King of Blood

Chapter 38 - Lyanna

Lyanna stumbled slightly as she followed the winding corridor to Aleksander's chambers, her heels clicking sharply against the stone. Her head swam from too much wine, and her hands clenched the fabric of her gown to keep from tearing it in frustration. Aleksander trailed leisurely behind her, his footsteps a maddeningly calm contrast to her barely concealed storm.

When they reached the dark oak door, Lyanna pushed it open without waiting for him, the heavy wood creaking as it swung wide. She stepped inside, the air of the room thick with the scent of roses and aged wood. The fire crackling in the hearth bathed the space in warm light, glinting off the polished silver embellishments on the furniture.

Without sparing Aleksander a glance, she stormed past him, the black crown still perched precariously atop her head. She let herself fall heavily into the wooden chair by the large table near the fire, slumping into its ornate embrace. Her fingers brushed the decadent ring on her finger and she scowled at it before letting her head fall back against the chair.

Aleksander entered the room leisurely, closing the door with a soft click. He paused, leaning against it for a moment as he observed her with a slight, amused tilt of his head.

"You could at least pretend to be happy," he drawled, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the heavy silence. "I remember at one point when this would have been the best day of our lives."

She shot him a glare that could have frozen fire. "Spare me your drivel, Alek," she snapped, her words slurred slightly from drink but sharp nonetheless. "Let's not pretend this is anything but what it is. You won."

He chuckled darkly, pushing off the door and striding to the table. "I won," he echoed, his tone smug. "But you're hardly a prize in your current state." He picked up a decanter of amber liquid, pouring two generous servings into crystal glasses. He approached her chair, holding one out to her.

She snatched it from his hand without a word, the motion abrupt enough to spill a few drops onto her fingers. She didn't care. Raising the glass to her lips, she downed half of it in a single gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing little to dull the tempest in her chest.

Aleksander took the other chair by the table, lounging comfortably as he swirled his drink. "You could at least attempt civility," he said lightly. "After all, you're my wife."

Lyanna's grip on her glass tightened, her knuckles whitening. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I must have forgotten to curtsey after you kidnapped and tortured the man I love, beat our best friend half to death and spent years tormenting me for your own amusement."

Aleksander's lips curved into a smirk. "When you put it like that," he said, his tone mocking. "You make it sound so cruel. But don't fret, Lyanna. You'll find that being queen has its perks. You'll grow accustomed to it."

She slammed her glass onto the table, the sound ringing sharply in the chamber. "I'd rather rot in your playroom of a cell," she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "I'd rather—" She cut herself off, the words strangled in her throat as she fought against the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

Aleksander leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied her. "Careful, Lyanna," he murmured. "Your bitterness is showing. And you wouldn't want to ruin that lovely crown, would you?"

Her fingers itched to hurl the goblet at him, to claw the smug expression from his face. But instead, she leaned back in her chair, her head turning to gaze into the fire. The flames danced wildly, mirroring the chaos in her chest. She could still feel the weight of the binding thread that had wrapped around her wrist, tying her to Aleksander in the eyes of gods she no longer prayed to.