2
I lay on the bed next to Jon, studying his face as he slept.
He looked so incredibly peaceful curled up against my chest, a warm and sweet presence.
Still, there were aspects I didn’t like at all.
The raw skin on his neck and wrists infuriated me, marks of something he’d never should’ve had to endure.
He was thin, clearly so, and hadn’t been fed well in a long while.
I hated it and wanted to feed everything in the palace to him, but knew I needed to just make sure food was available at all times—let him regain the weight naturally.
He was exhausted, too, the arduous journey having taken a toll.
Mack had said Jon had lain down an hour before the dinner, but I hadn’t been able to wake him up before the dinner, or after.
He’d been asleep five hours solid and only prodding at him had gotten him to wake up for that two-minute-long conversation.
He’d likely sleep through the night unless forcefully awoken again.
I’d brought in cold cuts and bread for him, hoping to get him to eat something, but I’d leave it under the basket cover near the bed. If he woke up in the middle of the night hungry, he’d have something to eat.
In so many ways, Jon reminded me of a stray cat.
He wanted to be loved, he liked people, but he’d been so poorly treated he didn’t know how to trust. Even with his eyes, which apparently saw everything, he found it hard to trust in the hand I extended to him.
Still, he trusted enough to sleep soundly in my bed.
And he apparently desired me as well, since he’d asked for sex.
The memory of that whispered statement floated through my mind again, and I grinned at him. Oh, there would be sex tomorrow. Of that I was sure. I’d seduce him, show him just how generous I could be. Perhaps I’d need to seduce him into choosing me as an anchor, too. I’d keep that as an option.
I’d told my family about him throughout dinner, and the news had been received with mixed emotions.
My parents were excited I had found a psychic I wanted to anchor with, of course, and Mack had relayed how good-natured Jon was.
But they’d also been wroth with Jon’s former king for his insult when Tennoa had been arguing with Orleansa about trade treaties because they enslaved people.
I was angry enough to think war a perfectly valid response right now.
After I’d reported to my king, he had been beside himself, ready to lay waste to the Orleansan capital in response.
We’d talked of the best way to respond, of how to phrase a letter, but no language felt strong enough to convey our disgust and rage over this “gift” of theirs.
But that was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, ensuring Jon rested safely and comfortably, that was my responsibility.
I rose from the bed long enough to bathe away the sand and heat of the day, almost strolled naked to the bed, thought better of it, then put on sleep pants before slipping under the sheets.
I cuddled in close to Jon once more, turning us about so I could spoon him from behind.
Ah, better. We could both rest well now.
I let my eyes slip closed, enjoying the feel of his skin against mine.
He was a beautiful man, even poor diets and lack of sleep couldn’t disguise that, and I wanted him ardently.
It was quite the compliment that he clearly felt the same way for me.
Still, what I wanted was this man’s full trust, to see him flourish and come into his own, to watch him take an elevated status in society, as he was rightfully due.
I wanted the world for him.
How to convince him of that, I wasn’t sure. How to convince him that I trusted his eyes, I wasn’t sure of that either.
It seemed we had much to discuss in the morning.