse beamed. “How did I become such a lucky male that my lady quotes me so?” He kissed her again. “I’ll send for the carriage and we’ll go to the townhouse.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Marietta
Keyain warned Marietta not to say another word until they reached the carriage. For once, she listened. When the cab door snapped shut, he released his rage. “Are you out of yourfuckingmind?” Keyain yelled, sitting across from her as the vehicle moved forward. “First the bakery, then your attitude at dinner.” He shook his head, face red with veins bulging in his neck.
Marietta rolled her eyes and turned her gaze outside the window. “Let’s talk about your sulking attitude at dinner instead.”
“My attitude?” Keyain scoffed. “How in the hells was I to explain to Brynden and Elyse that my wife, a noble lady, befriended a baker? Learned how to bake?”
Marietta laughed, glancing at him. “You could’ve just said your basic clip wife came from humble beginnings. A life away from such pageantry.” She gestured to her dress, which she realized was frivolous; a stupid object from Keyain to adore. Just like how she was stupid enough to let her guard down around him.
“What happened in the back of the bakery?”
“Nothing,” she responded, watching an elven couple hold hands as they walked along the sidewalk.
Keyain’s fingers appeared in front of her face, snapping. “Look at me, Marietta.”
Out of stubbornness, she continued to stare out the window.
Keyain grabbed her chin, jerking her face at him. “What happened? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ How do you know her?”
Marietta fought against his grip, but it held true. “I was a baker, Keyain! A gods damned good one, too. I made a name for myself—even the chef at the palace knew of my bakery.”
She wasn’t sure what grew wider—his alarmed eyes or his flaring nostrils.
“And why would you know that?”
She cut him a sharp smile. “Because I’ve used the kitchens to bake.”
“You did what?” he growled, his grip tightening.
“Twice.”
Keyain’s breathing turned ragged, his face a violent shade of red. “I’ve been protecting your past this whole time, lying to everyone about how you were in Enomenos. And now you’re telling me you’re baking in the palace kitchens, pretending to be a baker?”
“I am a baker,” she snapped.
“Not anymore, Marietta. I had your building condemned in Olkia—it was the first thing I did when the dust settled. You are my wife, you are a noble lady at the court of Satiros, and you must act like it.” He drew his face close. “For both your sake and mine, realize how dangerous our positions are.”
Marietta gripped Keyain’s chin with equal strength. Surprise flashed across his features. “I am a merchant, a baker, and a noblewoman. You can erase my scars, can pretend my past wasn’t real, but you will never take away the former versions of myself. Do you understand?”
Keyain’s breathing turned rapid, his eyes searching her expression. And then he kissed her, pulling her forward into his grasp. His hands caressed her head, her hip, then her ass, frantic and searching for something that wasn’t there.
Marietta pushed him away. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, moving to the cab door. She hit the wall where the driver was, the carriage coming to a halt. “Sex won’t fix this fight, Keyain.” She threw open the door and stepped into the night.
How dare he touch her like that, in the middle of a fight, no less? With all her strength, she slammed the carriage door, partially surprised Keyain didn’t jump out after her. Before Marietta could start walking down the street, Amryth was at her side.
“Where are you going?” she asked, placing a halting hand on Marietta.
“To a tavern.”
“And what tavern is that, Marietta?” She gave her usual unimpressed expression, but Marietta saw the concern lying beneath it.
“Who knows? Take me to the safest tavern in Satiros, I guess.” Marietta wanted something—anything—to feel like her old self.
