Page 44 of Starborn Husbands
He returns. The door clicks shut, and all other sounds are muffled from beyond. There’s a whoosh of curtains being shut and then the rushing water halts. The world is blessedly quiet except for the water he must be squeezing out of a cloth, and it’s mostly dark except for the bit of light leaking beyond the cotton curtains.
I chance opening my one decent eye.
He’s not wearing his jacket. I search my memory and can’t find one with him jacketless. He’s wearing a white Henley, which is totally illegal, and my list of things to harass him for later gets longer and longer. The sleeves are rolled up, exposing his bulky biceps. His thick forearms contract as he strangles a cloth to relieve it of water.
“I’m naked. You should at least take your shirt off. It’s only fair.”
“No. You’ll have to wait till wedding night. This is not sexual.”
“One-hundred-star coins says your dick is hard.”
He laughs in a way I’ve never heard before. It’s joyous. “You’re going to be fine. My heart can stop racing now.”
“Why is it racing?”
He lifts my wrist, ignoring my question. His thumb smoothes over my new bracelet. “Did my father put this on you?”
“Yep.”
He lets go of my wrist. He continues washing the blood and grime off me with supreme gentleness.
“Zhang. You … you weren’t there. You didn’t come.” Why am I crying over that? Why do I care? I know I’m not supposed to care.
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have been there.”
Well, that takes all the fun out of it. I wanted him to list excuses, which would have allowed me to accuse him of a whole bunch of irrational shit. Now all I can do is look for excuses for him.
“Did you know?” I demand.
He drips water onto my crown with the cloth. “Not until it was already done.”
“Then why would you apologize for something that’s not your fault?”
“Does it matter? What I said isn’t any less true. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, and I should have been. Besides, Treyu, you’re my responsibility.”
Mr. Righteous. I forgot. It’s nice, though. My muscles relax, and he pours fruity-scented soap into my hair, massaging it into my scalp.Aaaaahhh.That’s the stuff. “Where does a prince learn how to give scalp massages?”
“My time as a human.”
That … that … a bolt of hot pain goes through my chest. I cry out.
“What? What’d I do?” he says.
“N-Nothing,” I say, recovering. “Keep up the massage. I’ll want this every night for the rest of our lives. You’re going to regret your white-knight syndrome quickly.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know once this round is done. Then what will we be at? How many times will I have saved you? You owe me more sandwiches.”
“I owe you nothing, Centaurus.” That’s not true, and I know it, but owing him says we’re not on equal footing. I can’t have that, but no time like the present to start on what I promised Dad.
“I’m going to be your husband, though, and that’smyresponsibility—looking after … looking after you …” My voice drifts as my eyelids flutter. I fight to keep them open, but the pain is sapping what little energy I have.
“Someone is bringing you our kind of drugs for pain. Close your eyes.”
When he usesthatvoice, it’s hard not to obey him even though it’s him. I drift off to sleep.
* * *
Opening my left eye is easier when I wake up. The other one is still closed for business. I’m in bed in amazing comfy pajamas. I could get used to silk sheets. The pain is muted enough that I can sit up, and I assume that plant medicine is responsible for my ability to move. I determine that Zhang isn’t in the room, but the ensuite door is open and the shower is running. He’s probably depukifying himself.
