Page 58 of Given

“Will you feed, Princess? I can summon another thrall.”

Face flaming, I’d fought the urge to squirm in my chair. “No, Your Grace. Blood-wine will suffice.” I’d yet to feed from the thralls, and I wondered if it would ever appeal to me. In Rolund’s court, taking straight from the vein was akin to cannibalism.

But seeing it up close, the sensuality of it was undeniable. And that was its own problem.

Now, the three of us sat around the table with the remains of our meal littering plates made from hammered silver. The snow fell heavier outside, thick flakes swirling past the darkened window. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, but it did nothing to ease the chill that had wrapped around me ever since I sat down. Both men had been polite, if a little formal. They spoke of the cooling weather and the latest training Varick had undertaken with his knights. The conversation turned to a marketplace on the western side of the city that was in need of repair. Some of Lar Katerin’s wealthier merchants had put forth a petition asking the crown to provide the funds. These were surface-level discussions. Nothing contentious.

But the air seemed to vibrate with a strange energy.

At first, I’d blamed it on the dagger and Rowena’s likely treason. But with every course the servants placed in front of me, the air thickened. Grew more volatile. Something was going to happen. The certainty swirled around me just like the snow racing past the window—a chaotic force of nature I couldn’t control and had no hope of stopping.

Varick stretched a long arm across the table, snaring my attention. “Do you mind?”

It took me a moment to realize he wanted the salt.

I pushed the bowl toward him. “Not at all, General.” My voice emerged as a croak. I sipped my water and longed for a hole to open under my chair and swallow me. Anything to take me away from the dinner and my guilty conscience. Although, what did I have to be guilty about? I didn’t ask Rowena for that dagger. She dumped it on me, claiming it was a gift.

And then she spoke in my mind.

“You’ve barely eaten, Princess.”

Laurent’s voice made me jump. He watched me from the head of the table. One hand rested on the surface, his long, beringed fingers lightly drumming the wood.

For a second, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He’d held me open with those fingers. Had put them inside me as he licked me like I was his favorite dessert. “I’m not—” I had to clear my throat. “I’m not that hungry, Your Grace.”

Varick’s voice was as piercing as an arrow. “Nonsense, Princess. You must be exhausted from your travels today.”

My pulse leapt. I looked to Laurent for help, but he stared at Varick with a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Immediately, I knew he felt the awful tension too. Had been braced for it as I was.

Varick’s stare bored into me. “Or perhaps the king’s attentions wore you out.”

My whole body became instantly hot. Varick knows. Obviously, he knew Laurent had taken me to Lar Satha. But it seemed he was also aware of what happened in the tower house. I squeezed my thighs together under the table, as if he might dive under looking for evidence to prove it.

“Varick.” Laurent’s voice held a sharp edge of warning.

Varick ignored him. He kept his attention on me, his expression as cold and arrogant as the day he escorted me across the Rift. “If you wed him, you’ll plunge all of Ter Isir into war.”

“That’s enough, General.”

Varick shoved his chair back. He stood and put both big hands on the table. Pale white scars crossed his knuckles. Sword marks, I realized. From battle or sparring. He wasn’t a warrior in name only. He was the real thing, and he was terrifying in his anger. It rolled off him as he turned glowing eyes to Laurent.

“You can’t go through with this, and I’m done hoping you’ll realize why it will not work.”

“Sit down,” Laurent said calmly. “You and I can discuss this in private.”

“Why? I thought this was what you wanted. The three of us sharing everything.”

“Sit down.”

Varick bared his fangs. With a growl, he turned and headed for the door.

Laurent was out of his chair and at the door in a blur of movement. He dragged his thumb from the door to the frame in a horizontal line, leaving a smear of red. He dropped his voice to a hiss. “Hesseth.”

Light streaked around the perimeter of the room. When he turned around, his eyes glowed even brighter than they had the night of the feast. His fangs extended past his lower lip, and he moved with a dark, elegant grace that lifted the hair on my nape. He was beautiful—and utterly terrifying.

Fear gripped me as he returned to the table. My instincts screamed at me to run, to flee the danger that sparked all around me. I darted a look at the door, trying to gauge the distance.

“Don’t even try,” Varick said, following my gaze. His smile was pure venom. “Laurent is as much a priest as he is a king, Princess. You haven’t figured that out by now? He set a blood ward. You won’t leave this room until he breaks it.”

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