Page 73 of The Traitor's Curse

We reached the city after the late summer sunset, and the palace as the last dregs of twilight faded out of the horizon. I went straight for the bath, so tired of the smells of dust and horses that I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

Benedict, as usual, managed to wash up surprisingly thoroughly with a basin and a cloth and a touch of magic, and when I emerged from the bathroom I found him all freshened up and sitting in an embrasure by an open bedroom window, leaning against the frame and spinning a brandy glass in his hands. He’d changed into clean trousers, but no shirt.

That had to be one of the most underrated perquisites of marriage: a handsome man without a shirt, anytime I wanted one. Gods, those shoulders. My cock stirred under the light silk dressing gown I’d wrapped up in. His shoulders barely fit between my legs, though I never grew tired of having him try.

I went and leaned against him, and he slipped his arm around my waist. Insects hummed and chirped in a raucous chorus, filling the velvety warmth of the summer night. A sliver of moon bathed the garden in a pale, silky glow.

“I’m sorry to have been such an ass,” he said suddenly, and set the glass down to turn and take me fully in his arms, pulling me down into his lap. “It wasn’t easy for me to come back. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

“I’m sorry.” I slipped my arms around his neck, playing with his hair. “I know you’d rather be there, and that I’m keeping you—”

“No,” he said fiercely. “No, never think that! You’re not keeping me from anything, and I’d always rather be with you. Lucian, it’s not that, it’s—commanding the army is what I am to you. For you. I defend you, and Calatria. It’s what I’ve always done. I feel like I’m failing you.”

“Failing me? Benedict, don’t be—” I bit my lip.Absurd, I’d almost said, but calling your husband’s deepest fears absurd,when he chose to allow you to hear them, had to be some hitherto unknown depth of tactlessness. “You could never fail me. Do you, all right. Do you feel like I’m failing you when I take an afternoon off from working? Or cancel a council meeting because I simply don’t want to go?”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “You never take an afternoon off from working.”

Almost entirely true, damn it. But… “I’ve canceled two council meetings this year!” I said triumphantly. “I have. Were you disappointed in me? Because that’s what I do, isn’t it? For Calatria, and for you. Keep the duchy running smoothly. Administer justice. Ensure that our laws are followed, and none of the council does anything stupid or starts a war that your men would have to go and die in.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, and his jaw set in the way I knew meant he wouldn’t listen to reason.

“Fine, it’s not the same,” I snapped. “Clearly what I do is far less important than what you do, Benedict!”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Lucian, it’s just that—”

“It’s just that your role has changed, and you need to accept it,” I said. Perhaps tact was overrated, after all. I wouldn’t call him absurd, at least. That had to count for something. “You’re the Lord Consort. I’m the Crown Duke, and we need to act like it. I need you here, helping me rule. You can’t fail me as long as you’re by my side. Promise me you don’t regret marrying me?”

“Lucian,” he said, and shook his head. “If that’s how you feel—I love you more than life itself. I’d want to be married to you even if I had to do all that paperwork in your place. Although I’d rather just fuck you in the throne room. That’s part of a Lord Consort’s official duties, and if it isn’t already, I’m going to issue a decree to that effect. Who’s going to stop me?”

I couldn’t help laughing, relief making me giddy. “I’m beginning to think Lord Zettine’s right, and we’re both unbecoming. Certainly you are!”

Benedict flashed me a wicked grin. “I could show him a thing or two about unbecoming. Actually, perhaps I’ll just show you. That’s more fun.”

We were both laughing, most unbecomingly, as he slid his hands under my dressing gown and bore me down onto the floor, spreading my legs and pinning me under him, kissing my laughter off my lips.

No ducal propriety was observed that night—or any night thereafter.

And neither of us regretted it.

The End