Chapter 43 #3
And then she splintered.
Imogen’s hand flew to her mouth at the same time Karrick’s did, their fingers tangling over her lips. He rocked into her, and she luxuriated in the languid pulsating aftershocks of pleasure.
Moments later, Karrick’s need became too great to delay. His tempo quickened once more, and Imogen tensed her back against the scraping stone wall that, minutes before, she hadn’t even felt. She welcomed the sting of it. She wanted every sensation seared into her memory, branded into her spirit.
Karrick’s fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs. He jerked into her, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his own guttural cry as he found his release.
Imogen clung to him, every inch of her pressed against every plane of him, yet still unable to get close enough. Their breath mingled as they panted into shared space, drifting down from their mutual high like two unhurried feathers gliding to the ground.
Karrick gathered her close when he finally pulled away from the wall, slipping free and easing her to her feet.
Imogen teetered on wobbling knees to the bed.
She flopped back, arms splayed, a blissful smile plastered across her face.
Karrick leaned his torso over the edge of the mattress, the only bit of him that would fit with her occupying the narrow cot, and rested his head on her stomach.
They lay like that for several minutes, breathing.
Then Karrick placed a featherlight kiss just below her navel.
He raised his head, face filled with an uncustomary vulnerability. “I love you, Gen. I hope you know without me saying it.”
Imogen nodded. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
“That is the one certainty I need you to keep. My love.” He took both of her hands and brushed his lips over the knuckles.
“I hope you feel it,” he murmured against their clasped fingers as though uttering a prayer.
“No matter the distance between us, no matter the burdens we bear, no matter the choices we make. I hope you feel my love to the end of your days.”
“And you, mine,” Imogen replied, placing a kiss of her own.
Karrick smiled, though sadness lingered in the shadows of his eyes. Imogen wished she could dispel it. Unfortunately, wishes, however fervent, did not often translate into reality.
The two of them separated and stood. The shared understanding that their time together was drawing to a close uncoiled between them like an asp.
Imogen cleaned herself with water from Karrick’s washbasin, then left him the cloth while she dressed.
The room did not have a mirror, so Imogen relied upon Karrick’s attentive eye to ensure she left appearing as though she’d spent the last half hour discussing the mundane instead of enthusiastically exploring the depths of passion.
“The infertility capsule worked,” she said, suddenly remembering the reason for her visit. “Railah’s cycle has passed. Vulgren is none the wiser.”
Karrick adjusted a crocheted section of her hair, smoothed a wrinkle in her vestments, and kissed her forehead.
Imogen’s heart cracked. She wanted to say something profound.
To bury her face in his shirt and surround herself with the smell of him.
To stay in this little room with no windows and lose herself to love.
But that was not her reality. So Imogen did what she always did when her feet found the hard path. She walked it.
“I’ll see you under the lemon tree,” Karrick said, instead of goodbye.
Imogen gave his hand one final squeeze and left.
Prestyn Gore was waiting on the other side.
Imogen knew the moment she crossed the threshold and locked the door behind her that something was wrong.
Karrick had assured her the cream she’d used earlier masked the scent of their lovemaking.
None of the guards would be in second form with a heightened olfaction.
So what had the young lieutenant’s brow creased with such tension?
“One piece, Lieutenant,” she stated, indicating her whole self. “You can cease your worrying.”
Prestyn Gore escorted her through the iron guard gate and ushered her quickly down the hall.
“Lieutenant.”
He continued without so much as a glance back at her. Imogen pulled him to a stop once they’d rounded the corner and were beyond prying eyes. “Prestyn,” she hissed. “What is the matter with you?”
“Word’s just arrived,” he admitted, voice low. “I’m to escort you to your room. Directly.”
“Word of what? By whom?”
“The king.”
Imogen didn’t understand, but a pervasive disquiet wormed into her belly, dissipating her earlier bliss. “What happened?”
Prestyn shook his head and tried to turn. She stopped him. “Prestyn,” she said, a firm hand on his bracer. “Please. Tell me.”
Lieutenant Gore closed his eyes, a battle waging in his expression. He opened them with an abrupt exhale. “Curse me for a shit soldier,” he muttered. “King Domitan has mobilized a regiment of the army.”
Imogen’s blood turned to ice.
“Asteros is marching on the Cozened. We are taking Meress.”