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He made a pained sound, half-growl, half-groan. “I suppose I could pass her off to the wet nurse. We could have breakfast in bed.”
“Don’t you dare. You’ve promised baby Medra a ride,” I chided. “Besides, I just got her into that contraption.”
“Fine,” he assented. “But later...”
“Yes. Later.” I bit my lip, feeling a familiar heat instantly kindle between my thighs at the sound of the word and its connotation. An entire afternoon in bed, perhaps. To banish the nightmares.
Draven leaned forward, one hand cupping Medra’s head, covering her tiny ears.
“In the meantime,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. “I’ll be imagining doing so many things to you, Morgan. Many, many things. Later.”
He stepped forward and kissed me, a kiss slow and simmering, his lips warm and firm against mine, and a quiver went down my spine as my own imagination began to dance.
We stepped out into the corridor and began making our way down to the great hall.
Usually one of the wet nurses slept in the little servant’s room outside of the main bedroom so we could call on her during the night. But Draven liked the freedom of having bottles prepared so that we could keep to ourselves. This worked out fairly well... except when the newborn had a sudden appetite surge.
I glanced at Medra. It was actually miraculous she was being this patient. Usually, the infant would have been a squalling ball of rage by now. But Draven’s proximity seemed to calm her. It always did.
“Hawl keeps some bottles of expressed milk in the kitchens in a cool place. They’re replenished every day or two. Chances are we can find one to give her. If not, we’ll have to summon a nurse,” Draven said, explaining his plan.
I nodded. He had concerned himself with the details of tending to Medra much more than I had. Feeding her, cleaning her, changing her. Oh, I helped, of course. And we were very fortunate to have servants. But I knew Draven believed she was our responsibility, that we should be doing as much as possible by ourselves.
I bit my lip. Except... we couldn’t. Not for much longer.
Soon, Medra would be left alone again. Her life would dramatically change once more. The people who were supposed to care for her, gone in an instant.
And would we return?
It was cruel. So cruel for a child to have to go through.
I knew, for I had gone through it myself.
Was that why I was already pulling away from her?
“Have you given more thought as to who we’ll ask to care for her?” I asked carefully.
We’d entered the Great Hall. The seat of my brother’s power.
Draven paused, his hand running over Medra’s small back as he looked around the room.
The king’s throne—the monarch’s throne, I corrected myself—stood alone on the dais. Orcades’s had been cleared away.
“Whosoever pulls the sword from this stone shall be the rightful ruler of all Aercanum.”
They were Orcades’s words. My heart ached as I remembered my sister’s blood-rimmed lips as she had spoken them. I didn’t like to think about what she had truly meant. The throne should remain empty. It wasn’t waiting for me. It was waiting for Kaye, I told myself. It always had been.
I caught Draven looking at a pile of dried out rose petals that had somehow still not been cleared away.
“Roses.” He shook his head disgustedly. “What sort of a man can ruin something as beautiful as a rose.” He looked over at me. “You’ll always be the queen of roses in my mind. And that throne over there—it will always be rightfully yours. Just as your sister said.”
“Don’t say such things,” I said quietly. “Isn’t one throne enough for me? It’s already one throne I didn’t want.”
“No one who wants power—”
“Should ever get it,” I finished. I wrinkled my nose at him playfully. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard your kernel of wisdom before. But perhaps it’s simply that those who don’t want power are too timid and incompetent in the first place to desire it. Perhaps they know they’re unsuited to it.”
Draven looked amused. “Timid? Incompetent? Is that what you think you are?”
