Page 67 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

Ithicana would never accept her, much less forgive her, and he could not in good conscience ask them to do so. Even admitting that he’d forgiven her would be a mistake, for he knew that many would see that as its own form of betrayal. And given he still had his own atonement to consider, allowing himself any form of intimacy would be a mistake. Especially since they would part ways at some point.

He poured the lentils into the pot, then retrieved a spoon to stir them, trying to focus on the task at hand.

When?

When would she go?Nowwas probably an opportune time, given they were in Valcotta, which was a far more dangerous place for her than for him. He was going to meet with the Empress to beg forgiveness, and having the woman for whom he’d broken ties with Valcotta on his arm was far from a prudent course of action.

Despite his intentions not to, Aren turned, eyes drinking in the sight of his wife. She’d removed the boy’s clothes she’d been wearing and was seated in only her undergarments on the edge of the stream. She’d washed her hair, the long honey locks reaching down to the small of her back, concealing the healing lesions from her sunburn. Scars on top of scars, but instead of diminishing her beauty, they only made her fiercer. Made him want her more.

She lifted one arm to wash it, revealing the side of one curved breast, her nipple peaked. His cock stiffened, desire coursing through him as he watched the water sluicing down her skin. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed as she squeezed more water from the cloth, her lips parting with pleasure.

Digging his fingernails into his palms, Aren fought the urge to go to her. To peel that last scrap of clothing from her thighs so that he could taste her. Make her lose control and scream his name, her body shuddering beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair as he buried himself inside of her.

She was everything. Mind, body, and soul, she was everything he wanted. Everything he needed. The queen Ithicana needed.

But thanks to Silas and his greed, she was everything Aren couldn’t have.

Aren twisted back to the lentils, hands balled into fists. He wanted to hit something. Wanted to rage. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t goddamned fair.

She came up next to him, the clean smell of soap wafting ahead of her. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.”

He felt her eyes on him, felt her considering what to do. What to say. And all he wanted was to plead for her tobreak him.Because it would only take one touch from her, one word, and his willpower would shatter.

Do it,he silently willed her.Make the decision for me.

But instead she said, “When I went back to Eranahl, the only reason they didn’t kill me was that Ahnna wouldn’t let them. And the only reason she didn’t kill me herself was that she wanted to rescue you more than she wanted to see me dead.”

Taking a deep breath, Aren turned. Lara stood with a length of fabric wrapped around her body, bar of soap in her hand.

“They cursed my name. Spit on me. Demanded my death in the worst sorts of ways. Because they hate me. And they are right to do so.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Lara held up one hand. “I will remain with you until we reach Pyrinat and find the Ithicanians who are supposed to meet us there. And then I’m going to leave.”

It felt like someone was shoving something dull into his heart, crushing it slowly rather than slicing it cleanly. “Lara—”

“I love you, Aren.” Her eyes were gleaming. “But it’s over between us. It has to be, and we both know it. Pretending otherwise is only going to make it worse when I walk away.”

She was right, and he knew it. But in his heart, he knew that even if he never saw her again for the rest of his life, it would never be over.

She would always be his queen.

37

Lara

They traveled straight to Pyrinat,the capital city of Valcotta, most of the journey on a riverboat after Aren demonstrated his Ithicanian negotiation skills and sold the camels for twice what they were worth.

They’d pretended to be Harendellian, though more than a few Valcottans had frowned at Lara, her coloring suggesting she was Maridrinian regardless of the high-necked Harendellian dresses she wore.

They were nearly a month behind schedule, the number of weeks Aren had to convince the Empress of Valcotta into an alliance reduced to a matter of days.

And that was if she could be convinced at all.

Yet for all the pressure the delays put upon them, Lara wasn’t certain she’d give up any of the time spent with Aren. Not when there were moments when she could’ve closed her eyes and believed they were back in Eranahl, playing games and drinking wine and bantering with each other, always a heartbeat from falling into bed to make love.

But unlike in Eranahl, the latter never happened.

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