Page 77 of Jailer to the Death God
“Hush.” She places her left hand over my mouth—the hand wrapped in gold ribbons. Softly she says, “I don’t care for it either. But we must respect the customs of the temple.”
“But he wants to fuck you.”
“He wants to fuck everyone,” she whispers. “That’s why he’s in service here. But he would not pressure me to engage in one of the rites with him. That’s not how it’s done.”
“Humans are fools.” The words feel slow and heavy on my tongue. “This is foolish, all of it.”
“Araw—I mean, Vaughn—are you drunk?” She peers at me curiously.
“What if I am, little Queen?”
“You are! Shit.” She seizes both my wrists and tows me out of the milling crowd of dancers, toward the golden spiral staircase the High Priestess indicated earlier. “Come upstairs this minute. I can’t have you going godlike and feral in front of everyone.”
“Feral?” I chuckle, allowing her to propel me up the steps. I like the feeling of her hands pressed to my ass as she pushes me. “I could show these mortals much worse than feral.” I let a spiral of shadow slither from my palm.
“Stop it, Arawn,” she whispers sharply. “Go! Move!”
She hustles me up the remaining steps, past two of her bodyguards, and into a room where a forest of crimson candles stand around a bed swathed in creamy sheets and red silk. A scarlet canopy drapes the gilded bedframe.
“Behold our bridal chamber,” I say. “How very fine. How eminently royal.”
The Queen closes the door behind us. “What is wrong with you? You’re supposed to sleep with the priestess soon, and you can’t do that in this state!”
“Give me a moment.” I fling myself onto the bed, enjoying the cool slide of the sheets against the hot skin of my bare back. “I think I feel it passing already. This effect can’t last long with someone like me. I heal, you see. The poison of the alcohol will soon be gone, and then I can fulfill all my desires with the buxom priestess.”
“I’ll go and fetch her for you,” says Vale haughtily. “Don’t leave this room.”
My mind clears while she’s gone. The effect of the alcohol was interesting, but after consuming it in such large quantities, I have a desperate need to piss. I relieve myself in the bathing room of our suite, returning just in time to see Vale entering with the priestess.
The woman’s gold paint has been smudged during the dancing, and her brown skin glows through it. She’s beautiful. Desirable.
“I’ll just—go somewhere else until you’re done.” Vale says thickly, clutching the gold drapery of my scarf to her chest.
Before I can speak to her, she leaves the room.
“Let us begin the Rite of Purging, my lord,” murmurs the priestess. She reclines on the bed, propped on her elbows, with her thighs parted. Every bit of her is on display, soft folds and glistening center. She is wet at the thought of taking me.
My pulse pounds in my head, and magic roils beneath my skin, shadows pressing to the surface, yearning to explode. The crunching, chafing, gnawing weight of my chains would disappear if I took out my cock and slipped it inside this beautiful priestess. A rite spoken, a climax achieved, and I would have relief for a while. Relief, without the terrifying, visceral connection I felt yesterday when I was intimate with the little Queen.
When we were joined, she and I, my heart clenched with the fervent desire to protect her, hold her, be with her always. I cherished her in those moments.
But cherishing is akin to love, I suspect. I cannot allow myself to love Vale, because if I do, and if the emotion remains intact at the end of my year-long contract with her, I forfeit my throne to Macha. And Macha will do terrible things with the power of Annwn.
“My lord.” The priestess is playing with herself, a gentle smile on her full lips. “Come and complete the rite. I will say the prayers while you take your pleasure.”
The wine I drank hums at the back of my brain, a lingering blur. It would be so easy to yield, to sink into this woman who means nothing. To breathe easier as the weight of my chains is lifted. To have no worries of love and such foolishness. To attach no meaning to the carnal act.
But my little Queen is wandering somewhere in the temple, alone.
She is always alone. And I cannot bear it.
I cannot take joy with anyone else, when she is my joy, my relief, my peace.
My wife.
33
I think the god of death might be falling in love with me.
