Page 220 of Blood Curse

We sat with that for a moment, letting the truth stay simple.

A knock came as I finished the last piece of toast. Two women from the court carried buckets of steaming water into the dressing room. They asked where I wanted them, waited for my answer and poured them into the copper bath. Their attention caught on Stellan in the bed and slid away again without either woman lowering her head.

When they left, I locked the door with my own hand.

Steam filled the small room. I shrugged out of Stellan’s robe and stepped into the water.

“Fuck.”

Heat found every scratch at once. I gripped the rim until the sting eased. Stellan came in behind me, moving slowly but upright. He had traded the loose shirt for a fresh bandage around his chest and stood bare above the waist.

I looked at the flat planes of his stomach, the dark line of hair disappearing under his waistband and the bruising spread around the white dressing.

“You are supposed to be bathing,” he said.

“I’m appreciating the view.”

He lowered himself into the bath behind me with one hand braced on the wall. The water reached his ribs but left the bandage dry. I settled between his legs, my back resting carefully against the uninjured side of his chest.

Stellan worked warm water through my hair. His fingers slowed when they reached the shallow wounds around my scalp. He cleaned away the last traces of blood without treating me as though I might break.

I closed my eyes.

Yesterday, touch had always carried a question. Was the Crown using it? Was I? Would hunger turn my hands into weapons? The questions had gone. Stellan’s palm moved over my shoulder, and all I felt was him.

I took the cloth from the edge of the bath and washed the dried blood from his throat and collarbone. His eyes stayed on my face. When I reached the skin beside his dressing, I slowed but didn’t stop.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Less than it did.”

I cleaned the edge and moved on.

We stayed until the water cooled. Afterwards, he wrapped me in a towel, and I helped him back to bed. The robe landed on the floor. My towel followed it.

His gaze moved over me, hot enough to wake every part of my body that belonged to me alone.

I climbed under the blankets naked. He joined me in clean sleep trousers, one arm opening so I could fit against him without touching the wound. His palm rested on my hip. Mine rested over his heart.

We slept.

Sleep took me without a guard against the next attack. The latch held the door shut, my voice stayed silent and my head carried only the thick, dreamless pull of exhaustion.

When I woke again, sunlight had broken through the clouds. Stellan was watching me.

“How long?”

“Two hours.”

I listened to his heart under my palm. The beat was strong and even.

“We should go downstairs,” I said.

“We should.”

Neither of us moved for another minute.

The Night Hall looked larger without kneeling bodies.