Page 111 of Kingdoms of Night

From a medical and scientific perspective, there was a great deal to acknowledge. And there was nothing wrong with that, was there?

Strong, prominent facial features, strong broad shoulders, big arms that could carry her weight with ease, likely several times over. Large hands, with thick, long fingers, palms broader than hers if she laid her hands flush against his. The carved musculature of his chest lay bare, just a little, above the blanket, and tapered down to a trim waist—

He shifted beneath the blanket, moaning in his sleep.

She covered her chest with arms and froze.

She swallowed.

There was nothing wrong with observing anatomy. She could admit he was well formed and attractive.

Whether he thought the same of her was entirely beside the point and did not matter at all.

The flames crackled.

She continued to rub her hands over her arms, absently tracing shapes over each of the main figures in her tattoos.

People only cared about what others thought of their bodies if the opinions somehow carried some form of value. For sand dancers and ice pirouetters, physical beauty and symmetry were as vital as every other part of their art. For most others, really, it only mattered when they wanted someone to find them attractive.

And she didn’t care what Feron thought of her. Especially not whether he found her physically attractive or sexually desirable.

As her aunt used to say,He isn’t worth the tea to protect the womb, so keep your legs together.

She grimaced. It was unpleasant enough to drink the oak gall, acacia, and juniper tea once a month to prevent pregnancy and regulate her cycle. Thank the Creator she’d taken it just last week.

Not that she was going to be having sex any time soon. Probably never again.

Her entire body pulsed nonetheless. Of course, she didn’t care. Why would she?

There was some evidence that his body did respond to hers—looks that had lingered a little too long, gazes that softened, even a glimmer in his eyes as he joked about ghosts or counting. Certainly, those reactions could be attributed to other causes, but they likely were not.

Just because Puck said they were a match—well, they weren’t. He could say it all he liked, but that didn’t make it so. And she had never felt any shame about her body—except when she wanted someone to like her and feared they didn’t.

Hmmm. She covered her eyes.

There was nothing like letting a man she thought she was interested in see her naked, and realizing he, well, he saw her basically as he saw everyone. No attraction. No spark. No recognition.

She had always fallen for the wrong men. Unavailable in one way or another. And inevitably they were the ones she opened herself up to. Only to be shot down and crushed. But oh flood plains, there was something about an emotionally distant man that just made her want to get close.

That wouldn’t happen now though. Falling for someone meant opening up. She couldn’t fall in love even with the wrong person if she never gave herself the chance.

The serpent and jaguar tattoos still coiled around her waist, audacious considering they symbolized the Master of Venom and Poison, and she’d failed to win out over Selnon. Now the reminders of her failure would remain etched on her body forever. She grimaced. At least if Feron saw her, he wouldn’t know what all of these meant. Anyone from her world would.

A pit formed in her stomach. Everyone had encouraged all of the children to dream big and prepare for the futures they desired. To act as if it was theirs. To be bold. Well, she now had many bold tattoos that proclaimed she was someone she wasn’t. And yes—that had been a mistake. Though now…well, what would she do with this much ink over so much of her body?

Maybe after she got Lalko home, she would eschew all of the civilizations and go live on one of the empty worlds. Her head and chest ached, begging her more and more to rest. Even her hands and feet tingled with the exhaustion of calling up so many plants.

The heat had reached a pleasant temperature, so long as she stayed directly in front of the fire. Her clothes were still damp to the touch, and fatigue weighed heavy on her limbs.

She picked up some of the food she and the wolves had gathered up from the table Puck had left. Croissants, muffins, fruit. Organizing it occupied her mind and hands for a few minutes. Eating one of the half-crushed almond croissants occupied her mouth for a few more. The tasty buttery flakes with notes of a distinct sweetness soothed her and started to replenish her energy reserves.

But—after a few minutes more, her eyelids became heavy.

But where to sleep?

She glanced around. Maybe she should sleep on the floor?

Hmmm. A single glance downward convinced her no. She didn’t even want to think of her cactli being in contact with this uneven dirty surface. And even though she hadn’t seen a single insect other than those few butterflies, she was certain there would be roaches or beetles or something. The surest way to find them would be to go to sleep and be all vulnerable and exposed.

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