Page 30 of Prize for the King
I breathe again, and it’s audible and fast. My face burns. Magnar’s eyes lower, his lashes fanning over his cheeks, and he strokes my lower lip with his thumb, then presses down. My lower teeth are bared, my mouth open, and I’m shaking.
“And I did it again,” he says, stroking my lip with the pad of his thumb, his eyes mesmerized. “Please, tell me you’re done hating me for killing your father. Say I can have you tonight, my little prize.”
I flinch back so hard, my chair almost topples, only Magnar’s quick reflexes saving me from the fall. He sighs regretfully, and I turn away, horrible, ugly guilt burgeoning inside me.
How could I forget?
I haven’t thought about my father for longer than a few minutes yesterday. I was too busy talking withthe man who murdered himand trying to ignore the exciting, improper ways he made me feel as he pressed me to his body in the saddle.
Then I was distracted by Khay, letting one of my late father’s mortal enemies touch my naked body and stay in the room while I changed this morning.
Not once did I pray for my father’s soul. I still haven’t shed a tear for him.
As I drown in guilt, a thought emerges out of nowhere like a predatory fish jumping out of the deep waters of my mind.
I am glad he’s gone.
I gasp and clutch my chest, my eyes wide open from shock. How could I thinkthat? He was myfather, for better or worse, and after my mother died, he was my only family. Yes, he had his faults, but doesn’t everyone?
And yet,the treacherous thought responds,you never felt as safe with him as you did with an Agnidari only yesterday. And yet, you are relieved he’s gone. And yet, you are grateful.
“I’m sorry,” Magnar says, laying a heavy palm on my shoulder. “I’ll take it as a no and won’t ask again.”
I shake my head, but my throat is too tight to squeeze out an explanation, my thoughts too chaotic to form a coherent response.
Gods, I am such a bad daughter!
You are not a daughter anymore. You are free.
Chairs and benches scrape around me as the Agnidari rise. I tremble, my nails digging into my palms until they hurt, and I choke on self-loathing and guilt. Magnar walks by, his scent briefly wrapping around me in a comforting cloud, leather, cloves, and the same soap I washed with yesterday.
Raduna stands next to me, his hands loose at his sides. His voice is gentle but firm when he speaks.
“We have to go, my lady. Unless you’re in pain? There’s a medic in the castle.”
I shake my head and stand up, burying my face in my hands as I try to suppress all that guilt, sorrow, and treacherous relief. When Raduna offers me his arm, I manage a small, uncertain smile and reach up to lay my palm in the crook of his elbow. We start walking, but after a few steps it becomes clear our height difference makes it very uncomfortable.
Raduna smiles and takes my hand, leading me outside.
The horses are already saddled, snorting as the sun rises above the horizon, red and gold against the pink sky. Birds sing, and the air is crisp, though I know it will get hot soon enough.
“It hasn’t rained in over a week,” Raduna says, shielding his eyes against the sun. “Perfect weather for reaping wheat, though I worry about other crops. May I help you up?”
His horse is light gray, its nostrils black and wet as they widen in a snort. I take a shaky breath and nod, still not used to how enormous the Agnidari mounts are.
Raduna’s hands tighten around my waist, and he lifts me with complete, breathtaking control. When Magnar did it yesterday, it was fast and dizzying. His knight makes a lot of effort to help me stay calm as he settles me in the enormous saddle, and when I’m sitting, he looks up, fingering the torn edge of my green dress.
“Are you comfortable?”
I nod and thank him with a smile. I was right about him—Radunaiskind, and he puts me at ease. That is, until he gets on the horse.
His large, powerful body presses to me from behind, and he makes a soft, curious noise, shifting until he’s comfortable. I am surrounded by him, his powerful arms circling me from the sides as he holds the reins, his stomach undulating with deep breaths against my back. My hat, already mangled by Magnar yesterday, is further squished against the bulging muscles of Raduna’s torso.
“I’ll do my best to be good,” he says in a low voice as a horn trumpets ahead, calling riders into formation. “You have my utmost respect, my queen.”
I sigh and nod, not sure if he sees it. Like yesterday, my body is overwhelmed with sensation, and I have difficulty focusing on anything other than the masculine scents of leather and musk, Raduna’s deep, even breaths, and his thighs pressing to my body, hotand hard.
When I try to daydream about riding with a blond, green-eyed human knight like yesterday, he shows up with long, white hair, his eyes long-lashed and crinkling with humor. I give up and watch the landscape, half-reaped fields rolling past, people hard at work under the rising sun.
