Page 21 of Given to the Black King

He turns away at once.

“Return to your rooms.”

“We still have a treaty.”

“Tomorrow.”

“That is becoming a habit.”

He looks back over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow, Envoy. Bring the cattle lists.”

I leave before I do something less sensible than touch his hand. Outside the doors, Callas waits with Perr and half the court.

“Well?” Callas demands.

“He accepts that Osk owns one hundred cattle.”

Perr makes a choking sound.

I walk past them.

My fingertip still burns where I touched the king.

TORGAN

At dawn, I ride north. Ghenn catches me at the lower gate.

“Hunting?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

I look at him.

He sends the huntsmen back to their beds.

We take two horses and climb into the high moor. Frost turns the grass white. Wind tears the last warmth from my clothes.

None of it reaches the heat under my skin. Iona touched my hand yesterday. One finger. Barely the weight of it.

My body remembers as if she climbed into my lap. I push the horse faster. Ghenn keeps pace without speaking.

The black tarn lies beyond the ridge. An old stag drinks at the far edge, heavy-bodied, antlers wide enough to catch the dawn.

I am out of the saddle before it lifts its head.

The stag runs.

I follow.

For a short distance, old blood is faster than any stag. After that, endurance and knowing how prey turns when it tires do the rest. Across rock. Through heather. Down into the shallows.

I catch it by the antlers.

Water explodes around us.