Page 58 of Prize for the King
“Will you stop punishing me when we get to the keep, my diamond?” he asks, his voice on the verge of breaking. “Please. I’ll never use your body like that again.”
I startle, because I’ve entirely forgotten the reason why Khay stopped sleeping in my bed. I didn’t mind him rocking against me in the least. It was just, well, convenient to push him away, and he suggested the punishment himself. The familiar guilt surges in my chest, unquenchable, sick.
“You’re forgiven, Khay,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not punishing you. I just… I need a moment alone.”
He sighs and pulls away, motioning me intothe cool room. “I’ll be right outside, my lady.”
I take my time, enjoying the comfort of a proper toilet after having to squat in the bushes on the road. When I’m almost done, male voices filter through the door, Khay speaking to another man in the Agnidari language.
“Caliane, I need to leave for a minute,” he says. “Stay there until I come to get you. Keep the door locked, please.”
I wash my hands and face, then undo the top ribbons holding my bodice in place and splash cold water on my throat and nape, too. The towels here are soft, and the soap smells like honey. I cool my hands and face until my nose is numb.
So what if they hate me? It’s not like they’ll ever see me again. Magnar will probably lock me up in the keep for safety. After all this, it will turn out things haven’t changed at all, will it? Just like in my father’s castle, I’ll spend my days doing pointless things to fill my time until I give Magnar an heir—gods, a squirming, tiny, gray-skinned baby with strange eyes—and then, I’ll be busy raising the child until he wants another.
That’s an existence I’ve been prepared for all my life. There’s comfort in familiarity, even if the future stretching ahead seems so utterly lonely and bleak. That one moment of camaraderie, of utter belonging with these four men when we laughed together shines like a beacon in my mind, something I could have, a dream just out of reach.
Anyway, where is Khay?
I get anxious when I realize he’s been gone for a good five minutes, if not more. When there’s a knock on the door, I sigh in relief. “Gods, Khay, what took you so…”
I trail off, looking at a blue-haired Agnidari woman standing in the threshold of the bathroom with a pleasant smile. She’s dressed in the Agnidari fashion, in a green dress and a blouse, with a white, crispapron on top. And yet, she’s much shorter than the other women I saw—we stand nose to nose. When she turns a little, I realize it’s because she’s a hunchback.
“Follow, follow,” she says, motioning at me with a clawed hand. Her voice is heavily accented, and I get the impression she won’t tell me much more.
“Where’s Khay?” I ask, looking left and right, but the corridor on either side of her is empty.
She nods emphatically. “Hara!Khay,hara.Follow, follow.”
I hesitate, checking again, but there’s no sign of my knight. The woman smiles encouragingly, beckoning me with her long finger. “Khay,nahiri.Follow, follow.”
I rock on the balls of my feet, indecisive. On the one hand, Khay told me to wait, but what if he got held back? If he sent her here because he couldn’t come, I’ll be quite a dummy if I insist on staying in the bathroom while the time Magnar allotted for eating ticks away. My stomach grumbles, reminding me how hungry I am.
That’s what settles my choice. I give up and nod.
The woman’s steps are small but quick as she leads me through the warren of corridors. I get the impression we’re taking a different route to the one that brought me here, but maybe it’s a shortcut. We go down a narrow staircase, and then into a corridor without windows, with tall doors on either side. There’s a heavy door at the end, standing ajar. I sigh in relief, thinking it must lead outside.
The woman stops and gestures at the door. “Khay,nahiri.Khay.”
I thank her with a smile and go through. The door slams shut behind me, and I turn fast, realizing this is not the way out but a dead end. I’m in a strange room with windows boarded with planks, the only light coming from a single candle sputtering on a low, messy table.
I tug on the handle and knock on the door, certain there must havebeen a mistake, but the door won’t open.
Oh no. No, no, no.
“Let me out!” I scream, the familiar panic clawing at my insides, the fear that lives in my guts choking me until I can’t breathe.
There are no windows, no way out, just like in the cellar. Just like back home, no one will come. No one ever comes.
“Help! Please! Let me out!” I beg, my voice so high-pitched, the words barely push out of my throat. The air grows thin, suffocating. I beat on the door in a frenzy, knowing I’ll faint soon. I always do, and then, I’ll wake here again, lost and confused, and so very scared.
“Someone! Please!”
“There’s no need for that, is there?”
I freeze with my fists pressed to the cool wood. The voice is male and unaccented,human. In my panic, I didn’t even notice that I’mnotalone in this room.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I turn around. At first, I think the voice must have been a figment of my imagination until the shadows in the farthest corner shift, and a man stands from an armchair. He walks into the circle of light cast by the candle, and I swallow nervously, looking him up and down.
