Page 122 of Obsession

Chapter twenty-nine

The man’s name is Aris.

Aris is everything.

And what am I?

The thought catches like a record skipping, a wheel turning in mud; it never goes anywhere.

I just am, and I am with Aris.

Chapter thirty

His lips and nose are in my hair, breathing me in deeply; we are at peace. I am almost flush against him, but he pulls me tighter still, lifting me like I weigh nothing. I fit neatly in his lap, as he sits on his throne,

My head is tucked into his shoulder, where his natural chill permeates through his shirt. As he smells me, I smell him. I like smelling him. He smells fresh. He smells like the word fierce. How someone can smell like a word, I can’t explain, but there it is.

I shift slightly, peeking around Aris. His servants stand dutifully, some smiling contentedly, happy to be in his presence. Others smile, too, but they look more like smirks. What they’re laughing at is me, I know; they think I am vapid and a little ridiculous. They’re right, and I am unoffended; I love being ridiculous.

I know how silly it is to sit in the lap of a king while he conducts court. But Aris likes me on him like this, and I like it, too. I like smelling him. I like his arms around me. What else matters?

With a final sniff, he pulls his nose from my hair, regarding the individual before him. “And?” says Aris. He tugs me closer, his hold like steel.

There is a man before us kneeling. I don’t know him or his purpose, and it is likely that he doesn’t have one; Aris just likes seeing people on their knees. And yet, the man is speaking. Reporting.

He’s reporting something about peace restored somewhere. I am uninterested. I don’t know why we should care. I know that there is a world beyond Aris, that there is more than me and him, but that is out there, and we are in here.

What I do care about is returning to our bedroom, Aris shoving me onto silk sheets, tearing my clothes off of me while nipping at my skin, thrusting in and out of me, the two of us becoming one with parting lips and rushing gasps.

That is the only thing I care about, but, for whatever reason, Aris likes this. Holding court, he calls it, where he flaunts me and shows them all that I’m his. I always sit placidly; I know I will get my attention later.

“Several leaders are requesting an audience,” continues the man. He is a sweaty, gaunt thing, with clothes that hardly fit. He looks simultaneously terrified and blessedly happy, the mix resulting in his mouth hanging open for too long, his speech delayed, his eyes fixed so wide that they’re all whites. “Jaegen has started—”

“Enough.”

The single word silences the man. Everyone listens to Aris—especially when he is angry.

I’m confused; I don’t know what upset him. I consider what the man said. People want to meet with Aris, and Jaegen is…

My brain stutters on that word: Jaegen. That… name? A thought forms, then unwinds, and soon I have no clue what I was trying to think about.

Shrugging, I snuggle into Aris’ side. He’s tense, which makes for an uncomfortable pillow, but I don’t mind. He will settle, soon enough. Once this man leaves.

What is it he’s even going on about?

“Apologies, Great One,” says the thin man, looking more terrified now. “I did not mean to offend.”

Aris sighs, and I rise and fall with his chest. “Yes, yes. Get to the point.”

There is a pause, and Aris goes taut.

“Say that out loud,” Aris orders.

“Of course…” The man pulls at his loose shirt nervously, unsure what to expect but unwilling to disobey. “There is a military unit coming in this direction.”

“Why did you not start with that?” Silva erupts from beside Aris’ throne. He sounds furious. “How far away are they? How many?”

A military unit, I think, twitching in surprise. Enemies coming.

---