Page 87 of Jailer to the Death God
She presses her lips together, as if she’s trying to hold something back.
“What is it?” I prop myself on one elbow, drinking the sight of her, rosy and sated, soft and strong and thinking, always thinking. “Tell me, little doe.”
“It would be wrong of me to add more to our bargain,” she says.
A chuckle rolls through my chest. “We have already added this. What’s a little more?”
“But it’s not fair to you. I can’t expect you to fix everything.”
“Other than the handful of times I’ve been summoned, I have not involved myself in human affairs at all. I’m overdue for a little interference.” I lie back, folding my hands behind my head. Vale sits up, and I’m instantly captivated by the globes of her breasts. But I force myself to focus on her earnest face.
“My people are starving, Arawn. When the plague began in midsummer, sickness robbed our farmers of strength. The food supply suffered, especially when harvest came and there were few laborers. Whole crops sat in the fields and spoiled. It’s winter now, but we’re a small northern continent—we are used to augmenting our cold-season food supply. In most large towns, there are greenhouses designed for the production of midwinter produce, but their planting season also passed us by during the worst of the plague. And the perennial plants, the fruit trees and such within the greenhouses—they suffered neglect.”
She takes a deep breath, giving me a moment to respond. When I don’t, she continues. “When my brother took the throne, he prioritized the sowing of the greenhouse beds and the care of the other food-bearing plants and trees. But the vegetable beds were seeded too late, and by the time those plants reach maturity, the kingdom will have already starved. Could you… would it be possible… But I can’t ask, because you’ve already done so much, and there are so many more villages we need to reach—”
I sit up, placing a finger over her lips. “As we tour the rest of the kingdom, tending to the sick, we will also stop by these greenhouses you mentioned. I will use my life-light to speed the growth cycle of the plants and bring them to maturity quickly. I cannot promise to be very skilled at it—I rarely use my antimagic. But I will do all that I can. When spring comes, I will cast life-light over the fields as well.”
Joy bursts over her face, a glorious, shining hope. “You are the savior of my people, truly. I feel as if I should worship you.”
Despite my recent climax, heat swells my cock at her words. Vale notices the telltale movement, the lifting and stiffening of my length.
She gives me a sly smile, her lashes hooding her eyes. “I think I know how I can thank you.”
Sometime in the night, I’m roused by the Queen’s other maid, Tilda, tapping gingerly on the half-open door of the chamber. The night guards stand behind her. One of them has his hand splayed over the chest of a cloaked man, blocking his progress, preventing him from entering the Queen’s room.
“What is it?” mutters Vale sleepily from beside me.
“A sick child, Your Majesty,” says Tilda. “An infant. They are asking for the Lord Consort to come and lay a hand on the little one, otherwise she will not last until morning.”
“We’ll come.” Vale struggles upright, but I’m already out of the bed, pulling on my clothes.
“Stay,” I tell her. “Sleep. I will see to the child.”
“Are you sure?”
I kiss her forehead. “Sleep.”
I follow Tilda into the hallway. The guards close the Queen’s bedroom door and resume their posts on either side of it. I’m pleased to see another pair of guards a little way down the hall, guarding the parlor entrance.
“This is the man who brought news of the child,” Tilda points to the cloaked man, then pulls her robe more tightly around her. “He will take you there.”
“Forgive the intrusion, my lord,” says the man. His eyes are red-rimmed, his lips chapped. “My wife and I tried for years to have a child, and this one is our treasure, our miracle. Please help her.”
“Show me where she is.”
Leaving the guards and Tilda behind, I follow the man along corridors and down steps, into an area of the palace I’ve not yet visited. We must be heading for the servants’ quarters.
The man I’m with is walking very quickly, almost running. He must be fearful that his child will die before I reach her. He turns sharply down a dark hallway and begins to run in earnest, disappearing around another corner.
I dash after him, but when I round the corner he is nowhere to be seen. The hallway is pitch-black. My divine eyes can pierce darkness better than a human’s, but they are not all-seeing.
Fuck. Which way did he go?
“Where are you?” I shout.
The tiniest scraping sound. Leather heels on stone.
A whisper of fabric, of motion.
