AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He was clinging to me now, fingers clawing at me as if to convince himself I was real, and the stream of incoherence descended into gasps for air.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his head dropping to my shoulder. “They just made me so angry and I knew you’d be pissed, and I can’t breathe, it hurts, I need to…”
His words faded entirely, replaced by desperate hyperventilation.
I slid my hand up to his neck and squeezed.
Ren’s eyes closed and he instantly relaxed, his whole body going limp against me.
“Shush,” I murmured, stroking my free hand through his hair as I held him tight. His love of being choked wasn’t about losing his breath – he did that already in his panic – but about the control of recovering it. About trusting someone to take it away before it was stolen from him, and being able to restore it whenever he chose.
Although he was taking a long Blessed time to do it. I was starting to get worried and had just decided to let go of him myself when his hand snaked up and tugged mine free. Ren heaved in a breath: this time deep, slow, and steady, and when his eyes met mine they held none of the terror they had a minute ago.
“Better?” I asked.
He nodded, not bothering to lift his head so he dragged his cheek up and down against my shirt. “Smells like oranges.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Because some asshole mistook me for a damn hand towel.”
“Or maybe he just wanted you to have something to remember him by today,” Ren insisted as he finally raised his head.
“Oh yes,” I said dryly. “Without fruit-scented clothing, however would I have recalled that I’m married to the most important prick in the country?”
Yet instead of returning my teasing, Ren’s expression morphed into devastation.
“Mat, I…did I miss our dinner, too?”
“Don’t worry about it-”
“Of course I’m worrying about it! I promised you I’d be there!” His fingers scrabbled at my arms again as he muttered apologies down at my boots.
Damn it. He was still fretting. I needed to give him another way to take back control and restore his equilibrium before we talked about all this.
I put my fingers on his lips to quieten him, and then reached up to undo the scarf that was always tied around Ren’s neck while outside of our private rooms. It was funny how, when its king started wearing one, so many of Quareh’s citizens followed the trend. It made me laugh whenever I saw similar scarves around both men and women’s throats, wondering what they’d say if they knew the real reason for the fashion choice.
The silver scarf fell away to reveal Ren’s collar, a band of dark leather fitted snugly around his throat.
I gave a pleased hum at the sight, and my husband’s eyes glittered with wistful hopefulness.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s one of those times. Turn around.”
He did so without complaint; another sign that he wasn’t in tune with his usual Ren-ness.
Swallowing down the urge to tear the entire Council to pieces for turning him into this fragile, apologetic shell of himself, I unlatched the buckle on the back of his collar.
“Three notches,” he ordered.
“Two,” I countered. Three was dangerous, and he knew it.
“But I…two is fine,” he agreed meekly, and I glared at the back of his neck as I fastened the collar up again, two notches tighter. He shivered.
I couldn’t even recall whose idea it had been, only that one drunken night, one of us had reasoned that if I bore Ren’s name, he should bear something that marked me as his in turn.
And less than a week later, he’d woken me with a box in his hands, grinning ear to ear. I’d made him kneel while I put it on him – if the prick was going to have his own damn collar made, a few minutes of humility was the least he deserved – and fuck, both of us nearly came from that alone. To see him marked with a band of tasteful leather that had my name on it, embossed in cursive letters around the entire length of the collar? For weeks, I’d found myself running my fingers over the indented script, marvelling in a feeling of such happiness, it was unreal.
We normally kept it tight enough for Ren to feel it against his throat, every breath a reminder of me, but loose enough for him to function normally. I didn’t want to be responsible for a passed-out king or a series of oxygen-deprived decisions inflicted on Quareh, no matter how much he’d complained.
But now?
