Page 2 of Vicious Is My Throne

“Packages.”

“Your keen powers of observation must be why Zorander appointed you his top general.”

“Four packages.”

“Again, congratulations on the promotion. These are from Martine’s shop.” I ripped off the ribbon and paper then flipped the lid off the first box. “This must be…” I stopped, glaring over at Tavion, pretending to be asleep. “Seriously, husband? We’re riding into the mountains and sleeping rough for days, not holding court in the throne room.”

When he rolled over and stretched his arms over his head, I couldn’t help gawking. The blanket spilling off his hips was practically an invitation to count the ridges on his abdomen and follow that line of hair leading to…

“You can always climb back into bed, wife, and leave the parcels for later.” His grin turned even wickeder than my thoughts were right now as he tugged the blanket an inch lower. “I, for one, wouldn’t refuse you, my love.”

“We don’t have time.” I took one last look, sighing because we really did have to be out front in an hour, ready to ride.

I laid the dark blue cloak on the bed, then the navy velvet waistcoat, embroidered with an intricate design of silver threads. “These will only get ruined, Tavion,” I scolded, but I couldn’t help brushing my hand over the fine fabric, admiring the workmanship.

“Martine must have worked on these for weeks.”

“I told her to take her time. And I paid her triple. Then I dropped off enough food to last her for at least a month, Anaria.”

His eyes softened when they met mine. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine while we’re gone, and besides…you’re the one who kept her up all night, making those scandalous pants. My guess is, she was sewing until dawn to get them finished.”

The way his voice deepened at the end had me tearing through the next package…and there they were.

Beautiful. Perfect.

And every bit as scandalous as Tavion promised.

“Gods, look at these.” I lifted them from the box, the supple leather soft as butter. They were identical to the set Martine had made me before, except these were black—blacker than Zephryn’s dragon scales, blacker than those awful darkling shadows that now slithered deep inside me.

“Put them on. Make sure they fit,” Raziel purred, his head braced on his folded arms, dark hair spilling over the pillow. For a moment, I was tempted to crawl back in there with him—with them—and forget our lives were an endless slog of crushing responsibilities.

Just…enjoy this moment of calm before everything went to shite.

I peeled the dress over my head and bent over, stuck my leg into the pants, and froze. Three pairs of eyes watched with predatory intensity, and I couldn’t help but notice how brightly Tavion’s glowed above his lupine smile.

“Reminds me of old times, wife.” He waved a hand. “But please continue since you enjoy putting on a show.”

I froze in place, blushing. “It was only that one time, and…” I swallowed and yanked the pants up, the leather molding to my body like a glove. The thin shirt went on next, then the jacket, the upper sleeves cut looser than last time to accommodate the iron bands, I realized. “Oh, Martine, you are so very clever.”

I stretched then fell into a crouch. A lunge.

Gods. The leather stretched with every move and didn’t bind up at all.

“Open the others,” Tavion urged, and that was when I realized there should have only been two boxes not four. I’d begged Martine to make me another set of the pants, to start, but I certainly hadn’t expected her to have time to finish the entire outfit.

“What are these?” I asked softly, trying to read the expression on Tavion’s face as I shook the box.

“Open them and see.”

The next package contained a folded dark green cloak, as finely woven as the blue one, dark breeches, and a loose-fitting white shirt. Exactly the sort of thing an archer might wear on a long, grueling journey.

“Tristan, I believe these are yours.” I tossed the box to him, and he blinked when he ran his fingers over the fabric, emotion gilding his eyes when he glanced at Tavion.

“Now the last one, Anaria.” Tavion rolled on his belly, watching me from the edge of the bed as if he didn’t want to miss this.

“If this is one of your fancy dresses, it won’t do me much good where we’re going.”

“Hardly.” He snorted. “Everything you own is still at Nightcairn, remember? You have trunks of gowns and slippers and silk capes waiting for you at home.” The way he uttered that word, my breath caught slightly at the feelings that stirred to life.

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