Page 145 of Given to the Black King

Through the bond, mortification blooms hot enough to warm the chamber.

“That,” she says carefully, “was private.”

“Yes.”

“Then stop announcing it.”

I lean closer. “You announced the bed to half the hold.”

Her heel finds my shin under the table.

The court develops urgent interest in the ledgers.

Callas returns before sunset under escort by Vess’s relay captain and two of the Serathi guards who turned back with him.

The audience hall smells of cold stone, lamp oil, and the sand that was scrubbed from the execution block days ago.

Iona sits in the chair beside the throne. Sera has altered a black court gown from the hold’s stores, cutting the neckline wide enough to leave the bite uncovered.

I sit on the cracked throne.

The arm is split from the top to the carved base. One side bears my bite. The other carries weeks of claw marks. A temporary black iron brace, fitted beneath the stone after I bit it, keeps the broken weight from shifting. The punctures at Iona’s throat are sealed now, but the bruised crescents are still tender on this third morning.

Ghenn stands at my right. Vess stands where she pleases. Perr waits near the doors with three document cases.

Callas sees him first.

Then the paymaster’s books.

Then Iona.

His knees nearly fail.

He bows instead.

“Majesty.”

Iona’s fingers brush mine. The title unsettles her. She does not show it.

“You signed an attestation before the battle,” she says.

“Yes.”

“You stated that Speaker Reth and the coast committee ordered you to delay the treaty while they funded Osk.”

“Yes.”

Perr opens the first case. The wax seals knock softly against one another.

“You stated that they prepared two alternative marriage contracts,” Iona continues. “One naming Torgan. One naming Osk.”

Callas swallows. “Yes.”

“What did you believe would happen to me?”

“I believed...”

His voice stops.