Page 29 of King Among the Dead

Despite all her worry for him, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. “But I’m right here.”

He crooked the finger. “Here.”

She rested a hand on the edge of the futon and leaned in closer. When she did, her necklace – the crown he’d bought her at Steinman’s – slipped out of her shirt and swung forward, catching the light.

And his attention. His gaze shifted to it, and he reached to cup it in his palm. She could feel the heat of his hand up close to her throat like this; felt the fever in him. It should have heightened her worry – and it did – but it sent goosebumps rippling down her back, too.

“Beck,” she prompted.

He was smiling again, wide and free. “I picked this out special just for you.”

“I know. I was there, remember?”

“I saw the crown and I wanted you to have it. You know why?”

He hadn’t pulled on the chain, but she found herself leaning in closer. She should tell him to stop talking; he would never be this candid if not for the morphine, and this was like an invasion of privacy. But she said, “Why?”

His smile widened an impossible fraction, teeth gleaming. “Every king needs his queen, doesn’t he?” He rasped a laugh. “And I knew – I knew the minute I saw you – that you were just like me.”

Oh. “I don’t…” But she did. She did understand. Not the specifics, no, and she couldn’t even say that they were the same. But when she looked at him, she swore she felt an echo. There wassomethingthere, an unspoken connection. One he’d just put into very bold words.

“Rosie,” he said again. Then his eyes closed, and his face went slack, and his hand fell slowly back to the mattress.

Rose hovered over him a moment, breathing through her mouth.

Rosie.

Every king needs a queen.

He wouldn’t remember any of this later, she was sure.

But the words felt tattooed inside her ribs, burning like a brand.

~*~

Kay had returned by the time the morphine wore off. She’d done her hair, and put on clothes, looking downright refreshed. Rose was still in her blood-stained pajamas and robe, sitting on the raised brick hearth and reading a book when Beck groaned and tried to sit up.

“No!” she and Kay exclaimed together, converging on the bed from either side.

“Lay your ass back down,” Kay admonished.

But he pushed himself up on one hand and wiped the other down his face. “Christ.” He massaged the corners of his eyes with another groan. “What did you give me, Kay, you old sawbones?”

“More than you deserve, you brat.” She clenched her cigarette between her teeth and reached for the bandages at his waist: visible now that the covers had pooled down into his lap.

Rose swore he already looked like he’d dropped a pound or two, his ribs throwing shadows on sunken skin.

“How’s the pain?” Kay asked, peeling back a bandage corner, nodding, and pressing it back.

Beck dropped his hand into his lap. The skin around his eyes and mouth twitched, like he was trying to contain a grimace. “Tolerable.”

“Liar.”

He managed a thin smile. “That’s what you both seem to think of me.” His gaze flicked to Rose, then. All the dreamy openness of before was gone – but not the intensity. What should have been a casual glance lanced straight through her, before he looked away.

He remembered stumbling in the back door, then. Remembered her calling him a liar. Probably remembered her pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

Did he remember her begging him not to go?

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