While Ariadne’s grime washed off to reveal her same, nearly unmarred skin, Azriel hissed through his teeth as he cleaned the still-open wounds. She finished faster than him and picked up another clean cloth to begin helping him reach the places along his broad back that he could not quite stretch to.
The motion was strangely comforting, though not at all pleasurable. As much as Ariadne wished to partake of her husband before the coming battle, rest would already be difficult. There would be no way for her to focus such thoughts on the man before her, not with the cries of the injured and dying echoing through the camp. They would lie down together, certainly, but holding him as they tried to sleep would be more than enough for her.
If sleep came to Azriel at all in the short hours between battles, it didn’t register. He cracked open his tired eyes and stared at the top of the canvas tent, no more rested than when they finally lay on their bed of furs. Ariadne’s naked body draped over him, the excess heat from his dhemon heritage keeping her more warm than the quilt that wrapped haphazardly around them, exposing more skin than covering it.
In the time they shut their eyes, begging the gods for some reprieve from consciousness, the cries of pain lessened until they dissolved entirely into the growing darkness. Aside from people quietly discussing their plans for the upcoming battle against the Caersan soldiers and the crackling of fires in the pits, the camp remained still and silent. Long swaths of time passed when all Azriel could hear was the pop of a log or more wood being added by a mute soldier.
Azriel dared not move as complete awareness took over his mind. Head on his shoulder and limbs tangled with his, Ariadne’s breathing remained slow and steady—the peaceful indication of her continued slumber. If he could allow her to sleep just a little while longer, he would be grateful. After being separated from her during the day, he wanted nothing more than to spend every moment he could breathing in her scent and enjoying the feeling of her serenity.
But all good things eventually come to an end. At least it always did for Azriel.
Before long, the rhythm of Ariadne’s breaths changed, signalling her shift from tranquility back into the world that had all too recently tried to kill her.
A gentle hum, then Ariadne adjusted her body, stretching out her long, elegant body and limbs as she woke. She snuggled her head in closer, burying her face against his neck and flexing her fingers across his chest to hold him a little tighter.
“Please tell me I slept through the battle,” she said, her voice rough with sleep.
Now, that was a brilliant idea. Perhaps Azriel should have spoken to Phulan about just that. Such a plan would, no doubt, incite Ariadne’s wrath, and the trade-off was just not worth it. Instead, he sighed and kissed her forehead. “I certainly wish.”
Next came a dry chuckle. “Your answer does not surprise me.”
“You could avoid it,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “Remain here in camp…help Phulan in the medic tent.”
Ariadne huffed and pushed back from him. “You cannot leave me behind.”
With a groan, Azriel draped his free arm over his eyes to shut out the world. “I know. It was a stupid suggestion.”
“Never forget that it wasyouwho said that.” The furs shifted as Ariadne sat up.
The sudden lack of weight on his body had Azriel rolling his arm back to peer at her through the darkness. “Come back.”
“We are mere hours from victory,” Ariadne said as she stood, her long bare legs flexing with the added weight. He wanted nothing more than to pull her back down, spread them wide, and bury himself inside her.
Fuck the rest of the world. They could wait a little longer while he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from his wife. It was all he wanted—to feel her writhing with pleasure beneath him as he lost himself.
Azriel sat up and grabbed her hand. “Let’s enjoy the present.”
To his dismay, Ariadne pulled away and cast him a grimace. “I am sorry, my love. I cannot get out of my own head.”
“Let me help you.”
But Ariadne stepped back, out of reach now, and turned to the chest of clothes they brought with them. She pulled out a fresh pair of trousers and a new shirt along with her underclothes, then began getting dressed.
Bending his knees to rest his arms on top of them, Azriel watched with a strange mixture of fear and adoration as his Queen prepared for the night—prepared for battle. Her muscular limbs disappeared behind the layers of clothing, and she paused, still barefoot and armorless, to comb out her midnight curls and braid them with deft fingers. Like the previous night, she twisted twin braids into a sort of crown around her head.
When he’d asked her about the choice of hairstyle, her eyes had gone distant before she explained, “An unpinned braid could be used against me.”
It made sense, of course. Azriel had just never seen anyone take that extra precaution. Even women fighters amongst the dhemons usually stuck to the single braid that hung down the middle of their backs. While he wanted to know what had changed her perspective on how she’d styled her hair for so long, he simultaneously wished he’d never even asked.
The simple explanation made his bond go wild with all the possibilities of how she’d come to that conclusion.
“I’m frightened,” Azriel admitted before his mind could wander again.
Ariadne’s hands stilled, and she turned away from the shining metal that took the place of a mirror to look at him as she continued to work with her hair. Using her teeth to hold a pin ready for her braided crown, she frowned at him. Only when she wove the pin into her hair did she say, “I would be worried if you were not.”
“I admit,” he said, “that I’d wished after this morning, you’d want to stay with Emillie.”
Another pin. “I will not hide in a medic tent while men and women who call meQueenfight in my stead.”
