Between Tides Thunder(49)

There’s no time to explore my new accommodations, though, because my handmaids herd me into the washroom, quickly peeling off my ruined gown. A bright red splotch smears my belly where blood seeped through the dress and coated my skin with the remnants of violence.

The women gasp dramatically and usher me into the bath—blessed Tides, a short bath.

Afterward, they dress me in a sheer black nightgown that barely covers my ass. Whoever designed it seemingly forgot that clothes are meant to conceal the body.

“Can I have a different nightgown?” I ask before the handmaids scurry away, arms covering my breasts. “One that has more … everything?”

“Princess,” one of the older handmaids says gently, “this nightgown will please your husband.”

I was attacked tonight, a man nearly died, and their priority is ensuring I’m pleasing to my husband?

When he comes to your bed, just do as he says. It will be easier.

Parting words from a different handmaid flit through my mind.

A lifetime ago.

“Whatever I wear will be on the floor soon enough,” I lie, voice low. “So does it really matter?”

The handmaids titter, but one of them fetches me a nightgown that reaches my knees—and isn’t see-through.

After they file out, I explore my new chambers. A large bed, covered in red rose petals, dominates the back half of the room. The plush carpet is soft beneath my bare feet as I walk along the perimeter, fingers skimming the dark walls.

Halfway around the room, my fingers scrape against a small, raised ledge—insignificant, but still a deviation. Frowning, I peer at the wall when—

There’s a sharp rap on the door.

I jump back.

Zev wouldn’t knock on his own door, would he?

“I have your meal, Princess,” a muffled voice calls.

A servant enters, eyes downcast, setting a large tray on a small table before leaving.

There’s only one plate. I guess Zev won’t be joining me. I quickly eat the roasted chicken and heal the dull throb in the back of my skull.

Tundrayni bitch. The words pulse through my mind no matter how hard I try blocking them out. You killed my brother.

Who was that man? He risked his life to end mine. If I had to guess, my husband is spending his wedding night in the dungeon torturing the would-be assassin for information.

I eye the petal-laden bed. Fatigue weighs heavy on my eyelids. Would Zev be upset if he returned to his chambers and found his wife fast asleep?

My gut tells me no. Zev doesn’t expect me to lie with him—in that way—until I’m ready. If I’m ever ready. He told me as much yesterday. If he found me asleep, he’d drape a blanket over me, then chastise me in the morning for overexerting myself.

A small smile tugs at my lips. Rose petals scatter to the floor as I peel back the covers, revealing yet more petals strewn across the sheets in a velvety sea, and crawl into a bed that smells of smoke and pine.


The mattress dips beside me, and I shift slightly.

A mumbled groan.

A quiet laugh. “Sorry, baby. Go back to sleep.”

The cool press of rose petals against my bare shoulders, my legs.

Eyes closed, even in this floating state, I’m aware of him. His smoky scent surrounds me, and I breathe easier knowing he’s close.

But not close enough.

I reach out and find air instead of muscle, empty space where I want his body beside mine.

I want. I want. I want.

A hushed whimper.

A deep, pained sigh.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmurs, affection threading his deep voice. The bed shifts again. “Come here.”

Familiar warmth as muscled arms cocoon me, my nose pressing against a bare chest.

I never want to wake up. It’s safe to dream.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

A contented hum. Reverent lips brushing my forehead.

Mine.

Sunlight coaxes me awake as it filters through the large windows framing the bed. My arms are pinned to my sides, Zev’s strong embrace holding me captive.

He isn’t wearing a shirt. Tides, why isn’t he wearing a shirt?

Tanned skin everywhere I look.

A smattering of fine hair darkens the planes of his chest. I have the sudden urge to brush my lips over it, see if it’s as soft as it looks.

Heat coils low in my belly, spreading in a violent tide through my limbs, between my legs. My cheeks flush with damning color, and I burrow my face into his chest, unable to resist inhaling more of his familiar, soothing scent.

“Good morning, wife.” His voice is sinfully low, rough with sleep. I want his deep timbre against my ear, whispering all the things he’d do to me if I just ask.

Tides drag me into uncharted depths.

I need to get my raging desire under control. I may be his wife now, but nothing else has changed. I squirm out of his arms, throwing him what I hope is a baleful expression.

“You didn’t have to hold me in your arms like that.”

His lips quirk into a half smile.

Tides damn him. My glare is having no effect.

“No,” he says easily, lips still tipped up. “I didn’t have to.”

He watches me like I’ve already said yes to something I haven’t yet decided.

“What happened after I was sent to bed?” I can’t help the bite that seeps into my tone.