Chapter 3 My Husband Came Back Before Sunrise

Lysander Bellrose

Something woke me before sunrise. It wasn't a sound. It was the cold. A thin, creeping chill had slipped into the bedroom, the kind that settles over a graveyard at dawn, and the scent of rain on stone drifted through the dark.

I lay still beneath the blankets with my eyes barely open. The curtains had been drawn back, and gray moonlight spilled across the floor. A tall figure stood at the window with his back to me.

My first thought was that an assassin had arrived with terrible timing. My second was that if he intended to murder me, he had at least let me die comfortably in a very expensive bed.

Then the figure shifted, and I recognized the long black hair and the silver embroidery on the collar. Sylas. He had one hand braced against the window frame, and his shoulders rose and fell too quickly, as though he had run up every staircase in the palace. His shirt hung open at the throat.

In the moonlight, I could see something dark crawling along the side of his neck and down to his forearm, a pattern of fine, glossy scales that rippled and receded like a tide. He pressed his palm flat against the glass, and the scales slowly drew back beneath his skin. He exhaled, long and unsteady.

I did the only sensible thing available to me. I stayed perfectly still and pretended to be asleep. He turned. I felt his gaze before I dared to look, and I kept my breathing slow and even, which was far harder than it sounds when your heart is hammering against your ribs. He crossed the room without a sound.

The mattress did not move, but I sensed him standing beside the bed, close enough that the cold of him prickled along my arm. He stayed there for a long moment, long enough that I began to wonder whether he could hear my pulse.

Then he reached down and drew the blanket higher over my shoulder. I had kicked it half off in my sleep, apparently. His fingers did not touch me, but they hovered over the edge of the fabric a moment longer than necessary.

"Sleep," he said, so quietly that I almost believed I had dreamed it. By the time I dared to open my eyes, the window was closed, the curtains were drawn, and the room was empty.

I had reached three conclusions by the time I woke up properly that morning. First, the bed in the Serpent King's palace was offensively comfortable. Second, the breakfast was excellent, provided nobody informed me what I was eating. And third, my husband was an absolute menace.

A handsome menace, unfortunately. That last detail was particularly irritating because it meant I couldn't even insult his appearance to make myself feel better. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and glanced toward the window. Sunlight spilled across the floor. Sylas Nocthar was gone, and the room held no trace that he had ever been there.

I might have convinced myself that I had dreamed the whole thing, if not for the blanket tucked neatly over my shoulder and the faint scent of rain on stone that still clung to the curtains. Not that I had expected him to come at all. We had been married for approximately two days, and he had already established that our marriage was about as romantic as a tax declaration.

Still, I found myself wondering about something. Who was the person waiting for him in the eastern wing? A lover? A companion? Someone he had been seeing before our marriage? I groaned and dropped backward onto the pillows.

"Stop thinking about it, Lysander. You have more important problems. Like the fact that you live in a kingdom where the furniture probably has better legal rights than you do." A knock sounded. "Your Highness?" Mara. My savior. Or my jailer. I hadn't decided yet. "Come in." She entered carrying my morning clothes. "His Majesty requests your presence in the royal breakfast chamber." I stared at her. "Again?" "Yes, Your Highness." "Has he developed a sudden interest in my company?" "I wouldn't know, Your Highness." "Of course not. That would be too convenient." Mara laid the clothes across the bed. "His Majesty also wishes to remind you that the eastern wing is forbidden." My hand froze halfway toward the clothes. I slowly turned to face her. "Interesting." "Your Highness?" "Did His Majesty mention why he felt the need to remind me?" "No." I narrowed my eyes. Last night, I had stood at the corner of that corridor without ever stepping through those doors.

Unless the palace possessed some sort of magical surveillance system, Sylas shouldn't have known. Then again, he was an immortal serpent king. Perhaps the walls whispered to him. I looked at the nearest wall.

"Good morning," I said cautiously. Mara closed her eyes. I smiled. "Just checking." Sylas was already seated when I entered the breakfast chamber. This time, he wasn't alone. A man stood beside the windows, dressed in a dark blue coat embroidered with silver.

He had pale skin, neatly styled blond hair, and an elegant face that seemed almost too perfect to be real. He looked human. Unlike Sylas, who carried an unsettling stillness that made every room feel smaller, this man appeared approachable. Until his eyes settled on me. They were a striking shade of violet. His smile was warm. His gaze was not.

