Page 72 of Prize for the King
I smile and hold my breath while water cascades down my head. Arvi sighs.
“My father used to braid ropes into my hair and tie me to the saddleof his horse to make me a fast runner. If I couldn’t keep up with the horse’s gallop, I was dragged by my hair, sometimes for miles.”
I open my eyes and stare, certain I couldn’t have heard what I just heard, while Arvi dunks the pot again, his face hard, eyes averted. When he makes to pour the water, I sit up and stop him.
“You… Hewhat?”
Arvi shrugs, straightening as he holds the leaking pot over the tub with spasming hands. He still avoids my eyes, his mouth working, jaw clenched tight.
“He wanted to make me tough. He was also a monster. I haven’t seen him in ten years, ever since I left to join Magnar’s army.”
I gape, finally realizing why Arvi told me—because like the dumbest moron, Iasked.
“You didn’t have to tell me,” I whisper. “Arvi, you… You can refuse to tell me things. I don’t want you to hurt.”
He finally looks at me, eyes belligerent. “Oh, but I wanted to tell you. Because you understand, don’t you? You know how it feels to be sliced and shaped until your spirit fits a mold of other people’s expectations. How it feels to be punished for everything they claim is a weakness until you stop believing you have a right to live in this world. You know.”
I nod slowly, mesmerized by his shockingly accurate words, my throat tight. He’s right. I know.
He nods back. “And now you know why I shave my head every morning, and why I’ll keep shaving it until I die. I have Magnar’s blessing to kill my father, but I’m waiting until my mother passes on. It would break her heart if she was alive to witness it.”
I raise my eyebrows, taken aback by the cold way he discusses patricide. But then, aren’t we a bit alike in that, too?
“I asked Magnar to put my father’s head on a spike. But don’task me why.”
Arvi nods. “Maybe someday. Let me finish rinsing and let’s finally go to bed. It feels like we’ve whipped each other raw,laruna.”
I nod with a small huff, tilting my head back. Raduna, who’s been silent through Arvi’s confession, begins singing a low, haunting song that could be a lullaby or a funeral dirge. Arvi works without speaking until he’s done, then helps me out of the tub. I make to dry myself, since he must be tired, but he snatches the towel away.
“Myduty,” he growls possessively as he runs the towel in careful circles down my arms and legs.
My hair keeps dripping onto the rug, so I step back and squeeze the water out into the tub. Arvi stands in front of me, so close, my nose almost brushes his vest, and takes over. Impulsively, I wrap my still damp arms around his waist.
I say nothing, because I don’t have the words, but I hope my embrace is enough. Arvi sighs, squeezing my hair one last time, and hugs me back. We press so close, our bodies mold together, and I can immediately tell he wants me as hardness rises against my belly.
“Ignore it,” he says hotly. “Oh, this is nice.”
When we pull apart, Raduna steps closer, watching me with dark, wanting eyes. “Can I have one, too, my queen?”
I open my arms, and Raduna bends low to bury his face in my wet hair, his hands sliding down to the small of my back. It’s shocking how easy it is to be naked with them once I got over the initial embarrassment. I feel safe.
Raduna clears his throat and steps back, and Arvi gets to work toweling my hair. This done, he hands me my nightshirt.
When I finally lie down in bed, Raduna stays, watching me with a serene expression while Arvi washes in my bathwater, the door half open. If I weren’t too ashamed, I might have tried to sneak a peek. My thoughts keep swirling lazily around everything we talked about, but they always come back to one terrifying sentence.
Cocks are thicker and longer than fingers.
I blush, hiding my face in my pillow. I’d really like to see a cock. Preferably before I have to face one—or four, since I still haven’t decided—on my wedding night. But then, what if it’s scary? Maybe it’s better not to know before it’s too late to back away. I grunt into the pillow, feeling giddy and embarrassed.
“What is it, my queen?” Raduna asks from his spot by the door. “Do you need something?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, remembering our unspoken deal made today. They answer my questions—and I, theirs. “Is it better to know ahead what danger one’s going to face or to be surprised once the battle commences?”
“Well-prepared soldiers fight best in my experience.”
I groan, kicking the blankets off in frustration. “But what if the danger is so terrifying, they’ll spend days fearing it before they even get to fight?”
He hums thoughtfully and finally shakes his head. “No, I’d still advise to prepare ahead. That way, they can deal with their fear and not be paralyzed when facing their foe.”
