Chapter 23
Roiven leads me to one of the courtyard’s other doors as I glower at his broad shoulders.
I’m expecting it to be his bedroom, and I hang back, uncertain what his aim is.
When he opens the door, I peer in to see a large but extremely plain room.
It’s just a bed with a single sheet on it next to a small table.
The table has bandages, a wide bowl, and a pitcher of water.
I should be relieved. He leans the swords against the wall.
“You want to do it here?” I glance over my shoulder at how nice the courtyard is.
“Privacy,” he admits, and shuts the door behind me. The room looks yellow from the bubbled glass window. “Shirt, again?”
I have to think for a moment, remembering the day I examined the full spread of enchantments on his body.
“This one’s on your thighs.”
“My…”
“I could do the pain rings instead,” I offer hopefully.
“No. Magic it is,” Roiven says, his voice rough. He won’t meet my eyes.
“Only if you’re comfortable stripping,” I say airily, hoping he’ll change his mind.
“I’ll do what I must. When you’re ready.”
“I am, witch.” I raise an eyebrow. Roiven nods sharply, his cheeks already a little darker.
I pretend to find the corner of the room incredibly fascinating as Roiven unties his trousers and steps out of them.
He’s still got drawers on, thin fabric that’s short enough it doesn’t cover much beside the bulge of his cock.
The restraint on his magic is on the front of both of his thighs, lines and circles that cover even more space than the obedience did.
Gods, he’s beautiful. But this is going to hurt.
I crouch down on the floor to come eye-level with the marks.
“Is… should I sit? Would that be less…” Roiven’s voice is strained.
I tilt my chin up to look at him. He braces one hand against the wall and looks down at me kneeing in front of his legs.
“You’re so easily bothered.”
“No, I just…”
The bulge between his legs stiffens, shifting beneath the fabric as he begins to harden just inches from my face. My own body tightens in response.
Is Roiven attracted to me? No, that’s ridiculous. He probably just likes the sight of a woman on her knees in front of him. Even one with a scarred face and a metal arm. Even one he hates.
I can’t resist teasing him. I look up at the witch through my eyelashes, lick my lips, and slowly bite my bottom lip. Roiven’s breath audibly hitches, and I break into a laugh.
“Just what do you think I’m going to do for you?”
“Fuck,” Roiven rasps. He steps back, jaw tense, and tries to cover his hardness with his hands.
“You must like pain if you’re looking forward to this.”
“I really don’t,” he mutters.
“You do know I’d never pleasure the man who sunk my Hellion.”
“It’s mutual,” he growls.
“Mm. Clearly not,” I say with a smile. My eyes can’t help but flick back to the still-stiffening length as it jerks upright. I shouldn’t take any pleasure in the sight, but I feel smug nonetheless. And if there’s heat pooling in me, well… at least Roiven can’t tell.
He steps back quickly, picks up his trousers off the floor, and sits on the bed. Roiven bunches them up and covers himself, like he doesn’t want me to see what might be happening. If his muscles get any tenser, he might shatter like a glass vase.
“Are you ready?” I ask. He nods but won’t look at me. “Are you certain?”
“Just get it over with,” Roiven mutters, and stares up at the ceiling.
I get to work. The crystal of the enchantment marks wakes easily to the touch of my hands as I run my fingers over the taut muscles of his thighs, pushing back the bunched-up trousers he’s holding over his groin so I can trace the upper lines of the marks.
Roiven groans, and I feel his eyes burning back into me as his breath comes harder.
I keep focused on the work and don’t let him distract me.
“Gods,” he mutters, and rearranges the bunched-up trousers, his hands fisted so tight his knuckles are bone-white.
“Slow, or fast?”
“...What?” He wets his lips.
“Do you want me to go slow or do it all at once?”
“Get it over with.”
“There’s more of it. It’ll hurt worse.”
“Damnation, knight. Just do it already.”
I press a palm to each of his thighs, and pretend not to notice the way he tenses.
Come here, I tell the crystal, and raise both hands an inch off his skin.
It surges gleefully towards me, tearing through his skin, each line and circle and mark turning into a bloody gash.
“Fuck,” Roiven bellows, as the magic bursts free.
I stagger back, hands in front of me, and sit hard on the floor. The crystal and blood slurry clings to me.
“Fuck,” he mutters again, and stares down at the wounds I’ve left on his skin. “You’re done already? That’s all of it?”
Exhausted, I nod. It’s the most I’ve ever done at once. The crystal is trying to bury itself inside me. I tell it not to, but it’s hard to be firm when I’m this drained.
“I can feel my power again,” he murmurs. And even though he must be in pain he breathes a laugh, then grins.
The expression falls when his eyes find me on the floor, holding my hands out in front of me. How many lives went into the crystal covering my skin? How many will go into destroying the Tower?
How did I let anyone convince me this was right?
The Witch King grabs the bowl and the pitcher and kneels before me.
“You’re bleeding,” I tell him.
“I’m fine. Hold your hands out.”
He nudges the bowl beneath me and pours clear, clean water over my hands. I work off every bit I can. Then Roiven stands, heads to the room’s fountain, and returns with soap.
There’s blood running down his thighs, gathering in the rivulets of his muscles and sliding over the contours of his kneecaps.
It looks painful. My head feels woozier with each passing moment as I use the soap. I nod slightly to one side.
“Don’t fall,” he says, and grabs my shoulder.
“I won’t,” I say. He looks like he doesn’t believe me. “Really.” It was a larger patch of skin than the obedience, but being rested, full, and hydrated seems to have made a difference.
“Lie down,” he says. I wobble as I start to stand, and Roiven’s hands find my hips to steady me and pull me up. He guides me to the bed and I collapse gratefully on top of it, face-down.
“You need bandages,” I mumble.
“I can do it.”
I nod and let my eyes fall closed.
“Don’t try and touch me.”
“As if I would.”
That sounds like a lie to me, with the way his body reacted. But I hear Roiven moving about for a few minutes as he bandages the wounds. Cloth rustles as he pulls his trousers back up. The room brightens as the door opens, and then goes dark again.