utters my name again, his voice low and gravelly and full of the same desire. Then his lips are where I’ve dreamed of them being since the last time we met. Since the first time we kissed—on the road out of the city nearly three months ago. He is every bit as warm and skilled as I remember, his impressive strength bound by a gentleness that both arouses and reassures. His lips demand, even as they caress. Demand my secrets, my surrender, my trust. And in this, I do trust him. Wholly and completely. I trust my body, and how it reacts to him. That has never been a question between us.
I give myself over to the kiss, to the press of our bodies. He moves one hand to the small of my back, pulling me closer. As his hand begins to slide up my back, caressing the curve of my spine, I remember the chain and jerk away.
He frowns down at me, his face a tangle of confusion. “What’s wrong?”
I have but a moment to decide what to do. I do not wish to lie to him, but when he discovers the chain attached to my necklace, he will have questions. Questions I am not ready to answer.
“We do not have much time,” I remind him as I remove his hand. “Valine said you wished to know about General Cassel, and I must warn you about him.”
He blinks for a moment, like a bear who has discovered bees in the honeycomb. “Warn me about what?”
“How thoroughly he has the king’s ear. The king’s confidence. In all things, not just battles and tactics.” For all of the progress I have made, I’ve not been able to make a dent in that.
Maraud frowns. “But why? He is only a general. He has not been a close advisor to the king before.”
“That is the gall of it. The king is feeling . . . surrounded by opinions that are fighting for his attention. Needing to weigh such decisions makes him feel weak. It is a fear others exploit. The general in particular. He is harsh and brutal and calculating, without an ounce of humanity in him. But he is decisive, and the king is drawn to that. He is also, I think, the sort of man the king was never allowed to be around as a child. He admires all that virility, all that brutal strength, and thinks to fashion himself after it. He sees General Cassel as the man his own father wished him to be.”
Maraud is quiet a long moment, and I cannot help but wonder if his thoughts go to his own tumultuous relationship with his father. “That is most unwelcome news,” he says at last.
“In so very many ways,” I mutter. “The king does not piss without consulting him first. You must tread warily. The king will need to know and trust you before you make any accusations against the general.”
Maraud smiles humorlessly. “And how am I to do such a thing without Cassel recognizing me?”
“That I do not know, but I fear to do otherwise is a loser’s game.” Reluctantly, I take a step away, then another. I do not want our time to end. I should be grateful, I know, that we have been able to reach a greater understanding of each other, but I am greedy and want more.
“When will I see you again?”
My heart skitters at Maraud’s question, as if he somehow snagged the very wish from my head. “It isn’t safe for us to meet.”
He grins, a quick white flash in the dark that is as familiar and welcome as the sun. “And when has that ever stopped us?”
* * *
He is back, my heart sings, even as my skin still hums from his touch. He is back, and holds no grudge nor expects restitution for the wrong between us. Truly, my feet feel as if they are dancing over the gray flagstones of the courtyard.
The giddy feeling stays with me all the way to the palace and through the long galleries toward the grand salon. It does not leave until I see a man standing with his back to me, the set of his shoulders, the lazy tilt of his head both familiar yet so unexpected that it takes me longer than it should to recognize him.
Count Angoulême.
Chapter 47
Angoulême is so busy flirting with a bored-looking noblewoman that he doesn’t see me.
Keeping my movements silent as a shadow, I draw the single