Page 63 of A Kingdom of Lies

I woke suddenly to a room bathed with bright light. It took me a moment and a handful of blinks to see more than just the blur of white. Finally, details came into view alongside the realisation of where I was, and more horrifically, why I was here.

Expecting to find Duncan unconscious, I snapped my head around. But what I found was a complete contrast. Duncan was sitting up in bed, glass bottle of wine to his lips as he tipped it backwards. That was the sound that woke me; rasping, glutinous chugs as he downed the wine. I stood from the dusty, ancient seat that I had curled up on, my body aching more than the night before.

“You’re awake.” My voice cracked, thick with sleep. He didn’t even look up from the wine as he carried on draining the bottle.

“I am.”

My back ached from the awkward position I’d fallen asleep in, muscles complaining as I stretched the pins and needles out. “You should have woken me.”

He tore the bottle from his lips, chin wet with liquid that had also spilt onto the thin sheet I’d covered him with. “If I am not mistaken, you are awake.”

If I thought saving him would’ve helped our relationship, I was wrong. Then again, I only saved him from a fate that I caused.

“Good morning to you too,” I groaned, annoyance curling in my stomach. Perhaps I should have asked how he was, but his thinned, wine-glistening lips and his pinched brows reminded me that he was far from helpless.

He winced, raising a hand to block the sunlight that cut through the dancing clouds of dust that filled the air. “I can’t tell what is worse, my head or my back thanks to this bed. Couldn’t be more different to the bed that I would have been waking in if your deranged ex-lover had not killed all my men. And an empty bed at that, how disappointing.”

“Well, he’s dead,” I snapped, hating the reality of the words.

Duncan silenced at that, casting narrowed eyes over me.

There was so much I could say back to him, but it would’ve been pointless. Arguing wouldn’t make being stuck in this room with him any better.

I could have sworn I heard the bones in my knees creak louder than the floorboards as I crossed the room to him. The only thing I wanted to do was steer the conversation away from Erix. I wasn’t strong enough to face it yet.

“How’s your head?” I asked offhandedly, pulling up the short stool that the abbot had sat on last night.

“If you care, it feels like it’s been kicked in by twenty scorned lovers who have hunted me down to wreak hell upon me,” Duncan said with one eye pinched closed and his forehead etched with lines. One hand still grasped the almost empty bottle of holy wine whilst the other reached for the back of his head. He hissed as his fingers came into contact with the mess of blood and hair. “But instead, it was all you. Powerful little creature you are.”

“I preferred you when you were unconscious,” I snapped, swiping the bottle from his hands, then taking a long swig. The moment the liquid cascaded down my throat, burning every inch of it on the way down, I realised why the abbot had chosen to use it on Duncan’s head instead.

It was hard to tell if the desire to vomit was from the sharp taste or the slosh of it in my very empty stomach.

“Pass it back here if you are not going to appreciate it,” Duncan said, flexing his fingers in request. “Strong as I remember. It will rid me of this bastard head pain whilst putting hairs on my chest.”

“Surely it will make the headache worse?” I cleared the dribbles from the corner of my mouth as Duncan snatched the bottle.

He lifted it to his lips, stopping only to answer me. “I suppose we will test that theory.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have terrible taste?” I said, watching the dribbles of liquid run down his chin, his neck and over his rather sculptured chest.

“Eyes up, Robin.” Duncan said, his own eyes were bloodshot but brighter than they’d been the night prior. “And to answer your question, too many to remember.”

Embarrassment shifted to confusion as I heard the faint, monotone chant of a deep voice somewhere in the church beneath us. Until now I had been too occupied with Duncan to notice. “What was that?”

“Morning mass,” Duncan explained as though reading my thoughts. “The longest ceremony of the day. I used to dread it. Tried anything to get myself out of joining, whether that was pretending to have come down with sickness or simply ignoring the abbot when he came calling for us at dawn. Never could worm my way out of listening to his drawl.”

“He told me you used to live here.”

“Live?” Duncan laughed, pulling a face at the now empty bottle as though he could not understand where the wine had gone. “I wouldn’t call my stay hereliving. There was no choice in the matter. I was a child, left orphaned due to – may I remind you – your fellow kind’s actions. I existed, not lived. Go on, tell me what his reaction was to finding me on his doorstep once again. Was it as smug as I could imagine?”

I shook my head, witnessing as the alcohol seeped its claws into Duncan, turning his words sluggish and emotions slippery. How much had he drunk whilst I slept?

“You speak of the abbot as though he harbours no care for you,” I said. “The man I’d met clearly held a warmer emotion for you than you do him. He was concerned, slightly confused, but he looked at you as though you meant more to him than you make out.”

“Ha, don’t let the old man fool you!”

“You’re drunk,” I replied.

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