"Ah," he said. "The new consort." I stopped beside the table. "And you are?" The man placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "Aldric Valemont." The name meant nothing to me. At least, not yet. "Sylas's old friend," he added. Something about the way he said old made me wonder how old their friendship actually was. Sylas lifted his cup. "Aldric has returned to Nagaeon after a long absence." "How lovely for him." Aldric chuckled. "You're quite direct." "I find it saves time." "Then I shall be direct as well." He extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lysander." I shook it. His hand was cool. Not cold enough to be alarming, but cool enough for me to notice. "Likewise." His gaze moved briefly to the silver serpent clasp at my collar. "Marriage suits you." I looked down at myself. "Does it? I was hoping the outfit would make me look like a wealthy widow." Aldric laughed. Actually laughed. For a moment, I liked him. Then he glanced toward Sylas, and something changed. It was subtle, a fraction of a second perhaps. His smile softened, and his eyes lingered on the king with a familiarity that made me feel as though I had accidentally walked into a private conversation. Sylas met his gaze. Neither spoke. I looked between them. Oh. Oh, this was going to be interesting. I pulled out my chair and sat down. "So," I said brightly, "how long have you known my husband?" "Five hundred years." I nearly choked on my tea. I coughed into my napkin and stared at him. "Excuse me?" "Approximately five centuries," Aldric repeated. I slowly turned toward Sylas. "Your friend is five hundred years old?" "Yes." "And he looks like that?" Sylas's eyes narrowed. "Like what?" "Like someone who has never had to worry about wrinkles." Aldric smiled. "You're kind." "No, I'm jealous. I've been worrying about my hairline since I was nineteen." "You're twenty-three," Sylas said flatly. I turned toward him. "Thank you for that deeply unnecessary contribution."

Aldric laughed again. Sylas did not. I was beginning to suspect that making my husband laugh would require either a miracle or a small natural disaster. Perhaps both. Breakfast proceeded with Aldric telling us about his return to Nagaeon.

He spoke of distant cities, old friendships, and the changes that had taken place during his absence. Sylas listened. Actually listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't issue orders. He didn't look as though he wanted to execute the person speaking. For the first time, I saw a different side of my husband. Not a kind side, exactly, but a familiar one.

Aldric mentioned an old palace garden, and Sylas's expression changed. "You remember the white roses?" Aldric asked. "Of course." "You said they would never survive the winter." "They didn't." Aldric smiled. "No. They didn't.

They shared a quiet look. I lowered my fork. There it was again, that invisible thread connecting them. Whatever their relationship had been, it was not an ordinary friendship. And suddenly, I understood something unpleasant. I wasn't the first person to sit beside Sylas Nocthar.

I was simply the person who had been given a marriage certificate. How reassuring. "So," I said, breaking the silence, "does every old friend receive a private breakfast with the king, or are you two special?" Aldric turned toward me. Sylas set down his cup. "What are you implying?" "Nothing. I'm admiring your hospitality." "You sound suspicious." "I've been married to you for two days. Suspicion is practically a survival skill." Aldric pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. Sylas stared at me. "Finish your breakfast, Lysander." I smiled. "Yes, Your Majesty."

I took another bite and decided that if my husband wanted to keep secrets, he should at least learn to stop looking at his old friend like a man remembering a life he had lost. After breakfast, Aldric offered to show me the palace gardens, and I accepted immediately. Not because I was interested in spending time with him. Well, not entirely.

I wanted to understand the strange relationship between him and Sylas, and Aldric seemed like the sort of person who knew far more than he admitted. Besides, he was considerably less unpleasant than my husband. That wasn't a particularly high standard, but it was something.

We walked beneath an archway covered in flowering vines. The garden stretched across the grounds, filled with silver-leaved trees and dark roses that seemed to absorb the sunlight. Aldric walked beside me with his hands clasped behind his back.

"May I ask you something, Lysander?" "That depends. Will the answer get me executed?" "I sincerely hope not." "Then proceed." He glanced at me. "Did you choose to marry Sylas?" I laughed. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sound. "Of course. I woke up one morning and thought, 'You know what would improve my life? Marrying an immortal king who looks at me as though I'm a particularly troublesome mosquito.'" Aldric's smile faded slightly. "So you were compelled." "My family had debts. There was a treaty. Apparently, my life was an acceptable payment." He said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, "Does Sylas treat you well?" I considered lying. It seemed like the polite thing to do. Unfortunately, I had never been particularly talented at politeness. "He treats me like a political obligation." Aldric lowered his gaze. "I see." There was something in his voice that made me study him more carefully. "You don't seem surprised." "I'm not." "That sounds suspiciously like a confession." He gave a faint smile. "Sylas has never been particularly skilled at giving people what they need." "Then what is he skilled at?" "Surviving." The answer was so immediate that I fell silent. Aldric continued walking. "He has lived for centuries, Lysander. You should understand that immortality does not necessarily make someone wise. Sometimes, it merely gives a person more time to become very good at avoiding pain." I looked at him. For the first time, his pleasant expression seemed tired. "Are you saying my husband is emotionally constipated?" Aldric stopped. Then he laughed so suddenly that a nearby bird flew out of a tree. "I suppose you could describe it that way." "Excellent. At least someone understands the situation." We continued through the garden. I was beginning to enjoy Aldric's company, and that was probably a mistake. People who knew Sylas too well were likely to be dangerous. And Aldric Valemont, with his five-hundred-year history and his knowing smiles, was beginning to seem like the most dangerous person I had met so far. When I returned to my chambers that afternoon, Mara was waiting beside my dressing table. She looked concerned. "Your Highness, there is something you should know." I closed the door behind me. "That sounds ominous." "His Majesty has invited Lord Valemont to remain at the palace." "For how long?" Mara hesitated. "Indefinitely." I stared at her. Then I laughed. Of course. Of course, my husband would bring his ancient friend into the palace and keep him here indefinitely. Why not? Perhaps we could all share a carriage to misery. "Wonderful," I said. "Perhaps we can celebrate by inviting the entire kingdom." "Your Highness-"

