Page 71 of Stolen

He turned back to the city, and his voice went low and angry. “It’s infuriating that my wife has to worry about her safety in my own fucking capital. What kind of king am I if I can’t protect what’s mine?”

Perhaps the possessive words should have offended me, but they did the opposite. A curious warmth spread through me, and I found myself curling a hand around the railing, like some part of me worried I might need to hang on for dear life. Laurent had that effect on me. Just about every interaction with him left me feeling like the ground had been yanked from under my feet.

It was exciting in a way, but I wondered if it made for a lasting relationship. Because at some point, constant excitement led to exhaustion. I knew how to be passionate with him. He’d taught me plenty about that during our brief marriage. But passion was explosive and loud.

I didn’t know how to be quiet with him—or boring or ordinary. And life was full of boring and ordinary things.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said quietly. He looked at me, and his silver eyes warmed a bit at the surprise that must have flared in mine. “Varick told me everything the two of you endured in Eldenvalla. He said he would have died there, but you fought for him.” Laurent’s eyes gleamed. “You brought him back to me, Given. Even if I had no other reason to love you, that would be enough.”

I gripped the railing more tightly, my foolish brain latching onto that “even if” with hope I had no business feeling.

He knew it, too—possibly because I was bad at hiding things, but more likely because he was Laurent, and he was difficult to hide from. He tilted his head, and the post in his ear winked in the twilight. “But I believe you and I might find other reasons.”

“Like sex?” I asked.

For a moment, devilry danced in his eyes. “It’s not an altogether bad way to start a marriage.”

“We started ours that way and look where it got us.”

He sobered. Then he turned his back to the railing and leaned against it. “I’m not opposed to starting again.” He stared at me, and the veneer of sophistication he wore like armor faded away. It was subtle, but I’d spent enough time with him to notice the shift.

Which was why my heart pounded as our gazes held. And why I gripped the railing as tightly as I’d gripped the sword I’d carried from Vai Seren.

Laurent gazed up at the obsidian wall of the palace behind me. His tone turned thoughtful. “People love to mock Wesyfedd. What a strange country, they say, to choose its own king. But I believe the smugglers have it right.” His chest lifted as he sighed, sending a small cloud of his breath rolling into the air. “Kings are no closer to the gods than any other man. We are fallible creatures, and perhaps more prone to mistakes than others.” He turned his head, his eyes meeting mine once more. “I made a grave mistake with you. I thought I could wed you and keep my heart out of it.”

My throat was tight. “You don’t love me, Laurent.”

“I believe I could.” He straightened, his silver eyes intense. “Varick loves you, and I know you love him.”

“That’s—” I searched for a way to put my feelings for Varick into words. “We went through something together.”

“And you will again,” he said grimly. “This prophecy dogs our steps, despite what we may wish otherwise.”

I did wish otherwise. But the past twenty-four hours had made it clear my wishes were irrelevant as far as Fate was concerned. My brother’s army camped at the Rift, the drumbeat of war growing louder. Midian was still locked behind the Thicket, but the barrier was weakening. The Deepnight continued to crumble.

And somehow, I found myself at the center of all of it.

“I came to you for another reason,” Laurent said, pulling me from my dark thoughts. “I need your help. And before you dismiss my request as a scheme to get in your good graces, I want you to know I’m deadly serious.”

I felt my eyes go wide. If he’d jumped on the balcony and sprouted wings, I wouldn’t have been more surprised.

He lifted his gloved hand. “Whatever happens with the prophecy, I believe you and Varick will need me. As I am now, my power is diminished.” His mouth tightened, and an icy blast of air rolled off him. “I want it back.”

Goosebumps lifted on my arms. He was charming so often, it was easy to forget how menacing he was in his anger. “What do you need from me?”

“Do you remember seeing me drained after I performed a blood rite?”

I nodded, the memory of his emaciated body springing readily to my mind. He’d looked like a corpse.

“I’m going to ask the gods for the power to heal, which means I need to perform that rite again. Varick will be there to feed me. I’d like you to be there too.”

More memories surfaced, but of Midian this time. My stomach twisted as I remembered his blood searing my throat. “You can’t feed from me.” I gulped a breath, something akin to embarrassment squirming through me. “Not after Vai Seren.”

“That’s not why I need you.” His gaze turned shrewd. “You brought the sword from Eldenvalla. You have the gift of farseeing and the gods only know how many others. I may not understand your power just yet, but I do understand power. And you’re brimming with it. The only universal rule about power is that it’s best to have as much of it as possible.”

I frowned. “Some people say too much power is dangerous.”

“Those people are stupid.”

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