Page 57 of Healer to the Ash King
This is what happens when I say no. He finds someone else.
But I don’t want him to want anyone else.
The King and Axley keep kissing. His pants are entirely open now, but when she reaches inside them, he pushes himself back from her.
“No,” he says. “Gods—no.” He runs a hand through his white hair, tossing it slightly, a frustrated gesture. He strides to the balcony’s edge and sets both palms on the stone balustrade, hunched over and breathing hard.
Behind his back, Axley rolls her eyes. She tugs her neckline down a bit further and pushes up her breasts. Then she approaches him, rubbing his back with one hand. “What is it, my king?” she croons. “Do I not please you?”
He doesn’t answer, and she slides her hand down to his rear, squeezing lightly. “You know a union with me would be politically beneficial, as well as physically pleasurable. Why can we not send the rest of these girls home?”
“Because I have committed to this process, and I will see it through,” he says.
She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice has changed. “Is it that countrified Mayor’s daughter Teagan? Or the teenage girl with the big brown eyes?” She snorts a laugh. “I didn’t know you were attracted to mere children, my Lord.”
Fire erupts at the King’s fingertips.
Alarmed, Axley backs away. “I didn’t mean—I was only pointing out the age difference between you and Khloe. I didn’t intend—”
“You intended what you always intend—harm, and your own self-interest,” growls the Ash King, prowling toward her as she retreats.
“I’ve offended you,” she gasps. “Forgive me, Your Majesty—I went too far. I forgot my place. Please—” She crumples at his feet, the bustles of her fine dress crinkling. Her back is to me now, but from the way her shoulders shake, I suspect she’s crying. And with good reason—the Ash King’s eyes are pure living flame, sockets completely engulfed in fire. There’s a telltale glow along his throat, too. He’s losing control again.
“Go!” he chokes out. “Go!”
Axley scrambles to her feet and flees into the palace.
The Ash King grips the balustrade and vomits fire upward, streaming it into the sky until it vanishes, leaving only a crackling heat and the bitter, stinging smell of spent magic.
None of the guards have moved. And I have not made a sound.
The King hangs over the balcony’s edge, panting.
And then one of the guards coughs slightly.
In one furious stride, the Ash King has him by the throat, armor and all, and he throws the guard bodily over the railing. I hear the armored man crash to the stone pavers below.
The other guards don’t react at all.
A moment later, there’s a groan from below, and anxious voices float up, muttering about taking the guard to a healer. I’m guessing they mean Jonald, the old palace healer, not me.
The King whirls with a curse and strides back inside.
A few moments later, when I dare to move again, I sneak back into the lounge as well. Thankfully the King doesn’t see me enter. He doesn’t know that I witnessed his lust and his cruelty.
He’s not someone I should like, or understand, or want.
Axley is smiling and circulating through the crowd, chatting gaily as if nothing happened. Somehow, her makeup isn’t smudged at all, not by the kissing or by the tears. Perhaps one of her maids fixed it for her.
“We need lively entertainment! Someone should sing for us,” pipes up a well-dressed man, raising his glass.
“Are you volunteering, Lord Bayner?” asks someone else, and a laugh ripples through the room.
“Not me, not me,” Lord Bayner chuckles. “But perhaps His Majesty would grace us with a song? Oh, he has a marvelous voice, just marvelous. You must sing for us, Your Majesty. For the girls. A treat for the Favored.”
“Oh yes,” simper a few of the women. “Sing for us, Your Majesty, please.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at them, though I’m deeply curious to hear him sing.
