Page 42 of Healer to the Ash King
“You saw how close the girls came to death today. You need more than one healer for this contest.”
He sighs. “There are few in the land, fewer than you’d think. Those that equal your power are already spoken for by the noble houses—they have allegiances, contracts, prejudices. They can’t be trusted to be impartial. And others are too old, too young, or too volatile for the work. You are the perfect candidate, not only for the Calling, but also for the position of royal healer.”
I sit up, the strap of the chemise sliding off my shoulder. His eyes drop to the exposed skin immediately, and his tongue passes briefly over his lip.
“Can we speak of this another time?” I ask in a shaky voice. “I’m honored, my Lord, but I’m tired. After today’s events, and the stress of the evening—I feel weak. I’m afraid I will say something I shouldn’t. Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
He collects the fallen strap and moves it back onto my shoulder. His fingers drift from my skin slowly, as if they’d like to stay.
“The girls told me I’m trying too hard—that I’m purposely drawing attention to myself,” I whisper. “Please believe me when I say that isn’t true. I promise I will make better choices—I won’t show off my magic—”
“But I love your magic, and so do the people,” he says. “Let me calm the fears of the Favored, Healer. Continue to be exactly yourself, and you will have my protection.”
Sighing, I lie down again, relaxing into my former position, on my stomach with my cheek against the sheets.
I hold his gaze and blink my lashes slowly.
That simple act is possibly the boldest, most wanton thing I’ve ever done—more daring than any sexual foray with Rince—because this is theAsh King, maker of the Ashlands, the volcanic lord of the land. And with that slow blink, I asked him to touch me.
The Ash King’s breath is shallow, and his eyes glow molten.
He smooths his hand along my bare leg, starting just behind the knee and moving up, along my thigh, to the curve of my rear. The caress of his palm there sends a tingling warmth flooding over my skin, into the crevice between my legs.
Ever so slightly, I arch up into the touch.
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At my reaction, the Ash King lets out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand sweeps over the swell of my ass—first one cheek, then the other, like he’s savoring the feel of my flesh.
I remain on my belly, hips tilted upward just a bit. I can barely breathe.
Slowly he pushes the lace hem of the panties higher, exposing more of one ass cheek. The movement tugs at the fabric between my legs, drawing it tighter, and a ripple of arousal rolls through me. The heat between my thighs swells, every bit of my flesh sensitized, craving more, more.
He rubs his palm over my rear again. Then, with his fingertips, he traces slow circles, and each one sends a vibrating swirl of pleasure through my lower belly.
I close my eyes, relishing the sensations. But a moment later, he gives my bottom a light pat and rises from the bed. “You are tired. Sleep.” He reaches down for a blanket and drapes it over my body. Quietly, he glides back to his room.
Disappointment suffuses me, but it’s softened by weariness. I really do need to rest.
In the morning, I bathe and dress quickly, blushing far too often at the memory of what happened between me and the Ash King. We crossed a line, he and I—and now that I’m not sleep-drunk, I vow internally that it won’t happen again. In fact, I plan to pretend that it didn’t happen at all. I didnotlet the Ash King fondle my nearly-naked rump. I didn’t encourage such attentions, nor did I react to them.
Last night’s conversation also made me realize I could be sent away at any time. It’s unlikely, since I'm needed for the Calling, but it could happen if I make any more unintentional missteps. And while I would be happy to go home, there’s something I want to do first.
My maid told me that the Favored are being tested on their knowledge of Bolcan’s history today. It will be a fast-paced contest where they have to shout out the answers faster than their rivals, and the three women with the top scores will get personal time with His Volcanic Majesty. So I’m not needed, and no one will look for me today. It’s the perfect day for my plan.
Technically I’ve been forbidden to go into the city without a guard, but when I order the phaeton and leave the palace, no one stops me. I simply behave as if I know exactly what I’m doing, and I feign the haughty, disdainful bearing of one of the Favored until I’m through the outer gates.
I’m free. Free. I could go anywhere, do anything.
Of course, if I run home, the Ash King will punish me and my village. He might not want to, and he might find a way to soften the punishment, but he’d have to retaliate somehow. If there’s anything I’ve learned so far, it’s that maintaining control is extremely important to him. I suppose it’s like that for most people in roles of power and authority.
So instead of running back home, I order the phaeton driver to take me to the poorest section of town.
The driver twists in her seat and looks back at me, uncertain, but I give her a firm frown. “King’s orders,” I say.
She shrugs and guides the phaeton through the streets, past the Market of Uniquities, into a maze of dark, slipshod buildings. The smell of horse manure, rancid meat,tobaksmoke, and sour wine fills my nostrils. Grime clings to the bricks and plaster, and when I step out of the phaeton, my boot lands in a puddle that looks like oil and piss.
“What’s that building?” I ask the driver, pointing to a newish-looking structure of yellow brick, with white-framed windows.
