Slowly, deliberately, and a bit unsteadily, Rhys rose to his feet and raised his goblet in a toast he hoped would not appear too mocking.
“My lady, I for one hope you shall be very happy in this union,” he slurred, then dropped back into his seat, turned his head away, and proceeded to ignore her for the rest of the festivities.
At least that was the plan. But he had little success.
Rhys found himself eavesdropping on every strained word she and Seth spoke to each other, gritting his teeth at every smile she gave the other man—false and uncertain though they may have been. He actually snorted when Seth rewarded her acquiescence by promising her a life of unending happiness and contentment by his side.
At the rude noise, Gillian turned. “Do you doubt it, Lord Kilpatrick?” she asked him.
“Hell, no,” Rhys drawled. “If your idea of happiness is wealth beyond avarice and your vision of contentment is empty erotic pleasures in a marriage devoid of emotion.”
She blinked. But quickly recovered. “What’s wrong with being rich? And you’ve forgotten something even more important. As chosen consort to the most powerful immortal in the world, I will also be granted incredible powers when I become immortal myself. I could squash a man like you with a single thought.”
He threw back a gulp of his wine for fortitude. “It’s true. If that’s the sort of thing that appeals.”
Her chin inched up. “What woman wouldn’t want such immense power and influence?”
Her.
He barely resisted rolling his eyes at the performance. “A woman with a heart?” he muttered at the blatant lie. Apparently, she’d also received strict instructions.
Her throat convulsed. “Hearts are fickle,” she said with a perfectly straight face. “I certainly hope you didn’t take our meaningless affair seriously, Lord Kilpatrick.” She laughed, a weak, almost choking sound. “For my heart truly belongs to another now.” She tossed an all-white smile at Seth, then leveled her gaze back at Rhys. “Any tendre you and I may have shared was just a passing fancy. It is in the past, over and done now.”
If she hadn’t tried to be so damned convincing—a sure sign she’d been threatened, as he had—he would have laughed out loud.
As it was, he suppressed his instinctive retort, took another swallow of wine, and did his best to appear indifferent.
“How fortuitous,” he drawled, playing his assigned part loud enough for those concerned to hear, and striving not to let the sarcasm bleed through. “For I, too, have come to my senses about our little dalliance. You understand it was just a strategy to get you here to Khepesh, into the bed of our lord and leader. All in a day’s work.”
She winced. “Okay. Well, that’s good.”
He raised his goblet again and she turned resolutely away.
But a few heartbeats later he felt the brush of her fingers against his trouser leg. Was she mad? After a second of shock, and suddenly stone-cold sober, he dropped his hand to his lap and wove her seeking fingers with his. Telling her with his gentle touch of the despair and longing in his breaking heart.
She was, indeed, a brave woman to defy Seth in this blatant manner. Rhys yearned to lift her fingers to his lips and press a kiss to them—and warn her of the terrible danger she was putting herself in by refusing to bend to Seth-Aziz’s command. Seth might have been tolerant of her rebellion thus far, but he’d soon put a swift and decisive stop to it.
Rhys rubbed along the length of her thumb and squeezed her fingers with his. All too soon, she slipped her hand away.
But several minutes later, she caught his eye while sipping her wine. “I didn’t mean it,” she mouthed.
He dabbed his lips with his napkin. “You think I don’t know that? What did they threaten you with?”
“Your banishment.” She reached for a sweetmeat. “You?”
“My severed head.”
She dropped her spoon with a clatter. A trio of shabtis rushed to her aid and the exchange was ended when Seth glared at him suspiciously.
Rhys leaned lazily back in his chair and pretended drunken indifference. But what he really felt was fury. Fury and helplessness.
One word kept echoing in his mind.
Duty.
Seth saw taking Gillian as his goddamn duty.
When Rhys longed to love and cherish her forever.
It wasn’t right. Serving the god was supposed to bring an eternity of pleasure and contentment. Up until now, it had. At least...he’d thought so. But he realized that somewhere along the way, things had gotten twisted around. He feared Khepesh was going the way of Petru—bright in appearance but dark of spirit.
Too bad there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Unbidden, Seth’s earlier words returned to him.
Haru-Re has tried for ages to recruit you. Why not let him?
He blinked, and slowly an idea began to form in his mind.
On second thought, maybe there was...