Chapter Thirteen
“My love. Come to bed. Come to my arms. You have been so busy.”
Jocasta’s speech slurred as she looked up from the notes where she had fallen asleep. Ink stained her cheek. Her hair listed to the side. “What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
She bolted upright. “That means it is today! Today is the summit. I must check the ballroom. I have to speak to—”
“To me. Your husband. King, as well, but that is less important, honestly. I will be there tomorrow, but you will do all the speaking. Hm? And I’ll get a front seat, I do hope.”
“You’ll be there?” Jocasta grimaced as she rubbed her eyes.
“Yes. Clapping loudly.”
“I don’t know if this is the sort of thing you clap for.”
“Ah. Glaring menacingly?” he growled and scooped her up.
She giggled. “Yes, please. Especially if you see the Fox called Nemo. He was asked to come. We had the manager of our bank in Frost Hills seek him out specifically. We said there was going to be a discussion on raising rates and third-party-controlled mortgages. Sir Benevent told me that’s the term I should have used. ”
“Excellent. I will sit in the front, but when people mingle at the intervals, I will hunt for him.”
“You don’t have to hunt him down. I don’t know if he knew he was doing anything wrong. That’s why—”
“Education and health centers need to be built, and roads need to be built, and printing presses are needed to make more copies of pertinent laws.” Girion smiled at her. “Would you like to talk to a trade delegation from Endymere next week? I’m already seeking an increase in timber.”
“Thank you!” Jocasta hugged his neck tightly. “And did you see my note?”
“Which one of a hundred, oh best and fairest queen? Jocasta the Just and Wise,” he whispered, putting her down on their bed.
She moaned as his hands skimmed up her skirts, raising them over her hips. “The one about irrigating the land near the hot springs and planting quick-growing hardwoods?”
“I saw that, and I left a note for you in your study, saying I approve and directing you to talk to the Minister of Agriculture. You truly are a helpful bride. A ruler in equal measure.”
“Not equal, but ah! I’m trying,” Jocasta punctuated her words with a sigh as Girion’s fingers pulled down the layers of fabric surrounding her legs. “Darling...”
“You wouldn’t deprive a hungry Bear of his midnight feast?” He raised his head and pouted at her.
“You don't look like a Bear at this moment,” she teased.
Her breath caught as Girion slowly shifted. His face, still human in some ways, sprouted white fur. His ears shifted. His body widened. He licked his lips with a long tongue, now in Bearfolk form.
She tensed, breathing short and shallow.
“Am I too frightening like this?” Girion asked. “I mean, for a human. For another shifter, it would not matter.”
“But... Do you still want me like this?” Jocasta asked.
“If you want me like this.” He nodded.
She closed her eyes and felt his warm breath on her bare skin. Felt gentle, scraping claws slowly tracing down her thighs, and then a much longer, wider tongue began to swirl across her skin.
“I want you, always,” she whispered, her hand reaching to grip his as he feasted.
GIRION COULD NOT HAVE been happier or prouder.
Last night had amazed him in ways that he never knew could exist. This morning, he presented Jocasta with her engraved shield, and she burst into happy tears.
And now, he was standing (as unobtrusively as a man of his size could stand) in the back of the crowded ballroom, watching bankers and brokers in their best suits talking and hoarding free sandwiches, mingling with ministers who looked thoroughly alarmed at the shoddiness of practices in the outer settlements.
His ears and eyes were on the alert, looking for Nemo. He shouldn’t be hard to find, Girion thought. There were only a dozen Foxes in attendance, and he knew several of them. He concentrated on the ones he didn’t know, passing far enough away to hear without attracting attention.
Girion stood by a portly man with a plate of sandwiches who was talking emphatically to an unfamiliar Fox.
“She’s obviously a dark horse. When I heard she was a human from the settlements, a fishing village, yet, I thought she would be a figurehead.
Married for her magic. But now, I hear that she’s nothing but action and plans.
I suppose that’ll change when she has a family to raise. ”
“I don’t know,” the Fox muttered. “I knew her people. Real plain folks. Parents weren’t that bright, but the girl wouldn’t stop. Worked her hands to the bone to keep ahead of the poorhouse, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. Well. She seems bright enough.”
“Could be. You never know who is pulling the strings.”
“What do you mean?”
