Page 152 of Prize for the King
“You sound drunk,” Magnar says irritably, splashing his face with water from my bath.
“Mmm. Drunk on her. She’s better than wine.”
Arvi glances over his shoulder from where he stands in front of the toilet, shaking himself off after using it. “That’s a line from your song, no?You taste better than wine, you’re the only excitement I need.Lurid stuff. You’re lucky Caliane couldn’t understand it.”
“Yeah?” Khay turns, his face flushing hotly. “And yours is better?My sweet mermaid, I’ll follow you into deep waters.It’s not enough to make her a fish, she must be a monster, too?”
Arvi sneers at him. “Mermaids are hot.”
“How? You can’t fuck the fish part!”
“Quiet!” Raduna snaps, his voice low and deeply authoritative. “Shut up. You sound like boys, not men. Get ready in peace or you’ll cause a delay.”
They sulk but obey him, and the rest of our morning routine passes in blessed silence. Khay dresses me with Raduna’s help. I wear many layers to keep me warm, my cloak and gloves lined with fur. Before we leave the room, Magnar catches me in the doorway.
“Wait. Let me see.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, hands diving under the hem of my dress. I laugh when he runs his palms along my calf and thigh, all the way up to where I’m sore and tingly. He grins and pats my inner thigh.
“Perfect riding attire, love. Would you do me the honor of riding with me?”
“Of course, my king. I’ll do my best not to squirm.”
He chuckles and steals a kiss before taking my hand and guiding me down to the hall for breakfast. I remember to grab two warm hats I had the seamstresses make since my sewing is quite messy. When I sit down between Magnar and Arvi, I turn to the latter.
“I noticed you don’t wear a hat. You’ll freeze your ears off. Here.”
He takes the cream woolen cap with a miffed expression. “Thank you,laruna, but wool is so scratchy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wear it.”
I smirk and take the hat from his hands, showing him the three-layer satin lining. “It won’t scratch you. Please wear it. I have one more if you lose it.”
He grins and embraces me tightly, murmuring his thanks into my hair.
We ride out with an escort of sixty men, a hundred more set to follow later. Most of them will be left behind in Farneer, which is an eight-day journey away from the Citadel, where the Table of Kings gathers. More of Magnar’s troops are stationed in my home country should we need them, though Magnar is unhappy with this arrangement.
“Riding into the wolves’ den with only thirty men,” he growls as we leave the capital behind, the wind picking up now that we’re not among the buildings. “It’s as good as nothing. I should have conquered Trista, too. Its northern border is only four days away from the Citadel—close enough to call for reinforcements. Fuck, love. There’s still time to go back. I hate the thought of something happening to you.”
“And I hate the thought of something happening toyou, so I have to come and protect you,” I reply cheerfully. “Stop worrying. You got your seat. We’re all protected by the Kings’ Peace. Remember? While the kings can’t attack each other anywhere, that law is even more stringent in the Citadel. Even a bar brawl between soldiers is considered a serious offense. So even if you took a thousand people with you, they would be quite useless.”
He grunts with reluctance, and I laugh into my fur collar. Magnar’s hand keeps straying to my lower belly even though it’s hidden deep beneath many layers of clothing. I can’t help but think he’s incredibly cute like this, so worried about me, grumpy and sleep-deprived.
We talk little on the way and spend the night in a drafty castle. Magnar hoards me to himself in a bed only large enough for two. We’re both asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows.
The journey continues much the same as we travel north. The days grow colder. I’m passed around, spending one day and night with Khay, then with Raduna, next with Arvi. By the time it’s Magnar’s turn again, he’s irritable and snarky. He doesn’t let me sleep that night.
“I don’t give a fuck about resting,” he grunts, pulling out of me to press ravenous kisses into my mouth. “I fucking miss you, love. I hate traveling. I want my honeymoon.”
“Soon,” I gasp when he thrusts back in, slick and hard, punishingly deep. “Oh, there! Faster. Please!”
He delivers, fucking an orgasm into me, and comes deep inside. He doesn’t pull out. I nod off, only to wake to him moving within me, more slowly now that his first hunger is sated.
In the morning, after what feels like an entire night of mating, he kisses my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth, his face tired and haggard, eyes sad.
“Do you love me yet?”
I search within me, desperately trying to find that feeling he craves, but I run into a wall of terror. Tears squeeze out of my eyes, and he kisses them away.
“No matter. We have time. Years together. Ride with me today, too.”
