Page 80 of Given to the Black King

I clean her carefully. She cleans me with less patience and more interest than necessary.

When we return beneath the furs, she puts my head on her chest and my ear over her heart.

“Next time the ache wakes you,” she says, “ask me.”

“I will not assume.”

“Good.”

“And if you say no?”

“You use the strap. Or the yard. Or you wake Ghenn and make him discuss grain until the urge dies.”

“That may kill us both.”

Her chest moves beneath my cheek with a tired laugh.

“Ask each time,” she says. “I decide each time.”

“Yes.”

Her heart slows beneath my ear. The leather strap remains untouched beside the bed.

When I open my eyes again, morning light lies across her shoulder.

IONA

Callas brings a draft marriage annex to my rooms at dawn.

He keeps it folded while he speaks.

“The council gave me discretion before we left Serath.”

I pour tea and do not offer him any. “A personal guarantee. I remember. The treaty does not require one.”

His fingers tighten around the paper. “They are concerned that the king’s cooperation may depend on circumstances that could change.”

“Say what you came to say.”

He looks toward the window.

I wait.

“My existing discretion permits a permanent personal guarantee.”

“Me.”

“A marriage would bind the peace to the court.”

“Me.”

“Yes.”

The word is barely audible.

I set down my cup.

“Did they ask whether I agreed?”