Page 83 of Given to the Black King

“I trusted that he was more loyal to you than to Callas.”

I step beside him. “Why didn’t you tear it up?”

His head turns.

“Would you have wanted me to?”

“Yes.” The answer comes quickly. I correct it. “No. I wanted to tear it up.”

“That is why.”

I look out over the pass.

Below us, soldiers change the gate watch. One of the sergeants wears new black boots with silver buckles.

“My council thinks I am the reason you signed favorable terms,” I say.

“You are.”

“They think that means I can be secured.”

His claws emerge against the stone.

“I know.”

“They have spent my whole life deciding what I can be used for.” My throat tightens. “You are the first man with enough power to take every choice from me. You keep giving them back.”

He says nothing.

I put my hand beside his. Not touching. Close enough that our smallest fingers nearly meet.

“I see what it costs,” I say. “The blood. The stone. The way you leave your own bed rather than turn your mouth toward me. I see it.”

His jaw flexes.

“It is not wasted,” I continue. “I need you to know that.”

He closes the last inch between our hands.

One finger over mine.

“When you leave,” he says, “I will still sign the treaty.”

“I know.”

“If this ends with you riding south, I will not make the road difficult.”

“I know.”

“That is not what I want.”

The admission is quiet.

I turn toward him.

“What do you want?”

“You. Here because you chose it. In my bed because you walked there. At my table because you take the chair.” His eyes hold mine. “Not as a clause.”