Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,63

And if he does—”

“I will not let him.”

She gives an emphatic shake of her head. “He won’t. Oh, he’s posturing and strutting and will bark at me for a while, but he is not a cruel man. Not like General Cassel or Pierre. He is—” She waves her hand as she searches for the right word, the blanket slipping down her shoulder.

A glint of silver shines at her throat. I scowl. “Why has the king given you an expensive bauble if you just confessed to murder?”

She pulls the blanket back into place, making sure to cover her neck. “I told you, he wouldn’t punish me as he would you.”

“A generous gift is no one’s definition of punishment.”

She looks away. “It is a power game he plays. Nothing more.”

“If it is nothing more, then let me see it.”

“No,” she says mulishly. “You will only grow jealous.”

I laugh outright at that, then stride over to the couch and yank the blanket from her. She stares up at me, both startled and dismayed. Three coils of thick silver links are wrapped around her slender neck and drape gracefully down her chest. And while it is a necklace, one in the style favored by the Germans and the English, it also bears remarkable resemblance to—

“A chain? I thought you said he was not cruel.”

She shrugs the blanket back into place. “He’s not. But he is feeling threatened—”

“By you?”

“By everyone. He feels harried on all sides. He is tired of having his authority questioned by the regent and of the pressure from his spiritual advisors, and afraid any kindnesses to the queen will be perceived as weaknesses by his council, especially Cassel. Every time the king learns something he didn’t know before, it is like rubbing salt into a festering wound.”

I stare at her in silence, weighing her words. Remembering the carefully decorated reception at the wedding, the extreme kindness he shows occasionally. His belief in honor and chivalry. How hard the regent works to keep her hand unseen as she stirs the pot. It all fits exactly as Gen says.

“Perhaps,” I concede grudgingly. “But forcing you to wear a chain comes dangerously close to cruel.”

“It is as much to punish himself for being weak enough to want me, even though we have not shared a bed except that one time. But since then he has begun to talk to me in a way that he doesn’t let himself talk to others. Reveals to me, often without knowing it, parts of himself that he can’t share with anyone else.”

“That is charming,” I say dryly, “but you are not his confessor, nor his prisoner, or even a willing favorite. You don’t owe him or the convent or even me this servitude you are performing for him.”

“You are right. This is something I want to give, rather than what is owed. This chain around my neck makes him feel as if I have no power. It is not true, and I suspect even he knows it on some level. But it allows him to feel as if he has punished me and granted me mercy. Or as if in wearing it, I have agreed to the terms of the punishment. Which I have.” She grins at me. “For the time being.”

That mollifies me somewhat. “Does he intend to chain you to something?”

She shakes her head. “Only if I step out of line.” Her face creases. “Will you explain it to the queen? In case she notices the necklace. I don’t want her to think I am acting as his favorite for baubles.”

“I will, but I do not like any of this, and I will be watching him carefully. If I feel he has gone too far, or you are in any danger, I will intervene.”

She smiles at me, a jaunty curve of her lips. “Since when do I report to you?”

“I am your older sister, and that grants me a certain authority over you, whether you like it or not.”

 Chapter 35

Genevieve

At a loss for words, I stare at Sybella, realizing she has just given me what I have been missing for the last five years—this sense of someone having my back. Of seeing to my safety when I am too caught up in the moment to care.

Of being a sister. A true sister. Not one who undercuts me at every opportunity. Who sends sly, subtle barbs my way only to claim it was a jest later. Who laughs at my attempts to fix things or improve them