Chapter 16 #2
Isahn eyed the embroidered wrap before snatching it up off of the chair for her.
“Princess,” the gruff voice cut in.
“Eanraig will escort me. Wait here.” George’s tone left no room for argument as she dipped back into the sitting room with the young faerie buzzing around her wayward curls.
“My father,” she offered, her voice softer than a whisper.
“I heard,” he mouthed, handing over her shawl.
“Princess, let’s go,” the gravelly soldier barked.
“Don’t dally on King Gasparo,” the low-voiced man drawled. “You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
George clenched her jaw and flicked her eyes almost imperceptibly toward the ropey hanging that cloaked the hidden passages. She slipped from the room.
“Oh no, I left my necklace in my washroom,” she grumbled loudly to the waiting guards.
“Let’s go, Princess.”
“It was the key to my outfit,” she whined.
Key, washroom, Isahn noted as George was whisked away.
The second the door clicked shut, Isahn rushed off to locate the key, finding it beneath her favorite rose-scented soap.
Soon after, he sped through the dark, narrow corridors with an oil lamp in one hand and his other clenched in a tight fist. The only other time Georgie met with her father, she’d planned the visit. The unexpected nature of this summons had his heart racing a million miles a minute.
He shaded his lamp before skidding to a stop at the triclinium’s peephole. It was easy to find after a few attempts at spying. Unfortunately, none of them were as successful as the first, when they’d overheard Peros and King Gasparo’s alarming and illuminating conversation.
Closing one eye, he peered through the hole while pushing a cord of water to the wall to better listen to the conversation.
George was already there, standing between her father and the loaded table.
The king lounged upon his lectus in a blood-red toga.
From his angle, Isahn could just make out his salt-and-peppered beard, tapered to a point beneath his chin.
He’d have looked comically villainous if his meaty fingers weren’t gripping his daughter’s thigh.
That just made him a villain.
Isahn sneered.
“Tomorrow you will be at my banquet. Is that understood?”
George flinched as the king dug his fingertips into her flesh. “Yes, Father,” she ground out.
“Good. You haven’t graced my table since returning. I’ll not abide such insolent behavior again. Not on the opening night of the Great Assembly.” He released her leg. “You’ll be paired with an aide, like the viceroys.”
George stepped away, the backs of her knees bumping the low table. “I will not.”
“You will,” King Gasparo growled.
“I don’t feel comfortable—”
George jerked forward, her shoulder wrenching from an invisible grip pulling on her wrist. Her father’s hand shot out to wrap firmly around her arm, either enhancing or replacing his magic. “I say what you feel comfortable with.”
She hissed as the king twisted her joint in his massive hand.
“I’m not comfortable,” she rasped again, then squeezed her eyes closed as if fighting some vision being forced into her mind.
No, Georgie, just agree, Isahn silently pleaded. He watched as her father’s grip tightened. Then the king growled something quietly enough Isahn couldn’t hear. The look on George’s face told him a significant threat had been made.
George shook her head firmly.
He yanked on her wrist, eliciting a yelp from her, and he took to his feet, dwarfing his daughter. Isahn couldn’t see a damned thing except the king’s back. But he heard the crack as Gasparo’s palm connected with George’s cheek.
Isahn bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and crafted an ice-knife for comfort, relishing the weight of the weapon in his hand. He wanted to kill that fucker for laying a hand on George. When the time was right, he would.
For a minute, their conversation was soft, garbled. Even his water magic couldn’t clarify it.
“You will have a guest,” the king said firmly. “It’s absurd you don’t keep an aide.”
“I have one.”
“Your own pet?!” Gasparo’s sickening laughter soured the air as he retook his seat. Isahn could see past him again, finding George’s tear-streaked face.
His heart broke for her.
“Yes,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
“Ah.” The king helped himself to a goblet of wine. “Very well, bring them to my banquet.”
“Father,” George began.
No, Georgie. Just get out of there.
“Yes, my beloved Georgetta?” The princess’s name was a sinister purr, claws scratching at Isahn’s heart.
He no longer wondered why she disliked her given name.
“I’ll be at the banquet. But I will not stay for your after-party.” Her voice was firm, except for one slight hitch in the middle of the statement.
