Page 64 of The Half King
“Would you like that?” he countered in a low, wicked voice that caused her pulse to hitch. “Would you like me to put you to bed, my lady of the temple? Or would you prefer that I takeyou to bed?”
Her pulse quickened. The king had never spoken so brazenly to her before. The mere suggestion of Kian in her bed stirred her blood and sent it rushing to the juncture of her thighs. She didn’t know how to answer him. She was no good at this game of teasing and wordplay.
“Lie down,” he repeated with that smile of his.
So she did as he asked, settling face up on top of her blankets, as the lingering heat was still too thick to allow for a cover. She felt Blue curl up against her, but she hadn’t taken her eyes off of Kian, who now knelt down on the canvas floor and leaned over her, propping himself on one hand while using his other hand to brush the hair back from her face. The lapels of his shirt hung open just wide enough to give her a glimpse of the glossy, black curls that led from his chest to his abdomen. She recalled from memory the way those curls encircled his navel and created a trail to the thicket between his thighs. She could still picture him naked, and the mental image forced her to release a trembling sigh.
Kian clearly noticed her reaction because he had been watching her mouth. His eyes remained fixed there as he slowly trailed an index finger down the slope of her nose and continued all the way to her bottom lip, where he skimmed her flesh with his fingertip and peered down at her with more longing than a blossom for the sun.
Her breath caught. No one had ever given her that look before. She wanted to feel him, to taste his mouth, to gently sink her teeth into the side of his neck. But when she reached up to lace her fingers through his hair and pull him closer to her, he began to dissolve at the edges, and one blink later, the only trace that remained of him was a pile of clothing.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Cerise was plagued by unmet desire and bad dreams, along with a persistent ache in her stomach. When she awoke the next morning, her tent was empty except for Blue. She had hoped to see Kian at sunrise, but she had been so exhausted from a night of tossing and turning that she had slept through breakfast.
Not that she could have eaten. The sight of sand melon, oatcakes, and mutton jerky made her insides harden like a stone. She could barely tolerate feeding Blue. After giving him a few slices of jerky, she had to ask Daerick to finish the job. As for Kian, he was nowhere to be found. She learned that he had gone hunting with General Petros and Nero.
She barely saw Kian during the day’s ride. Instead of leading the caravan, he elected to ride behind the wagon, saying so little to the group that no one noticed when the curse had taken him until his horse wandered off the trail. It was hours later when he reappeared. He said nothing to her then, either, and she didn’t know why. That night, she couldn’t manage a single bite of dinner. Kian continued watching her from the other side of the fire, though with more concern now than longing. There was a distance between them that she didn’t know how to close.
He didn’t offer to escort her to her tent after dinner. By the following day, she began to worry there was something wrong with her. She had never felt like this before, like her stomach belonged in a different body. At times it seemed there was a fish thrashing inside her trying to get out.
“Maybe you have a parasite,” Daerick mused that morning, after she had discreetly called him into her tent to ask for advice. She had considered asking Father Padron for help, but her inner voice warned that if she truly did have fire in her blood, he might be able to detect it. “You’re new to Mortara,” Daerick went on. “So you wouldn’t have developed the same resistance that the rest of us have.” He frowned. “But you’re missing the main symptoms.”
“How do we know for sure?” she asked.
Nero poked his head through the tent flaps. Obviously, he’d been eavesdropping. He handed her a tin cup and said, “Make water in here. I’ll be able to tell.”
She raised a brow. “You want me to urinate…in your drinking cup?”
“I’ll wash it,” he said, shrugging.
Eventually, she gave him a sample, and he took it off to a secret place to do some manner of testing on it. He returned with an empty cup and a wrinkled forehead. He said he couldn’t find anything wrong with her.
She could barely stay in the saddle as they traveled through the day, and when they stopped to make camp, she wanted to do nothing but curl up with Blue inside her tent. The thought of food repulsed her. Even water tasted sour. She refused to drink anything until Father Padron threatened to compel her to do it. Then she held her flagon to her lips and tried to force herself to swallow. The liquid sputtered out of her mouth. She couldn’t get it down.
“I’m sorry, Cerise,” Father Padron said. “I hate to do this.”
But he did it anyway.
His energy filled the air, and then, like a puppet with its strings pulled, her body moved according to his will. She swallowed one rancid mouthful after another, unable to breathe except when he allowed it. She had never been compelled before, and she couldn’t think of a worse violation of her body. When it was over, she made drinking her only goal so he didn’t feel the need to do it again.
By the third day, she gave up any pretense of wellness and asked to travel in the wagon. She had just settled in among the folded tents and the sacks of oats when Kian strode toward her, flanked by Daerick and General Petros. The king moved with the sort of purpose that told her he had made a decision—one she wouldn’t like.
“We’re turning back,” he said. “I’m taking you home to see my physician.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off with a lifted palm. “The Petros Blade has waited for a thousand years. It’s not going anywhere. There are other faithful servants of the goddess who can get the sunset runes for us. We just need to find one.”
“We’ll try again,” the general added. “While you heal.”
Cerise shook her head. Kian had mere moons to live unless she broke the curse. There was no time to hunt for another person who may or may not have the purity of faith to earn the sunset runes, and in her heart, she doubted that Father Padron could do it. To turn back now would mean failure. They had to keep going. Cerise scrambled for a lie to explain her symptoms, an excuse that no man would question.
The answer presented itself.
“I was hoping to keep this private,” she said. She avoided their eyes, doing her best to look embarrassed as she pressed a hand to her lower abdomen. “This is what happens during my courses. Some women have a hard time of it, you know.”
She glanced up to find their expressions blank.
“I promise I’ll be fine in a few days.” She made a pained face. “The cramps are the worst part. They start in my back and move around to the front. Sometimes the pain is so severe that I get sick to my stomach.”
That was all it took to set the caravan in motion again.
And so passed another day.
