“I promise, later, when I am able, I will not simply take from you. I will give you everything.”
I don’t truly understand what that means, but if it’s anything like the feel of his lips, I am sure I’ll enjoy it. I tip my head back, exposing my neck to him. The fear of that acute pain is gone, replaced by heady anticipation. I trust him not to hurt me.
His mouth finds my tender skin. Moments later I feel a sharp prick, but the sting fades almost instantly. I let my body sink into the mattress as I give Atticus what he desperately needs.
It’s still dark when I stir.
Suri.
I bolt up in bed and swing my legs over the edge. And then I remember that I already fed her and I’m with Atticus in his chamber.
Cool air brushes across my naked skin. The terrace doors are thrown open, and Atticus stands outside under the moonlight. He must have gotten up to remove his breeches and boots because he wears nothing as he peers out over his lands.
I admire a shadowy view of his beautiful and strong form for a moment before I collect my robe and join him outside. “Feeling better?”
He inhales sharply. “You startled me.”
“I didn’t mean to.” I didn’t think that was possible for his kind, but he must be deep in thought. I hug the robe as I step out, fighting the urge to shiver. The stone is cold on my feet. “I’m glad to see you up.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I think mostly thanks to Wendeline.” And Romeria.
“Do not trivialize what you give.” He reaches for me.
I slip under his arm, and he sandwiches me between his muscular body and the terrace stone wall.
“Warmer?”
“Yes. Thank you. Are you not cold?”
“No. But I’ll gladly take some of your heat.” He steps closer.
My breath hitches at the feel of his hard length against the small of my back, but he only cocoons me within his arms. “What are you doing out here?”
“Thinking.” He pauses. “If you had the chance to live for centuries beyond your mortal years, would you wish to, Gracen?”
“I …” His question catches me off guard. “I’ve never considered it.”
“Never? Truly?”
“No. We are not allowed to.”
“But what if you were allowed to?”
I peer up to meet his gaze. “Is this a test?” Why would he ask such a thing?
“There is no wrong answer here. I am curious. What would your answer be?”
“I suppose …” I think of Mika’s big blue eyes and Lilou’s cherub cheeks. “I live for my children. I cannot imagine making a choice like that. One that would keep me here centuries after they are gone.” I shake my head. “No, that doesn’t sound like something I would want to do.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You did? How?” I look up again, this time to see a sad smile.
“Because I know you better than you think I do.” He tightens his arms around me.
It feels like an embrace between lovers. At least, it’s what I’ve imagined. I’ve never experienced it before. Is this what they mean when they say the tributary-and-keeper relationship can be special? Intimate?
If so … I hope it is years before Atticus tires of me. But he will tire of me. I will grow wrinkled and gray, my body soft, and he will want a younger tributary to meet his needs. And I will become just the baker once more.
If this is how Atticus was with Sabrina, I can see why she is so heartbroken. Perhaps it is better that he moves through them quickly, so they can’t grow too attached.
“I sense your worry.” His voice is gravelly, close to my ear. “What is it?”
The king doesn’t want to hear about my insecurities. “Do you think you will have the strength to lead this battle in the east?” I ask instead.
“I have no choice, but yes, I will have all the strength I need. Why? Are you worried about me?”
“Yes.” I steal a glance over my shoulder at his handsome profile as he looks to the sky, but there is no hint of dawn yet. Still, it can’t be far away.
A sly grin curls his lips. “I do not think you truly appreciate my skills. Though I suppose I can’t fault you. You’ve never seen them firsthand.” His hips press harder against my back, and another wave of heat rushes over me.
I want Atticus to touch me. It’s an acute feeling, an acknowledgment deep inside my core, as I ache for him in a way I never have before. On impulse, I rock backward against him.