Page 82 of The Jasad Crown
The answer was never. As long as Marek drew breath, he belonged to Sefa. What woman would accept second place? Marek never treated his lovers cruelly. He didn’t pretend to offer his heart or feign interest in a future where he wasn’t at Sefa’s side.
A steaming cup of a greenish tea passed into his hands. Marek took a sip and valiantly managed not to spit it back out. The tea tasted like shredded grass and the pungent seed Raya would drop in their stew for seasoning and forget to fish out before serving.
“Zangabeel,” Gigi said. “It calms the nerves.”
Marek forced himself to swallow. “Then I may need a second cup to ease myself into an evening in such lovely company.”
Conversation with Gigi flowed easily. The girl was chattier than Marek had guessed, and he nodded along more often than he contributed. To Marek’s right, Mira’s gaze had stayed steady on himsince he sat down. A thrill tingled at the base of his spine. The hunt was always most fulfilling when Marek felt hunted in turn.
Jeru had no idea the favor he’d shown Marek, assigning him to this neighborhood.
The thought momentarily shorted Marek’s attention. He missed what Gigi said about her favorite scouring method for restoring a rusted short blade.
Jeru wouldn’t do Marek a favor. He had sent him to this neighborhood—thishouse—for a reason.
“My lady, if you would forgive my impudence,” Marek said. “Which household name do I have to thank for my excellent accommodations?”
Mira arched a brow. “You didn’t check the gate?” She clicked her tongue. “I suppose the oversight can be forgiven in these circumstances.”
“Our household name is Shinawy,” Gigi supplied, scowling at her mother.
When the next rotation leaves to quarter in the noble towns, I will send you to the Shinawy manor. Find me the insignia, and I will help you find Sefa.
Meeting Mira’s unflinching stare, Marek’s smile turned predatory. For all of Jeru’s buttoned-up village-boy virginity, he hadn’t been shy about using Marek’s particular talents to win a way into the hearts—and confidences—of the noblewomen. If Mira had information about the missing insignia from the Siege of Six Dawns, Marek would work tirelessly until he got it. He would stay up all night long if he had to.
Once Gigi excused herself for the night, the real fun began. Mira took the cup from Marek, set it delicately onto its platter, and straddled his lap.
“We owe you a great debt for your efforts tonight, soldier,” Mira purred against his cheek.
Marek weaved his hand through her hair and tightened his grip.He hooked a smile against her forehead. “How would you like me to collect on this debt?” His voice dropped to a low rumble.
Mira shivered. With a quiet laugh, Marek kissed the corner of her mouth and murmured, “Brace your knees for me, my lady.”
Marek stood, Mira clinging to his shoulders, her knees hitched on his hips. With the directions she provided in between bites to his ear and throat, he navigated to her chambers on the third floor. The servants blowing out candles politely averted their gazes.
Marek chuckled. Always a pleasure to offer a juicy piece of gossip for the staff.
The door had scarcely clicked shut behind them before Mira shoved Marek against it. She yanked his suspenders off his shoulders and worked through the buttons on his shirt with the vindictiveness of one greeting an old enemy.
“Patience.” Marek caught her hands and flattened them to his chest. “Time is on our side.” He popped a button toward the bottom, exposing a strip of his stomach.
“Or…” Mira promptly ripped Marek’s shirt open. She gazed at his naked torso with a hunger Marek found deeply flattering and a dash frightening.
Marek hadn’t been intimate with anyone since the second trial of the Alcalah. It was the longest he had stayed abstinent in years.
He’d missed this so much. The tension in his muscles melting under a warm touch. The riptides of pleasure, climbing and cresting, dragging him to exquisite depths. The shattering bliss on his enthusiastic partner’s face.
Mira pulled off the straps of her dress and went to work undoing the lace over her breasts. How rude of Marek. He stopped her with an open-mouthed kiss. “Let me.”
In minutes, their clothes were a combined pile near the door, and Marek clasped Mira’s wandering hands together while he drew her to the bed.
He landed in pillows infinitely softer than the atrocities in the compound, which would have snapped his neck on impact if he’d fallen on them so heavily. Candlelight cast its dancing shadows over the walls. In their light, Mira’s fiery hair glowed.
She pinned his wrists over his head, a wicked smile on her rosy lips. And Marek, who had always known he’d make a terrible soldier, easily surrendered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SYLVIA
