Thread of Darkness

Ch. 13: Eris

Eris took a sip of whisky and contemplated throwing the glass bottle into the fire.

It had been a bad evening. A terrible evening, Eris reflected, made worse by the fact that they'd served mushroom soup at dinner. He hated mushrooms. He slumped in his chair, staring into the flames. At least his rooms were decent: a four-poster wooden bed, a silver tray, a jewelled cage for messenger ravens to stop and rest... It could, as Lyra was so damn fond of reminding him, be far worse.

Still.

The cages would have to be removed, Eris thought, when he took the throne; it didn't send the right message. Bit ominous, really.

And no more mushroom soup, either.

"He refused you, didn't he?" Lyra asked.

She was rubbing honeyflower-sweet lotion onto her calf; one leg was propped up on the vanity, her robe pooling at her hips. Hard black brushstrokes peeked out from beneath the fabric, and Eris knew that if he stood — if he pulled that fabric away — he could run his hand over her scythe tattoo.

But he didn't.

Instead, Eris rolled the whisky around his glass. "For now."

Lyra's hair fell forward in a curtain of black silk. "Your cousin is protective of the girl. He won't give her up without a fight. Surely you see that."

"My cousin is dying," Eris said. "I simply need to wait."

"For the crown?" She lifted her hair, applying lotion to her neck. "Or for Annalise Cidarius?"

"Both."

Lyra's mouth quirked. "You want her, don't you?"

"I need her," Eris said. "She's necessary for our plan to work." He drained his whisky. "You know that."

"That's not what I meant," Lyra said. "You want her." She set down the lotion, padding barefoot across the room. "I saw the way you were looking at her during the banquet; I know you, Eris." Her smirk grew. "I know what you like."

There was a ripple.

Eris stiffened. Annalise Cidarius stood in front of him; the firelight turned the robe sheer, revealing the curve of her hip. She tilted her head, blue eyes gleaming with suggestion, and hot blood roared through him. She took a step closer. Another.

Lyra's voice was husky in his ear. "Is this what you want?" Her finger trailed down his chest. "Do you want her touching you like this?"

Eris gripped his armrests. "Stop it, Lyra."

Her lips whispered over skin. "Kissing your throat?"

Eris half-closed his eyes; his body was betraying him, hardening and rising to her touch, and he twisted away. "I'm not in the mood to play tonight."

"Are you sure?" Lyra's finger traced the skin above his waistband. "Imagine how easy it would be to take me right now. To take her." Her voice was hot in his ear."You could have Annalise underneath you, writhing and begging—"

"Enough."

Eris shoved her — properly, this time — and Lyra stumbled several feet, colliding with the mantelpiece. She huffed out a startled laugh.

"My gods," she said. "You really do like her. I'm almost jealous."

Eris looked away. "You wouldn't understand."

Burning hells, he wasn't sure that he understood. But when he claimed her — and he would, Eris thought — then he wanted her. Annalise. Not some spectre of her body. He wanted her beneath him, wanted her nails digging into his back.