Page 142 of Given to the Black King

Her relief enters me so sharply it hurts more than the old ache did.

I put my mouth against the bite. The fangs remain long and sharp; only the root pain is gone. I turn my jaw so both points remain outside the healing crescents and press my lips to the mark.

Her thighs tighten.

I feel it through the bond.

“You are sore,” I say.

“I am aware.”

“Then stop doing that.”

“I did not do it on purpose.”

The bond exposes the lie.

I lift my head.

She smiles without opening her eyes.

A knock sounds at the outer door.

Ghenn does not enter.

That restraint tells me the entire court was educated overnight.

“Majesty,” he calls. “Both of you, I suppose.”

Iona raises her head. “What is it?”

“The battlefield remains where we left it. The dead remain dead. The living are becoming inconvenient.”

“The southern paymaster’s wagon?” I ask.

“Taken whole. Vess has the books. She has threatened three clerks and adopted one.”

“Perr?” Iona asks.

“No. Perr is threatening the others with filing procedure.”

A tray scrapes against the floor outside.

“The kitchen has sent broth, bread, eggs, and an amount of honey that suggests the cook has heard details no one told him.”

I look at the split bedframe.

It has shifted two handbreadths from the wall.

Iona follows my gaze.

“Oh.”

“Eat,” I say.

Ghenn retreats before she can question him.

I bring in the tray and set it across our laps. Iona eats half the bread before remembering she is supposed to object to being fed.