It’s okay, he mouths.
A second later, his brow creases, and he drops his head to look down, just as a patch of blood sews into his chest.
I try to scramble to my feet so I can go to him, to get my body to move, but the snow seems to stick me in place. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, limbs flailing over the ground that’s heavy and hot, while frustrated tears drip from my eyes when Sail begins to fade away.
“Sail!” I scream, but he just shakes his head. Mouths that, it’s okay.
Those words are a requiem that will always lament in my ears.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating this, hating that I still can’t save him, can’t save Digby. But then, a gasp tears from my throat, and my eyes shoot open again.
I blink heavy lids, realizing there is no snow, no heat, no Digby or Sail. Coming back into consciousness is like clearing smoke, trying to wave it away with my hands, but it doesn’t dissipate the haze.
I shove off the layers of blankets piled on top of me and sit upward in a bed I don’t recognize, my back slightly twinging. There’s a blazing fire burning in the hearth across from me, making me even hotter than the blankets I’m trapped in. Seconds coalesce, smoke thickening in my head.
Was I dreaming? I can’t remember now. My cheeks feel stained with tears, but I don’t know why. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with downy feathers, and there’s a throbbing between my legs, a wetness there.
I try to move, to talk, but I can’t.
Worry springs to my consciousness, and a low ache I can feel down my spine. I know there’s something important, something significant about all of this, but I’m not sure what it is.
Where am I?
Before my emotions strangle me, the haze beckons to me again, calling with a whisper of a breath. I lie down on my side, embracing the calm, humming at the delicious heat that’s clutching my body like a shroud.
I’m in and out.
Noises, voices I can’t decipher. Fuzzy images. There’s Scofield with his back to me. Another guard I don’t know. There’s a maid bringing in a tray. There’s Polly, sitting on the chair near my bed, holding a familiar little box, a stack of white petals inside.
So warm…
I press my thighs together, a throb at the apex of them that demands friction I can’t seem to give. My stomach is cramping slightly, and my breasts feel heavy, sensitive.
Every time the silk sheets shift against my skin, I feel it like a caress. My nerves are alight with the sensation. I try to drag off my gloves and tug at my nightgown so I can have the air on my bare skin, but my hands don’t work right.
Frustrated, my eyes close, and I just feel. I feel hands holding me on the railing of a stairwell. A mouth running up the side of my neck, and lips pressing against it with the barest hint of teeth. My body burns, the flames flooding my head with even more smoke.
I need more.
Something drags against my arm, and then I feel a wetness gather there too, like the trail of a tongue. I peel open my eyes and find Midas standing beside my bed. The thing touching me is a fur shawl, the wet sensation is my gold-touch leaking from my arm.
He moves the shawl away, and then there’s a dainty looking crown being pressed against my skin. Then, shells gathered along a silver chain necklace. Each thing that grazes me feels so good that I nearly moan aloud, my body hungry for touch.
Brown eyes flick up to me, and lips tilt up. “Ready for the ball, Precious?”
A ball? I envision supple dresses and honeyed wine and sweet tarts. I picture sensual music and my body being held as I dance.
I nod dazedly. Yes. A ball.
“Good. Sit up so you can dress.”
It takes effort to do as he says and push myself up, to slip my legs over the side of the bed. Meanwhile, he carries the items he held against my skin and takes them to the door, passing them to someone outside the room.
When he comes back to the bedside, he’s carrying a gown draped over his arm, white in color, looking as soft and smooth as butter.
“Put this on.”
I want to feel it against my skin, so I grip the nightgown around my waist and take it off. When I grab the new dress and pull it over my head, my skin washes it in gold, and this time, I do let out a moan. The bodice rubs against my bare breasts, peaking my sensitive nipples. The waist cinches like a lover’s hands gripping me, and the skirt strokes over my smooth thighs.
Delicious.
There’s a pause after the noise my throat rumbles out. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I, Precious?” Midas murmurs.
“Yes,” I breathe, basking in the feel of the creamy texture hugging my curves.