“This banking summit. Do you really think a little human like her put this together? Humans don’t have it up here,” he tapped his temple.
“That’s such old-fashioned thinking, Mr. Reynard.”
“Nemo. You must have me confused with someone else.”
Girion blinked and turned sharply. “Mr. Nemo. I wanted a word with you.”
The Fox’s eyes widened, and he backed away from his conversation partner. “Who, me? That is, who, me, sire?”
“Yes, you, Nemo.” Girion blocked the Fox’s path and saw Herrick leave his place near Jocasta and slowly start to sidle over. Good man. “Will you entertain a few questions I have about your banking practices involving the Watermans?”
“Uh. Well. Sure, Your Majesty. There was nothing fancy. Lots of rich folks buy up mortgages and deeds, you know, hoping that the owner will miss a payment or two, and then you get the property for cheap, or sell it higher.”
“And you are a rich man, Mr. Nemo? Or did I hear you called Mr. Reynard?”
“Someone mistook me for someone else. Reynard is a common name for Foxes in Caledon.”
“Is it? That’s odd. The only family of Foxes I know that has that name is the Archduke. Are you related, perchance?”
“No, I—” The Fox stopped speaking, turned, shifted, and scrambled out the door.
Gasps broke out. Heads turned. That bastard will not ruin my wife’s first big event as queen!
“Pardon me. Dropped a plate!” Girion said, kicked the Fox’s clothes under the nearest table, and fled.
Several of the other guards were already on the swift white streak scrambling through the palace halls.
Girion was tempted to shift and give chase, but he thought engaging in a shifted battle would be a distraction from Jocasta’s summit.
He put the thought away unless absolutely necessary. “Stop that Fox!”
His guards obeyed like their king’s life depended on it, clamoring and calling, cutting off every available exit.
The cornered Fox turned, saw Girion approaching, and lunged.
“No!” Cole’s shout echoed down the hall.
JOCASTA CAME RUNNING towards the scream, ignoring all protocols. She kicked off her fancy, brocaded shoes, held up her skirt, and ran. “Why is there screaming? What happened? Wh—Girion?”
The world fell apart.
Girion lay on the floor, hand at his throat, blood drenching his robes. Beside him, a white Fox, larger than a normal fox, clearly a shifter in animal form, was knocked unconscious but still breathing, blood all over its mouth.
Cole was speaking. Herrick was speaking. Girion was looking at her, lips not moving, eyes going glassy.
Words went through her mind.
He could have killed that little thing. Killed anything. But he didn’t have his shield. Or his sword. Or a knife. Because he was being my support today, the man who stood in the back and mingled, who made sure plates were full. The man who clapped for me.
Who loves me.
“No! No, no, he’s going to be fine! He’s—get off of me!” She shouted at the restraining hands and pushed her way to her husband’s side, dropping to her knees.
“Love you. So. Much.” Girion raised his bloodied hand to reach for her. Mouthing the words as he struggled to breathe.
“I love you. And you’re going to be my lover for the rest of our very, very long lives, Girion the Great,” she half-sobbed, tears pouring down her cheeks as her hands grabbed his throat.
Wind. Water. Earth.
Stop the water. Stop the red water. The blood must stop flowing from this wound. And the earth in us. The metal in us. Fuse and bind. Air in his lungs, wind in his breath, keep flowing.
And fire. Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire.
She had no fire magic, but fire—cauterizing a wound.
She’d known it to be done, like when old Jake had his leg bitten by a dog, and it got infected, and it was the leg or his life.
“Fire!” Jocasta screamed and felt it—felt the pulsing in her soul, not her blood or her lungs, or anything like that, but a deep pain that burnt from the inside out and seared her palms.
And stopped the bleeding. Sealed the wound.
“Jocasta?” Cole was near her.
“Your Majesty. Your parents are on their way. I’ve sent messengers,” Herrick whispered.
“He’s alive. Fetch the doctor, but I’m keeping my husband,” she hissed, then lay on Girion, too tired to stay upright, but not too tired to keep healing him.
In a few minutes, she felt his hand on her head. Stroking her hair with weak fingers.
“Had my flank,” he whispered.
“Always. Don’t talk. Your throat hurts.”
“You’re right.”
“Shhh.” She managed to sit up, and when she saw his mouth open again, she silenced him the only way she knew how. She kissed him.