"Don't worry, Mara. I'm perfectly fine." I wasn't sure why I said it. Perhaps because I didn't want to admit that Aldric's presence unsettled me. Not because I was afraid of losing Sylas, since I had never possessed him in the first place.

But there was something unbearable about realizing that my husband could be cold and distant with me, yet warm in ways I hadn't known he was capable of being with someone else. It made me wonder whether I had been brought here merely to occupy an empty position. A title. A body beside the king's name. Nothing more.

I crossed the room and sat beside the window. Outside, the palace gardens shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. Aldric was there. He stood beneath the white rose archway, speaking to a servant.

Then he turned toward the palace. Toward the windows. Toward me. For one brief moment, our eyes met. He smiled. I returned the gesture. But when I turned away, the smile slipped from my face.

Something was wrong. I couldn't explain it yet, but I could feel it. Aldric hadn't returned to Nagaeon simply because he missed an old friend. And Sylas hadn't looked at him like that because of an ordinary friendship.

Whatever had happened between them five hundred years ago, it wasn't over. Not even close. And somehow, I had been placed directly in the middle of it.

I leaned my forehead against the cool windowpane. "Father," I whispered, "next time you decide to sacrifice your son for the family, could you at least choose a kingdom without centuries of romantic baggage?"

Nobody answered. Naturally. I was beginning to think the universe had a personal grudge against me. Then the door opened. I turned. Sylas stood in the doorway. Alone. His expression was unreadable. "We need to discuss your behavior today," he said. I blinked. "My behavior?" "Your questions at breakfast. Your remarks. Your conduct with Aldric." I stared at him for several seconds. Then I smiled slowly. "Oh."

I stood. "Let me understand this correctly. You spend your nights with whoever you please, you barely acknowledge your own husband, and now you're upset because I spoke to your old friend?"

His jaw tightened. "That is not what I said." "Then what exactly are you saying, Sylas?" He stepped farther into the room. For once, I didn't move backward.

"Be careful about becoming involved in matters you don't understand."

I folded my arms. "Then perhaps you should stop bringing those matters into my life." His eyes locked onto mine. The air between us seemed to grow colder. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then Sylas turned toward the door. "Stay away from Aldric." I stared at his retreating figure. "Excuse me?" He stopped but didn't turn around. "You heard me." I laughed once, disbelievingly. "No, I don't think I did. Are you forbidding me from speaking to your friend?" "I'm warning you." "About what?" His silence was answer enough. I took a step forward.

"You know what, Sylas? I think you should decide what you want from me before you start issuing more orders. You cannot treat me like a stranger whenever it suits you and expect me to behave like a devoted husband whenever you feel threatened."

He finally turned. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes. Anger, perhaps. Or something far less familiar. "You know nothing about my marriage," he said quietly.

I held his gaze. "You're right. I know nothing about your marriage." My voice softened, but only slightly. "Because you haven't given me a reason to believe there's anything worth knowing."

The words hung between us. Sylas stared at me. Then he left. The door closed with a quiet click.

I stood alone in the middle of my room, my heart beating far too quickly. I had won nothing. I hadn't learned what had happened between Sylas and Aldric. I hadn't discovered the secret behind the eastern wing. And I certainly hadn't made my marriage any easier.

But I had discovered one thing. For all his coldness, Sylas Nocthar cared very much about where Aldric Valemont went and whom he spoke to.

And if my husband thought I would remain obedient while he dragged me through the ruins of his unfinished love story, he had underestimated me.

I walked to my dressing table and picked up the silver serpent clasp from my collar. Its jeweled eyes caught the light. I turned it over in my palm.

"All right, Your Majesty," I whispered. "If you want me to stay away from Aldric, you should probably start by explaining why."

I set the clasp down. Because now I was curious. And in Nagaeon, curiosity was apparently the most dangerous habit a human could have.