The King’s Bride : Chapter 21

HE WAS IN LOVE.

Nothing else could explain the inexplicable sense of euphoria that had taken up permanent residence in his chest. Over the last week, he’d taken her out on walks, and they’d eaten every meal together. More often than not, he was in her room. They talked, they kissed, and they made love. Whenever he lay eyes on Xara, his worries melted away until she was all he saw. Being with her had opened his eyes to a new possibility. A new way of living.

Life didn’t always have to be about battles and wars. It could be peaceful. Pleasurable. Joyful. Filled with love.

All the way from the Sapphire Serpents office, he’d thought about confessing the truth to her. He knew she wasn’t ready to go all in but last night had given him hope. What if she felt the same way he did? He wanted to hold onto that glimmer of hope. If she wasn’t ready, he’d give her more time. However, he knew that Xara was warming up to him. She wore the ring that he gave her and they’d grown closer over the time together. She spoke of her fears and her past without reservation. She’d also grown more comfortable touching him when others were around.

Delton’s carriage came to a stop before the royal residence, and he got off. He strode into the house with a mix of trepidation and confidence. Felix had prepared everything for Heires’ meeting with Ifer the following day. He was sure they’d get him this time. Delton would personally be at the location. Victory was so close. If he could convince Xara to stay with him, he’d have everything that he wanted. He had never been a believer in good fortune, but it seemed that things had turned in his favor ever since he came back to her.

Ascending the stairs, he mentally ran a bunch of sentences through his head. He was pretty sure they’d all turn to mush the moment he saw her but he wanted to be prepared nevertheless.

When Delton reached her bedroom, he knocked. Moving from one foot to another he knocked again, impatiently opening the door.

He stepped into her room and found it empty. The scent of roses lingered in the air but there was no sign of his wife.

Strange.

“Xara?” He called out. His voice echoed in the room. Her bed was made, and the windows were closed.

Delton took a step forward and another, looking around. Had she gone out? He hadn’t seen Michael on his way in. He moved closer to the bed, almost tripping over something that jutted out. Catching himself, he took a step back to survey the object that he had tripped on.

A trunk stuck out from under the bed. It was open from one side, a piece of clothing sticking out. Getting on his knee, he surveyed it. He wanted to push it back but not with the clothing sticking out. Gently, Delton opened the trunk a little just enough to push the garment back in. The movement seemed to dislodge the other side, causing the trunk to open completely.

Xara’s pressed gowns sat in a neat row inside. He wasn’t supposed to be here, looking at her clothes but he couldn’t help the situation that he was in. Hurriedly, Delton pushed the sleeve that fell over the edge of the suitcase back in. However, before he could shut it, he felt something move inside the top of the trunk. Delton lifted it up, wondering where the moving sound was coming from. The lid was heavier than he’d expected as if there was something under it.

He pressed on the lid and felt a thin plank wobble.

A false bottom.

Surprised, he dislodged the plank. Why did Xara’s trunk have a false bottom? Was she afraid of her jewels being stolen?

What Delton found when he pulled away the rectangular piece of wood wasn’t jewels. It was something far more unexpected. Far more disturbing.

Nestled among white shirts, trousers, brown waistcoats, and bandages lay a black mask. An intricate pattern of rubies and pearls winked at him.

He forgot to breathe for a moment.

It couldn’t be.

He picked up the mask, the reality of the ugly situation condensing almost instantly.

It was Ifer’s mask.

He remembered seeing a sketch long ago. The pattern, the design, the stones—it was all like Darius had described. He searched the mask for the details that nobody could reproduce. A dull ache began in his chest, spreading all the way to his head. His fingers ruffled through the clothes on which the mask rested. Men’s clothes.

A disturbing picture formed in his head at once. Facts slammed into his brain, each detail twisted to fit the narrative that was emerging.

Darius’ insinuations that Ifer might be a woman, Ifer’s proximity to Delton, his use of Elian’s seal, his friendship with Osric and Walric, and his relentless ambition to conquer Escayton…god, what a fool he’d been. The answer had been staring at him all along.

Xara was Ifer.

It was the most obvious conclusion. And now that he thought about it, the most logical one. How had he missed something so obvious? No wonder she’d looked surprised when he asked her about Elian’s bastard children.

He laughed. It wasn’t his bastard who had used the seal. It was his only legal heir.

