Page 27 of Healer to the Ash King
“What did you think of them?” He pushes himself upright, his eyes lighting as if he’s had an idea—and that makes me nervous. “Ah, why didn’t I think of this before? You will be treating these women, interacting with them. I’ll have time with each Favored, of course, and I’ll be watching them during the challenges—but you will see them in unguarded moments. You can tell me the truth of who they are, not who they pretend to be. Cailin—” He takes me by the shoulders, and my skin warms under his fingers— “Cailin, you can help me choose.”
“You want me to help you choose your wife?” I gape at him.
“I have so much on my mind already—so much to keep control of, as you’ve seen.” His hands shift, sliding down the flesh of my upper arms before gliding up to my shoulders again. He repeats the motion absently, several times. It’s practically a caress, and I hate that my body responds, warming, yielding, yearning.
He keeps talking, explaining this new idea of his. “You can be my eyes and ears among the women, and let me know who is sincere, who is loyal to the crown. Who might be favorably disposed toward me.” He plants both warm hands on my shoulders again, his thumb rubbing along my collarbone. I can barely think through the casual intimacy of the touch.
“It’s not a good idea,” I murmur. “You brought me here to be impartial. Objective.”
“I needed someone untouched by the whims and wiles of the nobility’s politics, yes. This is different.”
“I barely know you.” I manage to meet his eyes, trying not to let the hovering heat of his nearness affect me. “How could I advise you about a good match?”
He licks his lips, and my gaze follows the sweep of his tongue. His mouth looks relaxed and soft right now, not hard and grim like it was during the ceremony.
“What if you got to know me better?” he says.
It’s exactly what I need. Personal access to him so I can pass along word of his habits and weaknesses to the Undoing. But how much will this personal access require of me? How much of myself will I have to sacrifice to do this, to earn back my friends’ love and do what’s right for my kingdom?
“We’re both going to be very busy,” I say. “I’m not sure how we could get to know each other.”
His mouth tightens again, that sleek brow of his pinching together in a frown.
“But,” I add, “If my King wishes it, I’m sure I could find the time. And I will be your watcher among the women.”
Which means I’m a spy for both the Undoing and for the King. Not complicated at all.
“Good.” His forehead smooths again. “I should try to sleep. Good night, Healer.”
“Pleasant dreams.”
“Unlikely.”
He leaves, and I hear the faint click of the lock on his side of the door. There’s no lock on my side, but I doubt he’ll enter my room again, so I douse every light except one candle, and I strip off the gown and my underthings. Clad in a nightdress, with nothing beneath it, I lie down on the bed and finally, finally, part my legs. My fingers travel through my sex, nudging aside the outer lips, teasing slippery wetness along the seam, circling the bud at the top. It feels so good to finally indulge the hunger I’ve been enduring. I can’t resist a few quiet sounds, but I keep the noises soft so the King won’t be able to hear me through the door.
While my right hand trails through my folds, my left passes over my breast, squeezing and pressing. I remember how the Ash King crushed me to the wall of the torture room. I have a choice between a fantasy of him and a fantasy of Rince—but Rince has been the object of my pleasurable focus many times, and the Ash King—he’s new, and the idea of being with him is both horrific and tantalizing. Much as I hate him, I can’t help feeling secretly flattered by his attraction to me.
I close my eyes, arching back on the pillows, picturing a fight between us. He scorches my clothes off, and I soak his with water and rip them away. Naked we collide, his hand coiled in my hair, my fingers denting his flesh. Our kisses are snarling threats, and when he drives into me it isn’t gentle—it’s desperate, wicked.
Pumping two fingers inside myself, I whimper and writhe. Close now—I fill my head with the image of the Ash King’s harsh, beautiful face and sculpted chest—"Your Majesty,” I moan softly—and I come hard, huffing short gasps as pleasure snakes through my belly and thighs.
I press one hand over my mound while the ecstasy eases, and then I draw the sheet over myself and lie limp on the bed. A few minutes later, I tease myself to climax again, then a third time, before finally dozing off.
The next morning, I dress for a day of physical examinations with the Favored. The maid leaves after tidying up, and I nibble at the extravagant breakfast on my tray while thinking about my parents. I need to send them a letter so they know I’m all right. There are pens and paper on the writing desk in the corner, and I can ask my maid about a messenger. But that will have to wait until tonight.
A click, and the door between my room and the King’s opens.
He’s resplendent in a suit with a long tailcoat—dark gray fabric veined with delicate silvery-white lines. There’s no crown on his head, and his white hair is hitched into a high ponytail. Tiny silver rings glitter along his ears.
I rise from my chair and sink into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Did you sleep well?” There’s something odd in his tone, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“I did, thank you.”
“I thought you might, after all that.”
I frown, confused. Does he think it cost me a lot of effort to help him quench his fire? “Water wielding doesn’t require much energy.”
