Page 100 of Given to the Black King

“I was afraid.”

His face closes.

I tighten my grip.

“And I wanted you. Both were true. You never made me regret either one.”

The tension leaves his shoulders by degrees.

He presses his mouth to the mark on my shoulder.

No bite. Just heat.

“Sleep,” he says.

“I doubt it.”

The gray leaves his eyes again.

“Then lock the door.”

I do. Not because I fear what is outside. Because if he comes back before morning, I will ask him to hunt me through my own room.

IONA

The mark above my breast is impossible to hide in the silver-gray court gown.

I wear it anyway. It is the second gray dress in my diplomatic chest, high-waisted and cut wide at the shoulders. The soft laced dress Torgan tore is still in Sera’s workbasket.

The shoulder bite shows too. So does the top of one claw line where it reaches above my stocking.

Sera fastens the back for me without comment. When she finishes, she moves one curl away from the bite and nods at her own work.

“That will do.”

“For diplomacy?”

“For whatever you think you’re doing.”

I find the last treaty session already seated.

Callas sees me first.

His eyes drop to the shoulder mark. Then lower. Then return to my face with great care.

Perr spills sand over a page.

On the black-country side of the table, nobody moves at all.

Torgan enters through the north door.

His gaze reaches me before he takes his chair.

The change in him is immediate. His nostrils flare. His pupils widen. One claw slides out against the chair arm with a quiet click.

Everyone hears it.

He looks at the mark above my breast.