Xara’s presence in Escayton coincided with Ifer’s origins. Delton had no idea how she’d gotten involved with lag trading but that was a minor detail. She thought Escayton belonged to her and deemed him unfit to rule. Before he’d arrived at Cadia, she’d hated him. He suspected her of colluding with her cousin but that’s where he’d gone wrong. She wasn’t colluding with Walric. She was leading him. Osric was her faithful servant. He’d do anything she asked of him without question. Wasn’t that why they were both keeping their mouths shut? The way Walric had looked at Delton, with undiluted hatred, pointed to his loyalty to his cousin.

Xara was certainly smart enough to pull off something like this without being detected. Though she appeared shy, he knew she hid a devious mind behind her compassionate exterior. She’d been the only person to ever defeat him at chess. It stood to reason that she was also the only person who’d avoided being captured by him. When it came to her, he was blind.

Ever since the Millennium War, he’d considered Ifer his greatest enemy—his nemesis. Strange that it should turn out to be his wife. What hurt even more, was that she’d never considered telling him the truth. Even after he’d given her that ring, apologized to her, and decided to start over. Was she planning to use him? To cut him out once she had what she needed?

He didn’t know what to think.

A familiar sense of treachery twisted his heart. He tried to deny it. There was no proof of her culpability. How could Xara carry off something of this scale alone? His perfect princess wouldn’t associate with criminals who sold drugs. There must be a loophole, a reason he was wrong. But he couldn’t find it. The pulsing pain inside his heart grew as he sat back on the floor, breathless. All this time, she’d been hiding this from him. Such a huge secret.

How many times and she sneaked out of the palace without him noticing? Did Michael know her secret identity? Had she been signing deals and trading lag while he had been running around looking for Ifer? Had she been plotting his destruction while he’d been falling in love with her?

Fury swept his bloodstream, unbidden. His fists clenched and a melody of accusatory voices filled his head. Xara was just like Karina. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it plagued him…the similarity. The memory. It was like a ghost attached to his person. A pattern that wouldn’t stop repeating.

He swallowed, willing himself to breathe.

If he didn’t feel so betrayed, he would admire her resourcefulness. Even feel a little proud at what she’d accomplished—at how she hadn’t been defeated by his cruelty. At how she’d risen from the ashes to exact revenge. It couldn’t have been easy to start again after she’d been exiled. It took a lot of courage to make something of oneself after such a catastrophic event. He would know. He’d done the same after his parents’ murder. They were so alike—both ambitious and power-hungry.

It stung to be on the receiving end of that fury. To know that he’d bared his heart to someone who’d not cared for it. Was she laughing at him, at his naivety?

Delton heard footsteps in the distance and sat up. He wasn’t ready to face her yet. He needed time to sort things out. Hurriedly, he arranged the clothes and the mask on the trunk lid and slid the false bottom on. Shoving her sleeve into the trunk, he shut it and pushed it under the bed.

The door opened just as he stood up.

“Delton.” The wind carried Xara’s husky voice. The minute she materialized before him, he forgot the pain. All he could do was stare into her brown eyes that seemed so deceptively innocent. Looking down at her eyelashes fanning her cheeks, he couldn’t believe there had been a time when he’d thought her plain. She was like a match that ignited the flame of his passions.

Her gaze moved down his body, around his shoes. She didn’t notice the trunk, however. “Arya said you’d returned early today. I was taking a walk in the garden.”

“Is that so?” He could no longer remember the reason he’d wanted to see her. Every glance reminded him of what she’d done. Delton closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “I’m tired. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.”

It was an excuse if he’d heard one. He never got tired or needed to rest. Not unless he’d been stabbed.

She knew that too. “Are you sick?”

She stepped forward and placed her palm on his forehead. Part of him wanted to lash out at her for deceiving him. For doing the same thing Karina did, only in a way that cut deeper. To demand explanations from her. But he had no strength to fight.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” she said, moving her hand away. “Maybe I should ask the cooks to prepare something warm.”

“You do that…” He took a step away from her, worried he might not be able to control his reactions. The consequences of his discovery thrummed through his veins.

He didn’t want soup. He didn’t want her caring or her lies.

He longed to feel the hit of intense hatred.

But it never came.

That was even more depressing than the anger. Because if he couldn’t hate her despite what she’d done, he was hopeless. Completely at her mercy.

“Are you okay?” Xara asked as he walked to the door, his steps slow and wobbly. She held his hand, but he pulled it away. When he gazed down at her still holding him with steely resolve, he wanted to laugh. It perfectly exemplified the bunch of contradictions that she was—feminine yet powerful, aggressive yet calming, beautiful yet passionate. Like a rose with thorns.

Too bad he’d ignored the thorns.

“I will be fine,” he said. The demon inside him was rising, but he didn’t want her to see.

He left before he could say something else.