FOR HER, HE WILL SET EVERY KINGDOM ON FIRE.
Kyron LeFur never wanted to be king. He may have united a torn people and ended a bloody war, but none of that matters without his queen. She sacrificed her crown for him, and now he will stop at nothing t...
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The tip of a needle sinks into my skin, and I bite down on the end of a thick leather belt. My eyes water as I pull the white thread taunt, closing the gash on the outside of my thigh one agonizing stitch at a time. So far, I've sewn eleven sloppy stitches into my body with nothing to numb the pain or properly clean the wound. The Allaji rarely use medics, preferring to shift into their animal form and heal naturally. Zek offered to send a wolf to lick the bloody mess he made of my leg, claiming there are healing properties in the animal's saliva, but I turned him down. I would rather suffer the loss of my leg than let another Allaji touch me.
I don't regret my decision. No, I savor the pain. It's the first time I've felt something truly intense since I was taken from Kyron. Every prick of the needle burns through me, making my chest ache and my skin clammy. The rush doesn't compare to the touch of Kyron's fingers or the giddy fluttering in my stomach when he is near, but it is a well-needed distraction. Each unbearable pull of the thread breaks through the numb, hallow space at the center of me.
Ulric groans, and I look up at him from my place on the floor. The guards threw him haphazardly across my bed, with one leg hanging from the side of the mattress. His rib cage is dark purple and blood oozes from the open gnash across his back. Every anguished sound leaving him breaks my heart, but I can't properly care for him until I piece myself together, even if it is in messy, mismatched parts.
I plunge the needle into me and close my eyes as I slowly pull the string. A sound between a sigh and a whimper escapes my lips. Pointing the sharp tip, I prepare to break through the skin again when a gentle knock comes from my door. My gaze darts around the room, hunting for something to cut the thread. In my rush to close the wound, I never took into consideration how I would tie off the stitches and release the needle. I just wanted to get the task done so I could care for my friend.
The knocking comes again, this time with more urgency.
"Coming," I say, fumbling to my feet.
Holding the needle away from my skin, I limp across the room and crack open the door. Ulric's vulnerable state has me blocking him from view. I'm scared that if someone sees him bleeding on my bed, they might strip him away from me before I can try to mend him back to health. I peak through the slit in the door at the tall, thin woman with warm brown skin and dark eyes. She holds a platter of cheese and fruit like it's a peace offering and says, "I heard you had a tough day, so I thought I'd stop by with some food." Her gaze darts toward the small satchel she grips under the silver platter.
My shoulders slump with relief, and I step aside to allow Ashavee in. She breezes past me, and the ends of her long black hair tickle my arms. Unlike most of the women in the palace, she doesn't wear flowing fabrics, opting for soft breeches and a simple wrap to cover her ample breasts. She also doesn't frequent the throne room or show jealousy over the attention Zek gives me. She has been the closest thing I have to a friend here.
She sets the plate on the round table in front of the window and pauses to look me over. "What do you have going on there?" She tilts her dimpled chin at the needle between my fingers.
