The Healer . . . the one at the hearing today.
Tiras’s brows rose as if I’d surprised him, and my heart twisted in my chest, interpreting his surprise as confirmation.
Kjell followed her from the hall.
Kjell cursed, and Tiras sat back in his chair, regarding me with hooded eyes.
Is she here? In the castle?
“No,” Tiras admitted. “But we know where she is.”
Kjell cursed again, and Tiras dismissed him with a terse command, his eyes never leaving mine. When the heavy door closed behind Kjell, I continued.
I will not be discarded.
“What?”
She might be able to heal you. I cannot. But I will not be cast aside.
"Is that what this is about, Lady Degn?”
She is of use to you. Have I outlived my usefulness?
“You are of great use to me. I will put a child in your belly. A son who will be king.”
I hissed at his smirk, suddenly so angry I lost my ability to be coherent.
Arrogant . . . ass . . . impossible!
I couldn’t get the words out fast enough, and I stood, clenching my fists, gritting my teeth, holding myself perfectly still so I wouldn’t hurl myself at him.
Tiras laughed as he rose, and I knew he was intentionally provoking me.
“Look at you! Standing there like a bloody ice sculpture. But there is fire beneath that ice. I’ve felt it,” he insisted. “You try so hard to be indifferent, but you are anything but indifferent.”
I am not a weapon, and I am not a breeding mare! You want to use me? I won’t let you.
He advanced on me, arrogant and all-knowing.
“You won’t LET ME?”
I won’t let you!
Tiras drew so close that I had to crank my head back to see his face. Our bodies did not align—I was too small for that—but his hips pressed high on my belly and my breasts were flattened against him. His hands stayed at his sides, but he was using his size to intimidate me, and that made me even angrier.
You think because you are bigger than I am that you can force yourself on me?
“I don’t have to force myself. You know it, and I know it.”
I am your wife, but I will do as I please, I raged, and the spell rose in my head without effort.
Belt that holds my husband’s pants,
Loosen now and make him dance.
Tiras’s belt flew from his breeches like a sea serpent, slithering through the air only to strike at him with its tail. He stepped back from me, his eyes growing wide as he gripped the gyrating length of leather, holding it at arm’s length with one hand as he held up his pants with the other. But I wasn’t finished.
Boots upon my husband’s feet,
Kick him so he’ll take a seat.
Tiras fell flat on his behind as his boots shimmied and wriggled free, throwing him off balance. His boots then proceeded to kick him on his back and his thighs as he yowled in stunned outrage. “Lark!”
Shirt upon my husband’s chest,
Wrap yourself around his head.
His tunic promptly rose like Tiras was shrugging it off, only it wrapped itself around him, obscuring his angry face. I started to laugh then. I couldn’t help it. He looked so ridiculous sitting on the floor of the library, his socks hanging from his feet, his breeches falling around his hips, his shirt over his head, and his boots and belt attacking him.
Tiras lashed out and grabbed my skirts, yanking me down beside him. “Call off the hounds, Lark!” he bellowed, and I laughed even harder, shaking with mirth even as he rolled himself on top of me and valiantly fought the tunic that kept wrapping itself around his face. The tunic was slightly dangerous, the boots weren’t very accurate, and the tail end of the belt had made a welt across my cheek. I decided enough was enough.
I performed a sloppy rhyme, and Tiras let out a stream of profanities as the shirt ceased its murderous attempts and the belt and boots fell to the floor, inanimate once again.
Tiras’s breathing was harsh and fast, his hair mussed and falling over his eyes as he braced his forearms on either side of my head. His big body pressed me into the floor, making it hard to draw breath. I was well and truly trapped, but I felt like the victor regardless.
Are you injured, husband?
He was glaring and angry for all of three seconds. Then the lines around his eyes deepened and a smile broke out across his face. He laughed with me, but he kept me pinned beneath him, his face inches from mine.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
Immensely.
“Tell me this, wife. Is there a spell to quickly remove your dress?” he whispered, still smiling, his breath tickling my mouth.
I felt my face grow hot, and I closed my eyes, trying to retreat, even as I immediately considered a spell to render us both naked.
“I will put a baby in your belly,” he promised, and the mirth was mixed with determination.
My eyes snapped open as he brushed his lips across mine, back and forth, like he was painting with his mouth. The sensation made the roof of my mouth tingle, the palms of my hands tickle, and the bottom of my stomach turn over. He didn’t increase his tempo or his pressure, and he spoke even as his lips caressed mine.
“You have all this power—you heal, you convince, you persuade, you destroy—but you want me to believe you feel nothing,” he murmured. “I know differently.”
I have all the power, but you will destroy me.
“Only your walls, Lark.” He deepened the kiss, licking into my mouth as if he knew he’d find me there hiding from him. My toes curled against the rug, and my body softened beneath his, wanting to accommodate him, even as I turned my head, denying him to prove I could. He moved his mouth to my neck, whispering as he kissed my throat.