I rush to volley the ball back to him. “Maybe you can relate? Were you close to your siblings?”
“My sisters were strategically married off to rulers from two of our other Stone Fae territories before I even cracked out of my egg. And my brother died in battle,” he says in a voice completely devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be. He died in battle. His soul has been commended to Eryx.”
Okay, but… “A glorious death doesn’t mean the ones left behind can’t still feel grief. Were you two close?”
“Very.”
His one word scrapes the air like a confession.
“He taught me everything I know about battle,” Veyrion says quietly. “And my leadership is but a poor roleplay of his. He should be here with you this eve. Not me.”
I rest my cheek against the pulse in his neck, my own heart thudding low and slow.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
There’s a long, long silence.
Then, quieter than anything I’ve heard from him yet, he says, “Thank you.”
More silence. But this time, it’s shockingly comfortable. The time glass, sitting on the throne seat, is over halfway drained—but I no longer care to move out of the bath.
Eventually, the king sets me back, using both of his taloned hands.
And that’s when I realize… hedoeshave a tail.
One hand holds me in place while the pointed tail rubs soap over my body, and the other hand rinses it off with a square of wool towel I assume comes from the coat of the taarhorn he told me about earlier.
I liked the hug. But I like this, too. Lodged as I still am against his pulsing length, the water sluicing over my breasts while I’m cleaned and rubbed, feels like the strangest, most alluring massage.
“Sallie Rose?”
“Yes?”
“Earlier, before we entered the room, you said you had a question.” He moves the towel to the other breast. “What was it?”
“Oh. I just wondered what happened to all the statues in the hall.”
“Statues?”
My breasts are so clean, but his tail continues to rub soap over them in a way I can only describe as hypnotic. Lathering them up without bothering to rinse.
“Yes. This morning when I woke up, the hall was full of statues. But now they’re gone. Do you store them away every night?”
He stops lathering. “Are you speaking of thestone sleep?”
“The stone sleep?”
“Yes. Each day, when the suns rise, our warrior moon protects us by casting us in stone when its rays touch us. So that our enemies cannot harm us while we rest.”
Wait—what?
The druggy trance his cleaning put me under disappears in an instant.
“So, this morning. That statue by the window. That wasyou?”
