For now, that’s all that matters.
70
— • —
Percival
I woke up with my hand on her ankle for no reason I could explain.
Mira was still asleep at the center of the bedroll. Solomon’s arm across her ribs, hand on her stomach. Lucian’s face in her hair, arm draped over her waist. My palm wrapped around her ankle, thumb on the tendon, bond vibrating through the contact.
The enforcer and the king were unconsciously cuddling a sleeping woman, and I was guarding her feet. Solid contribution, Percival. Really pulling my weight.
After the verdict last night, Solomon had radioed Wyatt. Briefly mentioning that Mira had to stay for recovery. Wyatt would cover her absence at the compound. An extended reconnaissance rotation logged in the system, buying her hours before anyone asked questions.
Wyatt had agreed immediately, probably because the alternative was Solomon’s voice getting quieter, and when Solomon’s voice got quieter, people’s life expectancy shortened.
By midnight tonight, she needed to be back inside those walls.
I untangled myself from the pile and started on breakfast.
Twenty minutes later, Mira emerged from the den wrapped in Solomon’s jacket, hair a disaster, eyes half-closed, moving with cautious shuffle.
“Morning, love.”
“Mmph.”
“Eloquent.” I guided her to the flat stone beside the fire and set the plate in front of her. Berries on the left because she always reached for those first, dried apple sliced into strips, nuts arranged at the top.
She blinked at the plate. Then at me.
“Did you arrange these by sweetness?”
I looked at the fruit. Berries, apple, nuts. Descending order. My hands had just done it.
“No. That’s just how they came out of the container.”
“Percival, they are in a gradient.”
“Eat your breakfast.”
She ate. Her mouth closed around a berry and my brain short-circuited because I could picture those lips wrapped around my length while her eyes looked up at me and now she was sitting in morning light with jacket slipping off one shoulder, exposing the claiming mark, and my cock was getting ideas that were entirely inappropriate for breakfast.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I adjusted my sitting position and thought about tactical formations.
Solomon materialized at the supply station, grinding prenatal herbs similar to his father.
“Her next dose isn’t for six hours,” I said.
“I’m preparing it in advance.”
“Six hours in advance?”
“Yes. I don’t see any problem with that.”
Mira watched him grind. “Solomon, are you making me tea already for a dose I take at noon?”
