Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,27

lie dead on the field.

“It seems a most melancholy gift.”

His mouth twists in a bitter smile. “It was not a gift but a reminder of what happens to those too weak to seize and hold power. To those who lessen their stranglehold over others. It was how he ruled, how he trained my sister to rule, and how he expected me to rule.”

“Does the regent have a similar painting hanging in her chambers?”

The king barks out a surprised laugh. “She needs no reminder. Unlike me.”

So a reminder, then, of how lacking his father saw him. A way to reach beyond the grave and coerce him into being the man his father was instead of his own self.

He turns on me then, all the loathing and frustration he kept in check while staring at the painting unfurls, filling the space between us, the unexpected shock of it like a fist. “According to his rules, you have betrayed me, and to betray me is to betray France itself. You owe me much in the way of restitution.” The way his eyes rake over my body leaves no doubt as to his motives.

I want to take him by the shoulders and shake him. To shout at him that this is not who he is. But of course, I dare not. I make no move. Not of revulsion, nor of encouragement. While I have no desire to feel his anger, neither do I wish to lie with him again. Ever. It is not simply that he cannot give me what I want, but that I have seen him more clearly for who he is. There is nothing like anger to reveal a man’s true character, my aunt Fabienne always claimed. More important, the queen is not like her mother nor any of the noblewomen I have known and does not relish the idea of sharing him with a court favorite. While he is not deserving of such loyalty, the queen is, and I will honor her wish in this.

He sneers at my continued silence. “Will you not willingly give me what I want unless I shower you with fine gifts?”

“I never wished for your gifts,” I remind him softly.

My words seem to anger him further. “Gifts would have cost me less than what you asked for. What you asked for goes to the heart of what makes me king.”

Genuinely perplexed, and more than a little appalled at this change that has come over him, I ask, “What is it that I asked for, sire?”

“My power. You wanted to whittle away a slice of my power. In that way, you are just like all the rest.”

I blink in surprise. “Power? I never wanted power, Your Majesty.”

“No. Just a sweeping pardon of your fellow assassins.”

“Few are truly assassins. Most simply serve the patron saint of death in some way.”

“Nevertheless, to do what you asked was to impose your will—a woman’s will!—over mine on matters of church and state.”

“No, I thought only to ask for mercy for a group of women who raised me. Besides, you said you had never even heard of the convent.”

He takes a step toward me. “That is the entire reason you came to my bed, isn’t it?”

“No! I have always liked and admired you.” At least until you began behaving like a maddened bull.

“Were you attracted to me?” He stares so intently into my eyes that I fear he will see the truth there—that my heart and my body long only for Maraud.

No. “Yes.”

“Then come. Let us make love again. If you are attracted to me, surely you will come to my bed.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “Not willingly, Your Majesty, no.”

His hand snakes up and grabs my chin, forcing my head back. “Are you refusing me?”

“Not refusing, no. But I will not come willingly.” Every time he speaks, memories of Maraud flood my mind—his easy confidence, his honor, his kindness—and the contrast could not be more stark. Or favor the king less. “Surely your chivalry would not demand such a thing.”

He scoffs, but lets go of my chin, nonetheless. “Have you not heard? One cannot possess chivalry and honor and run a kingdom. And if ever you forget it, there will be plenty to remind you.” The look he casts at the painting is so full of hatred that I’m surprised it doesn’t burst into flame.

“That is not so, even though some would have you believe it. Nor, I believe, is it what you truly want.”

“Do not tell me what I