Page 25 of The Bone King and the Starling

Rosalind chimes in, “As my husband said, it is common with virgins. Your concern is honorable, but not necessary, my Liege. She is a thrall and I’m sure her aches and pains are nothing a few days’ time won’t fix, if that is your concern.”

I wince, humiliated. No one comes to my defense, not that I expect any of them to. It’s just…still dehumanizing being talked about like this and I feel that icy anger swirl. My toes bury themselves into the hard, cold ground, and then flex. I glance up at the table. Chief Olec is draining his glass. Rosalind is concentrating on her plate of food. Though I cannot see him from this angle, the king, behind me, seems frozen stiff.

“Who struck you, Starling?” I shiver as his breath caresses the curve of my ear through my hair. The pressure of enormously large, warm hands covers my shoulders — covers my entire upper arms. He squeezes me gently, grounding me and reminding me that he…he knows my name. The bone King of wrath knows of me.

Starling. That he uses it here and now in the great hall before the chief and his family fills me with confusion and a healthy dose of fear. Terrified, my body so tired, my mind drained… I do the only thing I can think to do while faced with a terrible predicament. I shake my head.

“Girl, you dare.” Olec’s voice is a thunder and he is right. To deny the king anything, let alone when spoken to directly as I’ve been, is a flogging offense. But if I name Rosalind, the alternative will be death. “Remove your shift and turn,” he barks. “That will be ten lashes for refusing to speak to the king…”

I make a choking sound in the back of my throat and bunch the fabric of my shift in my hands. “My lord, I…I have untreated lashes already.”

“You think I care about that, girl? You’ve disrespected our king twice now by refusing him. Take off your shift.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but the king’s hands on my arms remain firm. “Starling.” He sounds displeased. His frosty voice is…trembling as he turns me between his hands so that I’m forced to face him. “Look at me.”

I look at him and it takes great strength. A strength I feel unprepared for. My whole body is shaking. I try to keep still but I’m afraid they can all see. His eyes are black and merciless. His expression is stony. I can read nothing but darkness within it and know that I was wrong to fear Rosalind. The king looks ready to hurt me.

“Calai — my lord,” Puhyo barks behind me. And then he lowers his tone and speaks in a hiss only loud enough for the king and me to hear. “Easy.”

Meanwhile, Chief Olec says, “My liege, release the girl and I’ll have her whipped to your satisfaction…” The chief orders one of his men to grab me. Puhyo surprises me by stepping in the young warrior’s path. “Lower your hands if you’d like to keepthem,” he whispers. “No one touches the king’s woman while I live.”

The words are startling, but what confuses me even more is the king’s reaction. He doesn’t seem to see anyone in the great hall but me. He hasn’t. He ignores Rosalind and Olec and everyone and everything that doesn’t relate back to…me.

A tear drips down my cheek. I want to wipe it away, but the king beats me to it. His thumb brushes my cheek. “Starling.” He clears his throat, looks at me while I keep my arms tightly wound over my chest, afraid to move them…simply terrified. “Will you sit with me?”

Chief Olec does not say anything more. Neither does Rosalind. The entire great hall has gone eerily silent. All I can hear are the thralls rushing in the distance and the fire crackling just behind us.

The vein in King Calai’s forehead pulses. His skin is flushed red. He inhales and it lifts his whole massive chest, then he exhales softly, “Please.” He clears his throat again and whispers even more softly. “Please.”

Though uncertain of what I’m agreeing to, I nod and let King Calai take a seat at the high table and pull me down with him onto his lap. His gaze rakes over my body, lingering over my feet and face. His expression is tight. Everything about him is tightly clenched. “Where is Hilde?”

“Daneera is searching, but I will assist.”

“No. Remain here. Daneera will not fail in this.”

Puhyo nods.

The king is breathing so shallowly. His expression is troubled and I have the oddest compulsion to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. He looks…in pain. “You are cold.”

He lifts my feet up over his thighs so that I’m no longer touching the ground. A shiver racks me as the heat of his chestcrashes against my outer arm. I did not realize how cold I was until this moment as he pulls me close, managing not to touch my back. My face is pressed against his chest just under the column of his throat and I feel…so warm. The lie that nothing can get to me here in this place revisits me from the night before. More tears drip down my face. I don’t stop them.

“Shh,” he whispers. He gathers up my hands in his much larger ones and rubs them gently. One of his hands pulls my palms to his chest while the other hand reaches down to touch my feet. I whimper. He hisses, “You left your shoes in my quarters, little bird.”

“Yes, my king.” I gasp, the heat of his hands on my frozen toes painful.

He reaches for the leather buckle on his chest and frees it. His furs fall from his shoulders. “And you snuck out in the night while I slept.”

I don’t answer. I didn’t sneak anywhere, but he isn’t asking me. He pulls me close and I become disoriented by the sudden surprising warmth as he drags his furs over me. The swatch that covered his meaty torso is enough to shield and warm my entire body.

I gasp breathily, my heart pattering in my chest. I wonder if culture in Ithanuir is different than it is here, knowing it must be, because here to use a fur like this is an act of significance. He must not be so daft as to not know what it means and yet, he does not withdraw them.

“Better?” he breathes against my forehead. The furs are so soft that, even against my open wounds, they don’t abrade. I exhale, feeling like I could simply fall apart. I close my eyes, letting the tears fall, wishing that I could just stay here.

“Yes, my king.” I sniffle.

“Calai,” he says in the soft space between us. “If it pleases you.” His rough voice shakes.

I don’t answer him, not sure what to say.

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