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I pull my focus away, to turn the pages. They are old but pristine. I doubt the book has ever been read by anyone but its author. It’s such a sweet and thoughtful gesture.
But how can Atticus be so thoughtful and sweet to me, and so cruel to others?
“I heard …” My voice fades as I lose my courage.
“You heard what?” There’s an edge to his tone.
I swallow. “That you are leaving to fight in the east within the hour?” It’s the truth and yet not what I intended, and something tells me he knows that.
“They are leaving shortly. I will ride at dawn. I would much rather remain here to ensure Cirilea’s strength, but I must lead my men as we deal with traitors in the east. I cannot allow this level of treason.”
“Will it be dangerous?”
“As dangerous as any battle is. Why? Are you worried for my safety?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice again.
I twist my body until I’m facing the Islorian king. “Of course I am. I do not wish to see harm come to you.” That, I can at least say honestly.
He pauses. “You’ve heard about the children too.” He must read the agitation in my every limb.
I nod.
“And what have you heard about the mortals?”
“That you are executing all who the priestess marks as infected. That your king’s guard is taking children from their beds in the night, without explanation, and leaving them alone in a room.”
“And you are bothered by it.”
Corrin’s warning is a shrill scream in my ear, and yet I can’t abide it. “Very much so.” Atticus did tell me to speak freely.
“As you should be.” His jaw tenses. “It bothers me too.”
“Why can’t you leave them be? The ones who aren’t tributaries, I mean. What flows through their veins should no longer be of consequence, as long as they contribute to their household as intended.”
“I wish it were that simple. But the mortals who show as infected can no longer remain with their keepers. They will not be welcome there anymore.”
“And the children your king’s guard has taken?”
“Will either be fed the poison unknowingly or become tributaries far too young, with or without my blessing. The safest place for them right now is in the castle.”
I’m beginning to see his rationale, even if it’s hard to digest. “For how long?”
“Until I know for sure they are safe,” he answers cryptically. “But I’ve ordered Boaz to stop executing the ones who didn’t knowingly consume it, and to keep them in the arena under protection.” He watches me, as if weighing my reaction.
“That’s … good.” For now.
“The reason I came here, Gracen, is that the mortal children in the ballroom need care, and I would like you to be in charge of it.”
“Me?” I squeak.
“I cannot think of a better person for this particular role.” His eyes drift over my face. “I trust you to ensure they are cared for properly while they are held here. I trust you, period.”
I feel lightheaded. “Of course, Your Highness. Yes, I will do it.”
He smiles. “I will advise Boaz that he is to accommodate all of your requests, whatever they may be. Blankets, food, additional support … whatever you deem necessary, he is to comply without question. You give the order, and it is done.”
My mind spins. Me, giving orders to others? I cannot fathom it. But for these children, I can do it. “Can I go see them now?” They must have been in there for hours.
His hand folds over mine. “Shortly. If you’ll allow me another moment of your precious time.” He grazes my cheek with the backs of his knuckles before smoothing his palm over my neck.
I swallow. “Did you need me?” I reach for the collar of my dress, ready to unfasten and push it away, to give him access, glancing cautiously toward the stairs at the other end of the cellar.
“Kazimir will not let anyone enter. And, yes, I need you, Gracen. But not like that.” The intent in his gaze is potent, intoxicating.
My body flushes with anticipation. “Thank you, Atticus, for the book, and for trusting me with so much.” I stretch up and press a chaste kiss against his lips. When I break free, he chases, his other hand finding its way to my hip as his mouth collides against mine, as if he was restraining himself but can’t anymore.
Our tongues tangle much like they did last night, his powerful body enveloping me, his hand venturing from my hip to my backside, down to my thigh.
“Can I?” I reach out with a tentative hand, curling a short wisp of his hair between my fingertips.
“You don’t have to ask for permission, Gracen,” he whispers against my mouth. “In fact, please do not. And you may touch me anywhere you wish to.”
