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Kazimir sighs. “You aren’t trained to suffer through withdrawal for weeks, Atticus. You are not a legionary.”
“I knew my gluttony would come back to haunt me one day.”
“You are a greedy pig,” he mocks, but his tone shifts to seriousness. “You need to feed. You are long past due.”
“And what? Ask another guard to risk their life for me?” I can’t shake the bloodcurdling screams that echoed in my chamber when the Islorian fell to the floor in agonizing pain, as Sabrina realized she was the source.
The staff did a commendable job, scrubbing the blood from the carpet where I speared him with my blade, putting him out of his misery, and yet every time I look at that spot, I still see a fresh pool of crimson. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve battled, I’ve bled, I’ve killed. Why does this weigh so heavily on me now?
“I will do it—”
“No.” I glare at Kazimir. “You are far too valuable to me to risk.”
“You’re right, I am. So then pick someone you don’t like. That day guard of Princess Romeria’s. What was his name?”
I snort. “It seems a cruel punishment to anyone, friend or foe. I must assume any tributary I seek will be poisoned, ultimately.”
His lips twist with thought. “So then you risk one guard once and then have her sequestered here. The queen’s lady maid can bring her wine, to ensure it isn’t tainted. You trust her well enough to do that, right?”
“Corrin would not actively scheme against me.” But I wouldn’t be shocked if she buried the truth for those she cares about. “You’re suggesting I keep a prisoner in my bedchamber?”
“Let’s call her a long-term guest who gets to fuck the king nightly.” He smiles wryly. “You have many admirers. I doubt any of them would see it as a punishment.”
“Saoirse would not be pleased.”
“That alone would be worth it.”
It would be. “I do not think there is a tributary in this castle that I could tolerate living within my space.”
“No? Not even the baker?” His tone rings of teasing.
“That’s just it. She’s a baker, not a tributary. The royal family has always followed tradition when it comes to that.” A virtuous position, but one my parents felt set the right example for the realm.
“You seized your brother’s throne and exiled him. I didn’t think tradition would stop you.”
I glare at Kazimir. “Sometimes you go too far.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m only pointing out that these are different times, and you will have to bend more than one rule.”
I sigh. He’s not wrong. “She has three children. What am I to do with them?”
“Give her the queen’s quarters. There is plenty of room for all of them there.”
My head tips back as I bellow with laughter, imagining Saoirse’s rage. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“That is why you begged me to stay.” Kazimir watches a group of four down below, the females giggling as they head toward the cedar labyrinth. The cool evening air won’t stop whatever depraved acts they plan on participating in within the thicket. I would know—I’ve joined in plenty myself over the years. Gracen claimed my kind is far less modest than mortals, and she isn’t wrong.
“I do not know what it is about her.” I often wander the castle library when I want to clear my head. It’s peaceful in there. Running into Gracen was a welcome surprise, and while I may have been digging for information to find a deeper connection to Romeria, all I found was a comfortable, albeit nervous, companion.
I was equally startled to see her in the dining hall, her arms laden with a tray of my favorite sweet—something I’d admitted to earlier today—her face a mixture of trepidation and excitement. I noticed her before she realized it, but with Saoirse prattling in my ear, I had to keep up appearances and pretend not to.
And then her previous keeper pounced on her, and it took all of me to not intervene. The king siding with a mortal—the same one, again—would draw attention to her, and little of it would be good. I sent Kazimir in my stead, while feigning that I wasn’t glued to every second of the exchange.
“Right. You have no idea … You mean, besides that face and breasts that strain against her dress?”
“She’s nursing, you idiot.” None of my tributaries have ever had children, let alone newborns. For all my experience, I haven’t the first clue how that process even works.
And here I am, already thinking about her as if she’s my tributary.
“Nursing or not, I am more than willing to risk my life as your tester on that one. And if you don’t want her—”
“Don’t even think about it. Stick with your women down on Port Street,” I warn him.