Isahn watched in horror while the king raised one of his meaty hands again.
A plethora of shimmering rings glittered in the lamplight as he pressed his index finger to George’s clavicle and drew a line across her chest, his fingertip lingering in silent threat as it crossed her throat. “Is my little princess shy?”
She slapped her father’s hand away, but the king only threw back his head and laughed, a repulsive sound from a repulsive person.
Isahn shuddered as bile rose up his throat.
“You may go, my sweet Georgetta. I look forward to meeting your pet tomorrow.”
Isahn had no idea whether she’d want to see him or not, but he was placing the key back in her washroom when George pushed into the suite, panting and crying.
“Georgie,” he breathed, emerging from the bathing chamber.
She threw herself into his arms and clutched him around the middle. He wrapped her up, hugging her gently and hoping to the gods he helped her feel at least the tiniest bit safer.
“I hate him. I hate him. I hate him,” she chanted as her fists pounded against his chest.
Isahn let her vent out her frustrations. She deserved it.
“I need a bath,” she bit out abruptly before she shoved away. Tearing off her palla, she tossed it on the floor and began ripping at her dress.
“Would you like me to stay or leave? Whatever you need.”
She met his eyes, thick dark lashes clumped from tears. “Stay, please.” Her lower lip quivered as she flung herself forward, back into his waiting arms.
He bathed her with his magic, his movements slow, gentle, carried out with precision and a platonic distance.
With large swaths of water, he swiped over her shoulders and down her arms, wishing he could wash away her past, her present, all of her pain.
Her wrist was darkening with a bruise, so he threaded a cool coil around it, the temperature low to ease her hurt.
“Everywhere,” George murmured, “everywhere he touched me. Get it off.”
“Warm or cold?”
“Cold. Make it frigid.”
Blinking tears away, Isahn did as she asked, cleansing her thighs, and across her chest. Sluicing away the evil with an ice bath.
“Warm me,” she whispered when he was done.
He coaxed his magic into steam and embraced George with the vapors as he brought her back among the living, reborn and—he hoped—refreshed.
After drying her off, he helped her dress in a flowing sleep gown with a top not unlike his own sleeveless Domossan tunics. Isahn had selected it intentionally, hoping the modest cut would help her feel more comfortable.
She shuffled across the room and paused near her bed before looking back at him. “Will you lie with me?” Her voice was small, softer than he’d ever heard before. There was no sense of a demand in her request. It was truly un-George-like.
Nodding, he joined her, and they lay facing each other. When she snuggled in and asked him to hold her, he obliged, splaying one hand across her lower back while the other massaged her curls.
“Put your leg on me,” she rasped, sounding a bit more like herself.
Isahn gave her a squeeze and tossed a thick thigh protectively over top of hers.
George sighed into his chest, warming him with her hot breath as she wormed her way even closer.
“Isahn,” she whispered.
“Hm?”
“I promise, I’ll never use my magic on you without your permission. I’ll never hurt you with my powers. I want you to know that.”
“I know. And I promise to never hurt you or use my magic on you without permission.”
“I already knew that.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of her curly head.
“It’s going to get weird, and bad... worse, starting tomorrow.”
Isahn nodded softly, so as not to jostle her too much.
“The banquet is one of the only events I’ll have to attend. A big show of power. Just... I’m so sorry, Isahn.”
He loosened his hold on her and pulled away enough to look into her eyes. “What are you apologizing for?”
“I have to put on a facade around him. For now.” She gritted her teeth. “I may not be able to act as I’d like.”
He pressed a firm kiss to her mouth before pulling her close again.
When she was nestled in safely, Isahn spoke into her curls, “I want you to remember two very important things, Georgie. Wherever your father is concerned, you have my permission to torture me with your magic if it comes to that. Anything to keep yourself safe. Do you understand?”
“All right. What’s the other thing?” Her breath tickled his chest hairs.
“You have my blanket approval to use your delicious powers on me anytime you’d like... as long as it’s for the fun sort of torture.”
“I won’t forget that,” she murmured sleepily.
“I’ll be by your side the entire time at the banquet. I promise. Take a nap, then we’ll plan for tomorrow. Does that sound good?”
“Mhm,” she managed, before her breathing evened out and her body went limp in his arms.