Page 42 of The Beast King's Bride

A marvelous feeling.

“Would my lady like me to scrub her back?” Auria says. “Or would you rather stay to soak in quiet? We could return a while later to help you dress.”

“That would be nice,” I mumble, sleepy and gradually relaxing after a night of holding myself still and tense, every muscle clenched and bunched. “Later.”

The two Fae curtsy and hurry out of the bathhouse, leaving me alone with the steam and the warmth and my currently quiescent thoughts.

I float, defrosting, thawing, melting, flashes of memories from my childhood rolling around my head—playing with my cousins, hiding in the throne room, pretending to dance, learning letters on a board. That sense of belonging, long gone. There’s no going back, I think, is there? Not to that.

“No going back,” I whisper as I hear footfalls approach. Is it Auria and Zylphia, has time slipped through my fingers again?

But these footfalls are heavier, a man’s footfalls, and before I realize what this means, the king walks inside.

Only dressed in his leather pants, his torso wrapped in a soiled bandage, he’s not looking my way. Jassin follows after him, holding a tray with what looks like a box on it. They seem to be in deep discussion, their heads bent toward each other. What is Jassin to him, I wonder, to cook and follow his orders but also to fuss over him and discuss important matters?

That’s until I realize the king didn’t walk in by mistake but plans on staying a while. I catch words from their low conversation as I sink lower inside the milky water until my head is hidden by the lip of the rock pool—words like “danger” and “missives” and “failure”.

Not reassuring, these words.

And that’s when I realize Jassin has put the tray by the pool and is helping the king undress as they talk.

The king has come to bathe.

Rats.

Where are Auria and Zylphia? I need to get out of here before he sees me, before he enters the pool—

“Anything else you need, Sire?” Jassin bows at the waist, dark hair hiding his face.

“I’ll be fine. Go see to the schedule of the day. Talk to the Seneschal, put the more recent losses on the map.”

“Sire…” Jassin seems to hesitate. “That wound, Sire.”

“Nothing to do about it. It will heal with time.”

“Give the word and I’ll cross to the human world and kill whoever stabbed you from behind.”

“Jassin…” The king’s voice dips at the end of the name as if cracking in two. “I forbid it. Now go and do as I bade you.”

“Sire.” Jassin takes a breath as if to speak again but says nothing else. He turns and his steps leave the bathhouse.

The king heaves a weary sigh and approaches the pool. I can see him now, though he’s entering at the other end from me and he’s in profile—long, muscular legs, broad shoulders, those curving horns, that jaunty braid twitching against his firm backside.

Who knew a man’s backside could be so attractive? And his shoulders. And his square jawline. And… Gods, I think I’m about to combust. Is it getting too hot in here?

“Princess,” he says, jaw clenching, hands fisting at his sides. Muscles contract in his chest, casting every ridge and plane into start relief, turning him into a statue made of shadows and light. “I know you’re here.”

Busted, I press my back to the wall of the pool. At least the milky water is hiding me from the neck down.

I lift my chin. “Did you know I was going to be here? Did you come to see me naked?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He’s standing very still. “I told the maids I assigned to you that you were always welcome to the bathhouse. That is all.”

“So am I to believe that this is a mere coincidence?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Jassin rather insisted that I needed a bath now.” His voice drops. “Said that the water has healing properties that would be good for the damn wound.”

“Jassin.” I shake my head. When I glance up again, I find a strange expression on the king’s face—something like amusement and annoyance rolled into one. “Why would he do that?”

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