Page 46 of Healer to the Ash King
It was stupid of me. I should have left when my energy got low; I could have come back another day to help the rest of them. Dead healers can’t help anyone.
Shortly after noon, the Ash King flings open the door to my room and strides in. I’m wearing a scanty slip of a nightdress, so I tug the sheet up to my chin.
He quirks an eyebrow. “So modest today.”
“I’ve had time to think about my recent choices, and to regret them.”
He chews his lip, scanning the room. “You are better?”
“Yes. Your Majesty, I want to apologize for leaving the castle without your permission, and for spending too much of my powers. There were just so many people who needed—”
“Stop.” He catches the bedpost in his hand, gripping it with such strength that it creaks and his knuckles turn white. “You almost killed yourself. I cannot forgive that. I’m in the middle of choosing my bride, Healer, and I am under constant threat from those pestilent anarchists with the Undoing. I don’t need the extra stress of worrying aboutyou.”
“I’m sorry. Truly.” I give him the most repentant, sorrowful look I can muster. “How did the Favored take the news that the Third Challenge is delayed?”
“Surprisingly well. I suppose they could tell you’d angered me. They’re glad of the rift between us, and glad for another day’s respite before the next perilous event.”
The rift between us.
Why do those words bother me?
“Whom did you send home after the Second Challenge?” I ask.
He names a couple of the women I’m less familiar with, which means we’re now at thirteen Favored in total. “Teagan, Vanas, and Axley were the winners,” he says. “I spent time with each of them last night. I’m taking Diaza and Leslynne to the Market of Uniquities this afternoon, and having a private dinner with three other girls this evening.”
“And who’s your favorite so far?” I smile brightly, eagerly, but I’m sore inside—sore, and so very tired.
He walks to the bureau, where the jewels I wore the other night are still lying in their bed of white velvet. Usually my maid takes away the jewelry I’ve borrowed, probably to return it to a royal vault—but for some reason, she left the yellow diamonds in my room.
“You were right,” says the Ash King, touching the gems with his fingertip. “I prefer Teagan. She is everything I want in a queen—intelligent, brave, determined, and beautiful. She has elegance and charm. She is diplomatic and kind.”
It’s all true. Truth is a pain-sharp blade, piercing the muscle of my heart, slicing deeper with every descriptive he uses for her.
“Anyone else?” I manage. “What about Khloe, or Sabre?”
“I truly believe Sabre could lift me bodily,” he says, with a half-smile. “I respect that, and her courage. She’s a well-read, well-traveled woman with a strong sense of loyalty to the crown. And her smile is stunning. Another excellent candidate. Now Khloe—” his face softens, and he smiles wider— “Khloe is a sweet treasure in a small package. When I’m with her, I find myself compelled to kiss her, and I want to make those big eyes of hers widen with delight, over and over.”
This hurts. It hurts so much. Why did I ask him about the girls? I am moments away from breaking my promise and telling him Khloe is pregnant, just so he’ll kick her out of the competition. But I clutch the sheet tighter, and I paint an encouraging smile on my face.
“All of these women have titles and connections to offer, as well as their other charms,” the King continues, still examining the jewelry. “Teagan could strengthen my link to the border lands, and Khloe’s family is powerful here in the Capital. Sabre has relatives in the South—choosing her would help my image among those who live near the Ashlands. Axley is perhaps the most well-connected of all—she comes from two ancient noble lines, both of which remain powerful influences in my Court.”
“And that’s important, of course,” I murmur. “The power and influence. The connections and the noble blood. You have to take that into consideration.”
“Yes,” he muses. “I am forced to choose from a limited pool of women. At least I get to torture them a little first.”
Something about that last comment annoys me—or perhaps my anger has been stirring this whole time, fueled by an entirely different emotion.
“You’re cruel,” I say abruptly.
The Ash King’s head whips toward me. “You’re just now realizing this?”
“No. I knew it before. But I’ve recently had more proof of it.” I lift my chin, careless of the consequences for my defiance. “The phaeton driver showed me where you burned her.”
He snorts. “She used to drive the royal carriage, until she showed up drunk to her post. I didn’t realize she was inebriated until she nearly ran over two children in the street. She deserved a lasting memory of the incident. A permanent warning.”
“Oh.” Shock vibrates through me, but I steel myself against it and say, “Well—you burned me, here.” I touch my chest.
“Burning you was cruel,” he admits. “But I’d been told you could heal yourself.”
