‘Am I wearing a crown?’ you ask him, words soft as feathers. He shakes his head. ‘Then tonight I am not your king.’ And then you kiss him again, to remind him, and feel his warmth diffusing through your cold, grief-laden bones. He cannot fillthe hollows inside you, but he can close them off for a moment, because he’sthere, real and solid and burning in your hands.
You press yourself a little closer and he gasps into the kiss, and you know then that you could have him, in whatever way you wanted him, in all the ways you could never have had Bisclavret.Fealty. This man will give everything of himself to you.
It’s been so long since you wanted any of that. But his touch wakes something in you that has been long asleep, some hunger that yearns to be fed, and you find yourself helping him to remove the last of his clothes, the warm skin of his torso against yours the most exquisite sensation, your hands moving against his back in ways that make his breathing catch and stutter.
And you allow him to press you down into the bed. Allow yourself to want him. Allow yourself to pull him closer, to put down the walls you’ve built these last few months, to be held – allow yourself, for once, to be known.
32
Other
the woods breed hunters like decay
but this time the rot’s not distant,
baying of the hounds made phantom by remove;
this time the impact of the horses’ hooves
shakes the world, crumbling earth
into trembling pieces; this time the circle
closes like a trap, sprung unknowing.
they don’t know I’m here
the months have woven a new tapestry
from the colours of the forest,
trees shifting orange to skeletal to new growth
as the flowers keep time, scents and shoots
a wolf’s only calendar. but change
has been an external thing, a forgotten thing.
I thought I had nothing to be afraid of
now that the worst has happened
but there are hunters in these woods
not being afraid is a luxury
but riches ever fade
–if they knew it was me would they still hunt me–
and there’s a royal bloodlust to be slaked.
he is not a king who thirsts for blood
he is bright prince sword swinging laughter
he is king with heavy crown and banked fire and yearning
