“He was my enemy. He would have killed me without hesitation. He would have tortured me and shamed me. When I think of that, I know that there is nothing wrong with me being glad he’s dead, glad I killed him. I’m sorry that he was a bad person. I’m sorry for my mother who loved him. But I have no regrets about my actions. I’d do it again. Sometimes I wonder if I should have done it sooner—found a way to kill my father and brother in their sleep.” Catherine looked at Tzsayn. “Do I shock you?”
Tzsayn raised an ironic eyebrow. “With your Brigantine lust for blood?”
“With my lack of femininity. The violence of my feelings. The brutality of them.”
“I admire your honesty.” He smiled at her for a brief mo-ment, as if to reassure her. “I always have. And I’m grateful for it. Honesty is a rare commodity. As for what is supposed to be femininity, being gentle and kind toward someone who is a bully, a brute, and inhumanly evil in his treatment of others—well, being gentle and kind to someone like that seems more like stupidity. It’s weakness, it’s failing to support those who are suffering, and that sort of gentleness and kindness aren’t to be admired—certainly not in a queen.”
Tzsayn kept doing this—surprising her. She’d half expected he’d be horrified at the coarseness of her feelings. Did she want him to be horrified, to push him away?
“You’re not weak, Catherine, but I still worry about you, about what is required from you. The work, the war.”
“Please, let’s not talk about that either. You’ve had enough discussion of your leg, and I’ve had enough about food supplies.”
Tzsayn smiled. “I can tell you that, after lying in bed for weeks, the thought of a discussion about bushels of wheat is exciting.”
“Well, you can talk to Tanya, then, because I will not say another word on the subject.”
“So what shall we discuss?”
“I was thinking about our first meeting—”
“Ah, yes, I remember that day.”
“How you scowled at me.” Catherine was teasing and was also vaguely aware that she was playing her usual trick of making light of her troubles, but realized that, for once, she was happy to play at being happy.
“Scowl? I didn’t scowl once. I went to great lengths to show utter disdain for the whole charade. That was my look of disdain.” And he did a good imitation of it now.
Catherine shook her head, smiling. “A fearsome scowl. It came shortly after your sneer.”
“I never sneer. It’s an ugly look. And everyone knows that King Tzsayn of Pitoria is never ugly.” Tzsayn turned so she could only see the burned side of his face, the one that looked old and wizened, the skin drawn over his eye, and no eyebrow.
Catherine leaned over and kissed it. “That’s true.”
Tzsayn’s eyes met hers and she blushed, realizing she’d never kissed his face before. He cleared his throat and said, almost formally, “But now we must decide what to do about our little charade.”
Catherine felt her blush deepen. She didn’t want Tzsayn to think of their marriage as a charade. It was a lie, yes, but a necessary one. After his capture, she’d had to declare that she’d secretly married Tzsayn, so that the Pitorian lords couldn’t put her aside, or send her back to her father— although it had only delayed the latter. Since his return, they’d been together—not exactly as man and wife, as they had separate bedchambers off their shared living quarters, but that could be explained by Tzsayn’s ill health, and Catherine knew that when he did improve, things would have to change.
“It’s hardly a little charade.”
He took her hand again. “And I’m not sorry about it. The lie kept you alive. But I don’t want our lives or our marriage to be a charade.”
Catherine nodded. The dreaded question of love and marriage.
“On most subjects you are quick to share your opinion with me, and yet as soon as I say the word ‘marriage,’ you go silent. But we can’t ignore it, Catherine. We can marry—make the lie true. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“You wait for me to die of my wounds.”
“What? No! Don’t say such a thing.”
“Why not? I’ve been close enough to death these last weeks. Felt it creep up on me and put its cold fingers round my heart.”
“Why are you saying these things?” Catherine dropped his hand. “I never wanted that. And I have always wanted you to live and want that now,