Page 35 of Given to the Black King

“What may I offer for desire?”

“Anything but the bite.”

The words leave me rough.

Her pupils widen.

I smell the answer before she gives it.

“Good,” she says.

I bend until my mouth is beside her ear, careful of her throat. “You should go.”

“Are you asking?”

“Yes.”

“That must be difficult.”

“Do not make me repeat it.”

She steps back.

The loss of her hand leaves my chest cold.

At the edge of the dais she pauses. “Good night, Torgan.”

Only the name.

No summons.

Then she turns and walks away with my true name in her mouth and my scent on her wrist.

I wait until the doors close.

The cracked throne arm is beside my hand. I bend and set my fangs into the broken edge. Stone breaks between my teeth, but the arm holds.

The relief lasts less than a heartbeat.

It is still worth it.

IONA

On the ninth night in the black country, I close the map-room door with a hard click.

Torgan looks at the latch. Then at me.

I have been working here for an hour. He came in ten minutes ago and has not read a single line of the border survey in front of him.

Neither have I.

“Did you lock it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I put down my pen. “Because every servant in this hold has developed an urgent interest in maps.”