Page 68 of Given to the Black King

“Yes.”

“But the answer may become yes.”

Hope opens across his face before he can stop it.

He buries it against my hair.

I lie with my ear over his heart, his scent on my skin, his release warm inside me, and the marks of his mouth beginning to darken.

The gray dress lies torn beside the bed. The front lacing will never sit properly again.

In the morning, I intend to let the court see what survived it.

TORGAN

Iona wakes with one hand wrapped around my injured forearm.

She opens her eyes, checks the punctures, then checks my face.

“You are staring.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Since you fell asleep.”

“That is unsettling.”

“You drool.”

Her eyes narrow. “I do not.”

She wipes the corner of her mouth and finds nothing. I laugh before I can stop myself.

She hits my chest with the back of her hand.

The movement pulls at the bruises on her hips. She winces.

I go still. “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

I start to move away.

She catches my wrist. “Do not make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you decide pleasure has become a military error.”

I look at the marks I left on her. My back teeth at her shoulder and breasts. My fingers on her waist. The faint redness between her thighs. The two torn eyelets on the gray dress lying beside the bed.

“I hurt you.”

“Yes.” She stretches carefully and immediately regrets it. “I liked most of it.”

“Most?”