The king has drawn closer, and he speaks from right beside my shoulder. “The rest is stuck to the burn,” he says. His accented voiceis so practical, cutting right through whatever emotion hangs between me and Asher. “Brace yourself.”
Asher scowls and looks back at the floor. Without hesitation, the king reaches out and rips it clean off. I gasp, because the full wound is even more vicious than what I could see. Bright red and blistered, with darkened bruising that makes me a little dizzy to evenlookat it. Asher doesn’t make a sound, but his right hand has grabbed hold of the bedding. He’s clutching so hard that his knuckles are white, his muscles trembling. A sheen of sweat has broken out across his shoulders, and I don’t think he’s breathing.
Ky reaches out, his palm falling over the nape of Asher’s neck, the way he did downstairs. “Breathe,” he says softly. “Just breathe. It’ll pass.” His voice has the quiet reassurance of a man who’s seen a thousand injured soldiers try to swallow their pain. His hand settles there, unmoving, until Asher lets out a breath, gasping like a winded horse. Ky shifts his thumb, his finger brushing through the hair at his nape, and Asher’s taut muscles seem to ease, just a little. His hand unclenches. His shoulders droop and his forearms pull against his abdomen, and he almost seems to curl in on himself.
For the longest time, silence settles around us as Asher’s breathing slows. His skin glows in the firelight, gleaming where sweat bloomed. The king’s hand hasn’t moved from his neck, but after a while, Asher ducks his head away. The links of the chain jingle as Ky lets him go. But Asher keeps his back to me, his eyes on the fire.
That feels deliberate.
I swallow thickly. I could barely hear him, but Ky’s words from the dining room are haunting me.
If she is to be a queen, she should know what has been done to you.
I lift my gaze to look at him. “You knew,” I say. “Even before the guards took him. You knew something had been done to him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’ve seen the effects of torture before, Princess.”
It’s as pragmatic as everything else he says, but the word makes me shiver, and my breath catches before I can help it.
Asher snaps his head up. His voice is sharp. “I told you I don’t want your pity.”
I shift on the pallet until I’m facing him. I don’t feel very formidable right now. A part of me wants to hide.
“Why haven’t you ever told me?” I say, and my voice almost goes soft on the last word.
His blue eyes go hard. He says nothing.
My heart pounds. “I need to know,” I say. “I need to know what my brother has done.”
Nothing. His jaw is set.
Silence pulses between us, and I’m so aware of the king at his side. Those shackles bind them together, but I suddenly realize there’s an invisible link, too. A shared comprehension that I can’t quite understand.
But I want to. I never knew how much he was hiding, and it’s making my chest tight, my eyes hot. “Asher, you’re my best friend. My only friend.” My voice breaks. “I would’ve done anything for you. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why, Asher? I could’ve helped you—”
“No!” He whirls to face me, and his voice is sharp and loud, like the crack of a whip. “You couldn’t.”
The force of his anger makes me snap back. I can’t catch my breath.
“How would you have helped me?” he demands. His eyes are so fierce. “How, Jory? You saw what they did to my mother. What do you think they would’ve done if they knew I was sneaking into the palace?”
My eyes fill, and I try to blink the tears away.
Asher shifts closer. “And what wouldyouhave done?” he says. “What would you have done if I’d shown you the brand on my shoulder? What would you have done if I told you what it was like to be chained to a post and traded away like property? Whatcouldyou have done?”
My breath catches. “Asher—”
“You say you want to know,” he says. “But you don’t even know what you’re asking for.” His eyes are so hard, his voice so cold. “Do you want to know what it’s like in the brothels? The way they’ll starve you if you don’t perform? The way they like it if you fight, because they can be as rough as they want? Do you want to know what it was like to have men and women from the palace—men and women I onceknew—hand over a palmful of coins to have me on my knees? Or on my back, or bent over a rail—”
“Asher.”
The king’s voice is quiet, but it makes me jump. My breathing is shaking, and my palms have gone damp. Everything inside me feels tight and afraid.
I’m remembering our conversation when we were curled up in my bed and I admitted my inexperience.
