Page 69 of Given to the Black King

“The first stretch was difficult. The rest was worth being sore.”

I wait.

She sighs. “You need exact figures.”

“Yes.”

“More oil next time. More time before the crown. Short strokes until the ring stops burning.” Her face warms, but she continues. “Keep the position from behind. I liked the ridges more that way. Your claws stayed off me.”

“They will always stay off you unless you ask otherwise.”

Her gaze sharpens. “Can they touch without cutting?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We will discuss that later.”

My body hardens again.

She feels it against her thigh and smiles.

“Not now,” I say.

“I said later.”

I bring warm water from the hearth and clean the dried blood from her shoulder. She lets me rub salve over the bruises on her hips, then takes the jar from my hand when I begin examining every mark twice.

“You are counting me again.”

“Yes.”

She turns the jar between her hands. “And you knew the pot by the training yard came from me?”

“It smelled of you.”

“I thought the lack of a note might preserve your dignity.”

“It did not.”

“I remain one complete envoy.”

“Bruised.”

“Complete.”

She sits between my knees while I unpick the snapped lacing from the gray dress. Two eyelets have torn through the fabric. The dress can be repaired, but not invisibly.

“Sera will murder you,” she says.

“She may present an invoice.”

“She will do both.”

I set the damaged dress aside. “Wear another.”

“That was the intention.”

She tells me Danel’s name while I brush the tangles from her hair.