Page 32 of Healer to the Ash King
I dine in my room again. I’m sure there are dining halls in this place, but I haven’t been invited or summoned to partake in a formal meal—lunch was a quick tray of food eaten while I perched on the windowsill of the exam room.
After eating, I write a letter to my parents and hand it off to a palace messenger, who promises it will be sent to them as quickly as possible.
I don’t feel sleepy yet, and I need to stay up to give my report to the Ash King, so I explore my bedroom more thoroughly, especially the bookshelves in one corner. Beneath them are enormous velvety pillows, so I grab a few books with interesting titles and lie on my stomach to read. The books turn out to be extremely salacious, brimming with naughty scenarios. The one I end up reading is about a highwayman and the lass he brings back to his cave. Over the course of several chapters, he and three of his men seduce the eager heroine separately, at different times. I’m just getting to the part where they’re all getting naked as a group and they’re going to share her when the door to the Ash King’s room opens.
I slam the book shut, but I keep one finger tucked between the pages because I’m deeply, dreadfully invested in this story. Suddenly I realize how late the hour is, and how hot my cheeks feel, and how damp my underthings have become. I’m still lying on my belly on the pillows, and I don’t rise to bow to him, nor does he ask for the obeisance.
The Ash King comes over to me and sits down on one of the cushions, stretching out his legs with a tired sigh. “Your report, Healer.”
“I—um…” I swallow hard, trying to pull my brain out of the world of the roguish highwayman, his naughty companions, and their even naughtier female captive.
The Ash King reaches for the book.
I pull it back, tucking it against my breasts.
“Ah, don’t cover up,” he says. “I was enjoying the view.”
He’s right. My cleavage is dramatically on display in this position. Embarrassed, I sit up, casting aside locks of my unruly hair. I keep the novel pinned to my chest.
“Give me the book,” says the Ash King, hand outstretched.
“No, my Lord.”
His eyebrows rise. “Do you realize how often you deny me the things I ask? I am your king, you impertinent vagabond. Obey me.”
“Your Majesty.” I hand it over, but when he grips it, I tug a little on my end. “Will you give it back later, so I can finish it?”
“What if I don’t?” He leans toward me, dark eyes flecked with sparks. “What will you do?”
Maybe it’s the flustered, aroused state I’m in, but he looks different to me in this moment. He has the same clifflike cheekbones and hollowed cheeks, the same haughty arched brows and straight nose, the same razor-sharp jaw—but there’s a weary, haunted fragility to his face that I haven’t seen before. And mixed with that vulnerability is a hint of humor, as he pulls the book closer to his chest, drawing me nearer along with it. His profile nearly brushes mine, only enough space between us for a handful of words.
“This book belongs to me,” he murmurs, his eyes traveling my face. “Everything in this castle is mine, everything you’ve been wearing is mine, and you—”
“About that—thank you for the clothes, Your Majesty, but your herald mentioned something about a clothing allowance, and no one has explained—”
He presses a ringed finger to my mouth. “Hush. You must learn not to interrupt me, even in private. If you do that when we’re with others, I’ll have to punish you.”
The free-spirited water-wielder from the slopes of Analoir Doiteain wants to defy him, but the other part of me—the wise, cautious part—holds the words inside.
When I stay quiet, his expression changes, centering on my mouth. He strokes my lower lip slowly with his fingertip.
Cautiously I release the book and lean back, breaking the contact. The Ash King stirs and frowns slightly, like a man woken from a dream. Then he props a pillow behind him, leans against it, and opens the book at random. In a sonorous voice, he begins to read aloud. “‘You’ll take all of us, one after another,’ said the highwayman. ‘We’re going to remind you who you belong to. If you’re very good, we’ll let you take all four of our cocks at once.’”
The Ash King’s brows rise high, and he looks at me with an expression of mock horror. “All four? How is that humanly possible? Great gods, Healer. Your taste in books is very shocking.”
“I suppose it would be two in her vagina, one in her ass, one in her mouth.” My face is on fire now. “But you’re right—I don’t understand how all the legs and bodies would fit around her.”
“The ass man would have to be crouched above her somehow,” he muses. “What puzzles me is the other two. They can’t stand side by side and penetrate her. It all sounds rather illogical. And painful.”
“It’s fiction. It’s supposed to be fun, not exactingly accurate,” I tell him, bristling. “And it’s not just about the sex. It’s about how repressed she’s been, how she hasn’t been able to trust anyone or give up control. They’rehelpingher.”
His face takes on a musing look. “I’m also very repressed. And I haven’t been able to trust anyone or give up control. Perhaps I should ask someone to helpmein that way.” His eyes are hooded, his tone sultry and suggestive.
“I’m sure you could find plenty of willing companions.” My voice sounds so breathless; I hate it. My pulse is jittery, and my stomach keeps rolling with ridiculous thrills.
“I could. Easily.” He tosses the book onto the pillows. “Your report, Healer, and then I will go.”
Without divulging the private secrets of the contestants, I tell him a little about each of them. Those who were polite and kind to me, I paint in a more favorable light.
