Page 159 of Given to the Black King

Far below, the first bell rings.

Neither of us reacts.

His hand settles over my belly.

The bond carries contentment. Not triumph. Not possession sharpened by fear.

Home.

I cover his hand with mine.

He closes his eyes.

The second bell begins.

“We have council,” he says.

“You are the king.”

“Yes.”

“You could cancel.”

“No. Then they would come up here.”

I consider four hundred steps, a locked door, and the court’s recently acquired education.

“One hour,” I say.

He gathers me closer instead of rising.

“One hour.”

His mouth returns to the bite.

This time he only kisses it.

IONA

Four months after the bond, the throne finally gets its repair.

“Higher on the left.”

The mason shifts the gold band around the broken throne arm.

“Your other left,” I tell him.

He glances at Torgan.

Torgan stands behind the throne with his arms folded.

The mason turns back to me.

“This left, Majesty?”

“Yes.”

He adjusts it by the width of a fingernail.