"Really?" I say, my voice shaking together with my head.
He grins and it makes my knees weak. "No, but you look like such an imbecile right now."
"Oh my gods. Fuck you!" I say, cackling with laughter. I’m such an idiot sometimes. “Stellan once told me that if I hung from a bar for long enough, I’d grow three inches taller. I hung until I dislocated my shoulder.” Rexxan is laughing too now, absentmindedly skimming stones over the water’s surface.
I feel so free when I'm with him. I can't explain it. People often say that when they’ve found the right person they feel free to finally be happy. But it’s not just that. With Rexxan, I feel free to be sad. To be anxious. To feel unsure. Free to wear my troubles on the outside without judgment, and that means so much more.
He uncorks the wine—of course he has a corkscrew in his pocket—and takes a long swig, handing it to me.
"About what happened—“
"Renna, it's fine."
"No, I should explain. What happened with Kelen, it wasn't a questioning of your authority, and it absolutely wasn’t an attempt at disturbing any of those stones in the Vault. It was an attempt at repairing my relationship with the River Folk for the good of my own people. I was doing what I believed a good leader should. I never meant for any of it to end that way."
"I understand. Kelen won't lay another finger on you."
"He was just angry. Wait—what did you do to him?"
"Let's just say...," he drums his ringed thumb on his thigh as if he is bored of talking about it,"...he has fewer fingers to be able to lay on you."
Did he...he didn't. Did he? He cut off another King's fingers for touching me? Why is that making me aroused? He’s reading my mind again, I know it.
"Are you okay?" He asks, looking at me like he’s worried I’m going to implode.
I nod, clearing my throat and feigning nonchalance. "Just surprised. I knew you were ruthless, but you seemed quite forgiving to me."
"Only to you," he replies, his deep voice caressing my skin like butter.
We sit in comfortable silence for a short while, watching the birds. These non-awkward silences are new to me. With Rexxan, I don’t feel the need to fill them. He’s so deep in thought all the time, that it always seems a shame to disturb him.
"It was my mother," I say after a silent five minutes, surprising us both. "The reason I can't have children."
His gaze never leaves the last of the red sunlight dancing on the water, and it makes me feel more comfortable. "How?"
How? It’s an interesting question. Most people want to know why. But how? "It was some yellowish potion, my mother performed a spell, I was sick for weeks. I was shivering. I don't remember it too well."
He nods like that’s all the information he needs. "I know of it. It’s a spell—a curse, almost.”
"You do? Do you think...I mean...does it work? Is it unliftable? Is it effective?"
He nods again, not saying anything but confirming what I already know. I’ll never carry a child. "Was it hard? Being a single parent?"
"Yes. I was very depressed," he replies, brutally honest as usual. "Not because of him, but because I'd just lost my family. It felt hypocritical to tell my son to be happy when I didn’t know how to do it myself. But we stumbled through, he's turned out more than fine, and we're close with each other. He’s so old now that we’re friends rather than father and son. We’re two of the oldest people left on earth.”
I smile. I like the way he talks about his son with such pride. "Is Lynna here? In Rinnia?"
He nods, passing me the wine. Encapsulated in light from the red evening sun and then the purple twilight, we spend four hours ironing out our arguments, getting heated in places but eventually settling on common ground. I like that we can do that. I like that we can listen to and empathise with each other. He stands, pulling me up. "I ought to get back. I'm meeting Espan first thing."
I rest my head against the muscles of his chest, feeling the warmth of his burns beneath his shirt. In this moment, life feels so serene. Like maybe, in some fucked up way, we’ll both find happiness one day. Not in each other, unfortunately, but somewhere. He tips my chin up with the side of his index finger, planting the gentlest of kisses on my lips. "I missed how you taste."
I smile, kissing him again while his hand snakes down my back, squeezing my curves. "It's wrong of me to ask, but I have to," he whispers, between kisses. "How many men have known the paradise between your legs since you last saw me?"
He always knows when I lie. I opt for the truth. "None."
"And why is that?"
“You’re a real arrogant bastard. Does anyone ever tell you that?”
