Page 111 of Given to the Black King

“This again?”

His eyes meet mine.

I stop arguing.

He carries me inside.

In his chamber he sets me on the edge of the bed and cuts the mail shirt away where one ring has driven into my ribs. His hands are steady now. His breathing is not.

The cut at my throat is barely an inch long.

He cleans it three times.

“Torgan.”

He keeps working.

“They did not take me.”

“They touched you.”

“I knew they might.”

His gaze snaps up.

“So did I.”

“And you still agreed.”

“Men inside my walls would have opened a gate. You were right. I agreed to the trap.” His mouth tightens. “Not to a knife on you.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

He puts down the cloth.

“No more gardens alone.”

“I was not alone.”

“No more bait.”

“We may not need more bait.”

“Iona.”

I take his hand.

“No more solving danger by putting me in a room.”

His fingers close around mine.

“I will give you guards.”

“Yes.”

“A blade-master every morning.”

“Yes.”