Page 19 of The Bone King and the Starling

“Good. She won’t say no. You are king, after all, and you certainly seem to know how to please a female if her cries of pleasure were any indication.”

“Anyone would be pleased by a sword like that,” Hektor barks, pointing at my groin, and my warriors devolve again into laughter.

My smile returning in part, along with a sprig of hope that sprouts in my chest, I take a step away from the group, giving young Hektor another swift kick.

“When will you inform the chief you’ll be taking his thrall?” another of my men calls.

“Not anytime soon,” I mutter, not loud enough for the chief and his men to hear, though I return to tell my warriors, “I have plans for the chief and his wife, but I need more time to ruminate on them.”

A low, excited murmur whispers among my warriors. They know of my plans and I can see the delight of bloodlust shimmering in many of their gazes.

“She won’t say no, my king,” Daneera calls at my back as I turn from the group and round the ornate throne raised on the dais. “You are the bone king, after all.”

I do not respond to her as I return to the room to find my queen asleep on her back. Her body is so beautifully rouged, brown skin glistening with the product of her exertion. She sleeps soundly, the slow rise and fall of her chest stirring emotions deep within me, emotions I haven’t felt for some time. I think of my mother, strong woman that she was, and wonder what she would think of this female here now.

I smile, knowing that she would like her. My father may have been king once, but it was my mother from whom I inherited my fierceness. It was she who protected me and provided for us after my uncle took the throne. She hid us away in a remote village of Wrath, not entirely unlike this one, until I was strong enough to return to Ithanuir. She fought at my side, even, when I took my uncle’s life and earned my name.

This female is very different from my mother, not just in terms of appearance. Delicate, where my mother is a strong, robust woman, yet no less a warrior. I know my mother will respect that. However, I wonder now over my warriors’ words. Have I gone about this all wrong?

I sit on the edge of the bed and place my covered tray and alcohols on the table, ignoring them for now in favor of strokingmy fingers over her hair. She tips her face towards my touch in her sleep.

I reflect on our past exchanges, on the words I’ve said to her, and I know in my chest that what I told my warriors was untrue.

Even though it seemed so clear to me, I never once outlined her new role within Wrath. I never told her expressly that I planned to wed her in Ghabari’s temple in Ithanuir before all of my people — our people, now. I simply took her and showered her with praise she deserved for the higher plane she took me to this night. I called her mine. I assumed she would understand that I do not make trite statements. I do not offer false hope.

But she does not know me. She knows her drunken lord, whose word is as shallow as a puddle after a light rain. She will not believe my words easily. I will need to show her and yet, I only have three days.

If I offered her a choice, would she come with me? Or would she choose to stay? And even if she said yes, would she agree to the offer of marriage from her king? Or from Calai?

A small prick fills my chest with a terrible pain. I will offer this female a choice, perhaps the first she’s been given in her life, but…what will I do if she says denies me? My eye twitches along with my swordhand. I know the answer to that question. If she says no, I will take her anyway like a warrior in a raid. She is mine. It is up to me now to ensure she understands. To ensure she feels the same.

I slide beneath the furs I have layered atop the bed and wrap my limbs around her, trapping her to me beneath the sheets as I plan to trap her to me for the rest of my days. Gods forgive me.

THE COIN MASTER

“Psst…psst!” A light tapping on my outstretched fingertips is what causes my eyes to finally open. I see a blurry outline and I don’t understand where I am or what’s happening. It’s Rosalind, but this is not the great hall, nor are these the stable rushes where I sleep when the hall is full. I am not cold. No, I’m not cold. I am warmer now than I have ever been, even if I do feel pains all over my body. What…where am I?

Rosalind stands near the edge of the bed — a bed that I’m lying atop — placing linens on the dresser. She motions for me to come. My head rolls to the left and I start. King Calai is in my bed — no, I am in his — no, we are both in Chief Olec’s bed because last night he promised me riches in exchange for my virginity. He took the latter, but made no mention of the former.

One of his arms and legs are draped across my front. His face is turned towards me and he looks angry, even in sleep. I shudder. The enormous size of him has not diminished with the night. I wonder what time it is — if I’m late for my duties. Perhaps, that’s why I’ve been woken up.

With great difficulty, I manage to slide out from beneath the king’s impossible heft and off of the bed. I land on the cold, hard-packed earthen floor on shaky legs. I walk to Rosalind and she holds out a shift for me to dress in. It must be one of hers because, as I continue moving, my memories come back to me in rapid flashes and I remember that he cut my dress and shift off.

Rosalind’s dark grey gaze is cold as it roams down my bare body. Shivering in the cold air of her chamber, I pull her shift over my head. She doesn’t betray her reaction to my mottled skin and enflamed, puffy sex. I don’t inspect myself thoroughly, afraid of what I might find. Instead, I simply take the painful steps I need to follow after her when she gestures me out into the great hall where King Calai’s men and women are fast asleep.

She leads me down the servant’s path against the wall until we reach the alcove where drink was stored last night. I walk with a limp. She glances down at my left, offending leg when she turns and lifts the curtain, cocking her head for me to enter. We step inside and she wastes no time in turning to me and speaking, though it takes me several tries to understand what is happening. I feel like I’ve been beaten. But I also feel…full. Sated. For the very first time in my life.

Wrapped in his arms, overwhelmed, it had felt…terrifying…exhilarating…an experience I will never forget even though I am far too afraid of him to ever want to repeat it. Not that he would offer. His words were intense and yet, I know that they were only that. Words. Not worth anything. I’ve learned over the course of my lifetime not to count on words for anything. Words offer no warmth. Words have no taste. Words are like the wind, empty and fleeting.

“Wh-where is what?” I stutter, catching only the tail end of what she’s said.

She gives me an annoyed look, her blonde braid frizzy and long and draped over her shoulder almost all the way downto her waist. “The prize he awarded you? Chief Olec and I are entitled to a fair morsel of it. Without us, you’d have been put out, whored out, or died six years ago when your parents did. Now, hand it over.”

The chill that inches across my chest moves like a spider, slow and spindly. I never had a particularly warm or affectionate relationship with Rosalind or Olec, but I did not foresee her ever trying to do something like this to me. I thought she wanted me to be free. I think back to the strange tension between her and the king last night though and my stomach pools with uncertainty.

I shake my head and whisper, “He didn’t give me anything.”

The sound it makes is the first thing that alerts me to the strike of her hand against my left cheek. My head whipping to the side is what confirms that I’ve been struck. Then comes the ringing in my ears and the flickering pain last, which lets me know that I’ve been struck hard. She hit me.

---