“...What?” He wets his lips.
“Do you want me to go slow or do it all at once?”
“Get it over with.”
“There’s more of it. It’ll hurt worse.”
“Damnation, knight. Just do it already.”
I press a palm to each of his thighs, and pretend not to notice the way he tenses.
Come here,I tell the crystal, and raise both hands an inch off his skin.
It surges gleefully towards me, tearing through his skin, each line and circle and mark turning into a bloody gash.
“Fuck,” Roiven bellows, as the magic bursts free.
I stagger back, hands in front of me, and sit hard on the floor. The crystal and blood slurry clings to me.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, and stares down at the wounds I’ve left on his skin. “You’re done already? That’s all of it?”
Exhausted, I nod. It’s the most I’ve ever done at once. The crystal is trying to bury itself inside me. I tell it not to, but it’s hard to be firm when I’m this drained.
“I can feel my power again,” he murmurs. And even though he must be in pain he breathes a laugh, then grins.
The expression falls when his eyes find me on the floor, holding my hands out in front of me. How many lives went into the crystal covering my skin? How many will go into destroying the Tower?
How did I let anyone convince me this was right?
The Witch King grabs the bowl and the pitcher and kneels before me.
“You’re bleeding,” I tell him.
“I’m fine. Hold your hands out.”
He nudges the bowl beneath me and pours clear, clean water over my hands. I work off every bit I can. Then Roiven stands, heads to the room’s fountain, and returns with soap.
There’s blood running down his thighs, gathering in the rivulets of his muscles and sliding over the contours of his kneecaps.
It looks painful. My head feels woozier with each passing moment as I use the soap. I nod slightly to one side.
“Don’t fall,” he says, and grabs my shoulder.
“I won’t,” I say. He looks like he doesn’t believe me. “Really.” It was a larger patch of skin than the obedience, but being rested, full, and hydrated seems to have made a difference.
“Lie down,” he says. I wobble as I start to stand, and Roiven’shands find my hips to steady me and pull me up. He guides me to the bed and I collapse gratefully on top of it, face-down.
“You need bandages,” I mumble.
“I can do it.”
I nod and let my eyes fall closed.
“Don’t try and touch me.”
“As if I would.”
That sounds like a lie to me, with the way his body reacted. But I hear Roiven moving about for a few minutes as he bandages the wounds. Cloth rustles as he pulls his trousers back up. The room brightens as the door opens, and then goes dark again.
