Page 42 of Prize for the King
I take a shaky breath, grabbing his hand under the table for support. Magnar pauses, giving me a careful look, and I squeeze his fingers harder, doing my best to control my breathing. My body is still hot and buzzing after the bath, and I remember how I wished for Magnar to come and fill me.
Oh gods.And now he’s here, and I can’t seem to let go of his hand. I keep thinking about it, the memory of Khay’s touch tingling where it shouldn’t.
The heat in my face spreads down my throat. I’m ridiculously scared everyone at the table knows exactly what’s going on with my body.
“Everything all right, sweetheart?” Magnar asks softly, cupping my cheek.
“Can you tell what I’m thinking?” I blurt out, desperate to confirm that fear so I can perish from shame.
Magnar frowns. “I… Well, you seem overwhelmed and excited. You’re breathing very fast. Are you afraid of something?”
I sigh in relief and look down, right into my heaving breasts that are pinkened with a blush. I squirm to sit more comfortably as my belly aches, and Magnar makes a low noise of understanding.
“It’s the bath, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice suddenly icy cold, shockingly calm. “What did Khay do?”
I look up in alarm, my hand shaking in his. “He said it was fine!” I hiss, realizing belatedly I should have picked something else to say.
Magnar’s eyes narrow, and his lips purse as he watches me, his gaze as sharp as knives. I hiccup from fear, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. His hold on my hand loosens, and he strokes my knuckles until my stiff shoulders drop in relief. He’s no longer angry.
“I’m jealous, little wife,” he says with a sigh. “But it’s not your fault, nor is it Khay’s. Whatever he did, it must have been right. He knows his duties and privileges.”
I wonder what to say, lacking polite words to even talk about it, but Magnar seems to be done with our conversation.
“Here.”
He serves me from the nearest dishes, heaping crispy vegetables, meat drowning in a golden sauce, and some kind of baked mushroom onto my plate. I take a sip from my goblet, then a few more when it turns out the drink is some kind of sweet, fruity wine. It’s delicious.
I eat undisturbed until my belly’s full, and I fight back yawns with bigger and bigger sips of wine. It makes me even sleepier, but I don’t know what else to do. The dining hall gains a sort of dreamy quality around me, people’s conversations blending into a pleasant buzzing. Magnar’s soldiers get up from the tables in threes and fours, coming over to salute him before they leave.
My chalice never runs out of wine. Agnidari servants bustle around the table, refilling everyone’s glasses and bringing fresh dishes until everyone’s sated.
“You have an early start tomorrow, don’t you?” Vardi asks. “We’ll have to repeat this when you ride to take your seat at the Table of Kings, then. Leave a day early so you can spend it with my wife and me. Kirita is dying to exchange some female gossip with the queen.”
I smile at that, bright and happy. Kirita isnicefor wanting to speakwith me, even if she’s horribly improper. Though, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I can ask her things about all the poking my husband and knights are doing.
“I’d love some female gossip,” I say, the words coming through with a bit of difficulty. I sway happily, delighted by all the pretty lights around me, and reach for my chalice. Magnar snatches it away, though, and I pout with disappointment.
“It seems you’re used to weaker drinks,” he sighs, shaking his head. “It’s high time you went to bed, anyway. Come on up. I’ll take you to your room.”
“Goodnight,” Vardi and Kirita say with small laughs.
“I forgot to tell you I love your earrings,” I slur a little, beaming at Kirita, who grows blurry. “You’re so pretty and nice. I want to ask you things.”
Kirita laughs, though she seems pleased, and Magnar snorts as he pulls my chair back.
“And your hair is so gorgeous” I say, turning to Vardi. “You’ll have to tell me how it’s not frizzy, I can never get my curls to… Oh no. It feels weird.”
I’m on my feet, supported by Magnar, who’s almost bent in half to get his arm around me. He chuckles as he leads me away from the table, and I try to turn and wave goodbye, but the floor rocks too much and I almost fall.
Magnar sweeps me off my feet into the cradle of his arms. I beam at him, putting my arms around his neck. It gives me excellent access to his hair. I grab fistfuls of it and sigh in bliss when it turns out exactly as soft as I expected.
“You have the prettiest hair,” I croon, letting my head loll back against his shoulder. “And so soft. I want to braid it someday. Can I?”
His eyes sparkle with mirth as he looks at my face, and I don’t know whether it’s because of my blurry vision, or maybe he looks reallyaffectionate and handsome tonight.
“You can play with my hair all you want once we get to the keep,” he says, and I breathe him in, cloves, and wine, and leather.
“And you smell nice,” I say with a happy sigh.
