Page 39 of Blood On His Lips

The pain grew, a fiery inferno sliding through my veins as if someone had turned my blood into lightning.

Fight it, Kuthliele.Words in my mind, the ruthless tone near feral.Fight it! You are Heir, not pawn.

What do you think I'm trying to do, I wanted to say, but in this place I couldn't form the words in my mind.

I tunneled towards the pain, expanding against the oppressive darkness, refusing to allow it to make me shrink to a pinpoint.

I bared my teeth in a snarl, exploding into consciousness.

“Good girl. My good girl.” Guttural satisfaction did nothing to smooth rage in that tone.

Renaud. No one else would have the gall. I was neither good, nor a girl, and only one male could handle my temper after saying those words to my face.

* * *

Darkness claimed me again. This time it was natural, my consciousness floating in the blanket of true sleep.

When I opened my eyes, the oppressive darkness morphed into oppressive heat. I struggled to breathe past thick, steamy humidity, gasping for cool, fresh air. I became aware of my body, the bed of muscles cradling me. Sweat-slicked skin, warm breath and soft lips on my cheek.

Arms tightened around me as I stiffened, lungs trying to close. Waking to suffocating heat after an attack. . .did not dredge up happy memories. I clenched my jaw, latching onto a breathing exercise to help lower my spiking heart rate.

“At ease.” The Prince spoke, his voice mostly returned to its normal emotionless murmur. “The remnant of the poison must be sweated out.”

Poison. My upper lip curled. How boring. I was almost disappointed.

“I was on fire.” I sounded exhausted even to my own ears. “It hurt. Thank you.”

A hand settled on the curve of my waist, squeezed gently. “I am no true healer—my ability is crude in comparison. Fortunately, that substance was always susceptible to. . .light.”

Disappointment morphed into something less comfortable as I became more fully aware of not only my own skin but Renaud’s. He sat on a long bench, his back against a wall. He’d draped me on him chest-to-chest, my breasts pressed against his pectorals, my legs straddling his lap. A very happy lap.

Communal co-ed bathhouses and steam rooms were common in Everenne. It was rude to engage in flirting games while people were bathing. There had been a few assassinations and brawls in the baths over the centuries, but mostly it was considered uncouth.

Renaud and I were alone in the sauna. A different kind of tension flowed through my muscles, though I tried to ignore it.

“What was the poison meant to do? Not kill me.”

“No. Not to kill you. Not your body.” His arm tightened further, matching the edge in his voice. “You will forgive me. This particular weapon is specialized. I've only seen it used a handful of times, and not in the last thousand years.”

That would explain his mental retreat on the walk home, and his focus on my cuts. He'd been trying to remember what he'd forgotten.

“There's nothing to forgive,” I murmured. “You’ve been asleep for centuries, and even fully awake, you’re still an Old One.” And couldn't be blamed for all the knowledge he'd forgotten over the long centuries of his life.

“It is no excuse.” I recognized the grim self-recrimination in his voice because it was the same emotion I so often directed at myself. “I have been lax and unfocused. Lazy. That will cease from here on out.”

I almost winced. He was difficult enough to deal with even when his mind remained partially in the ether.

“But,” he continued in a softer, more thoughtful tone, “the enemy has shown their hand. The warning will work against them, and so it will serve us.” His voice softened even further. “I don't know how what I suspect is possible. I must speak to—” He cut himself off.

I rested my forehead against him, annoyed but too tired to pursue yet another line of information he was keeping from me. I couldn't let it go so easily, though.

“You're keeping secrets, Prince.”

“To speak the name is to draw attention.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard that already. But demonstrably, I've already drawn attention.” I straightened, lifting my head to look into his face. His lips folded into a stubborn line. “Someone sent the Black Knight.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps you've merely drawn the attention of the servant, which is. . . difficult enough. I will not speak the name, not now that I suspect they may have risen.”

---