Only when Sei draws the item from his pocket does he remember the control collar. Simple black leather engraved with elaborate sigils. Fastening the collar would complete the sigil split between the two pieces of the buckle.
The collar trembles, as if the inert enchantment is somehow vibrating. Except it isn’t. The trembling is from Sei’s hands.
“This is how Radovan took me,” Sei says. “It’s a control collar.”
Marek makes a low, rough sound. His fury is barely contained. “He’s lucky Loska ate him.”
Sei’s stomach twists. His veneer of calm cracks, and all the hateful orders echo in his head.Don’t scream or speak. Don’t run away. Stay quiet.If Radovan took Sei’s magic, forget stopping when Sei told him to. Sei wouldn’t have had the chance to refuse.
But Sei is safe now. He doesn’t have to keep calm and figure out how to escape. He doesn’t have to be brave and race to Marek’s side. He’s already here, Marek’s hands gentle around Sei’s shoulders despite his rage. It’s safe to admit…
“I was scared,” Sei whispers.
Marek hugs Sei, hard. If Marek’s ribs hurt, he doesn’t make a sound. Just buries his face in Sei’s hair and holds him tight.
“I didn’t truly believe your warnings,” Sei admits, cheek pressed against Marek’s chest through the ragged shirt. “Or Kazia’s warnings. I understood intellectually, but I didn’t believe it. Radovan took me right under your nose, just because I’m a grail.”
Marek strokes Sei’s back with slow, soothing pressure. “Nobody will hurt you again.”
That isn’t true. Sei doesn’t even want it to be true. He wants to ride dragons and fight wraiths andlive,with all the peril that living entails. But right now, Sei is happy to sink into Marek’s protective embrace. “I want to learn how to use the knife Delline gave me.”
“Pick any weapon you like, and the dragon corps has a trainer for you.” Marek’s voice warms. “But I’ll train you in hand-to-hand myself.”
“I also want to learn to ride a horse.”
“I’ll buy you a whole herd of horses for the solstice.”
“And I still want a tattoo.”
“Sure, if you’re sober for it. What do you want a tattoo of?”
Sei hasn’t decided yet. He leans back, creating just enough space between them that he can look up and savor the indulgence in Marek’s expression. “Maybe a drawing of your face. Right in the middle of my chest.”
Marek’s indulgent expression freezes. Then furrows into a frown. “Call me a controlling asshole, but no. Absolutely not. As your prince, wing-marshal, and husband, I forbid you from getting a tattoo of my face.”
Sei sighs. “You’re so cruel to me.”
Marek seizes his hands. Lifts one to his lips. “Cry all you want, teacup.”
Disobediently, Sei laughs instead.
?
CHAPTER THIRTY
Marek
Marek is overdue for a day of desk work. Recruit assessments, support farm harvests, and border scout reports. Parchment slopes across Marek’s desk like snowdrifts, matching the remnants of the year’s first snow piled on Talorna’s ramparts. The heavy desk puts Marek’s back to the solid western wall, letting him face the fireplace in the opposite wall. An array of wide windows welcomes light from the south, illuminating the spacious room.
Other riders grimace and extend their sympathies when Marek takes a desk day. But he enjoys it more than they assume. All the disparate pieces of information coalesce into the full shape of Marek’s dragon corps. The strength of their support farms is just as important as the number of new recruits.
The dragon corps is the largest and strongest it’s ever been. Royal support is unwaveringly lucrative. Marek has a feeling about what that means, but his job isn’t to react out of turn. Simply to prepare.
Besides, spending a day inside is even better with company. Osric lounges by the crackling fire, occasionally floating treats from the bowl on the mantle into his waiting jaws.
A light hand knocks from the antechamber. Marek stoppers his ink and moves the inkwell and pen safely to their drawer. “Come in.”
Sei walks through the door, and Marek changes his mind. Desk work is excruciatingly boring when Marek could be looking at his new adjutant instead.
