Chapter 6
SIX
Jessa did not expect Virak to come to her rooms that night.
And he didn’t.
Even in that wonderful bed, she found sleep difficult.
Her thoughts returned to him leaning over her outside her door.
Did the guy have to smell so good? She thought she was going to burst into flames when he moved in so close.
She could feel his breath on her cheek and the tension flowing off his body.
And yes, she could see the hard-on straining the front of his pants. That was hard to miss.
Yet, he didn’t touch her. She wondered why she didn’t touch him. She wasn’t a timid woman, and she didn’t think she kept her hands to herself because he was a king. That didn’t intimidate her a bit. He wasn’t her king, after all. He was just a king.
No, something told her that he was guarding something about himself. She wanted to respect that, but she also wanted to uncover it.
She spent the next morning in the solarium with Henry. The gruti took more food from her hands and even sat beside her for a while, making his little chirping noises, before hopping back up in the high branches to work on his nest.
Paeri had told her that she didn’t have to stay in her rooms. She was permitted to roam the palace, and if she wanted to go to the city, she was to take a guard with her so she wouldn’t get lost. Maybe she would find her way back to the Sanctuary again.
Jessa dressed and opened her door. She stepped into the corridor, which was empty.
The palace wasn’t a bustling place, at least, not the residential area where her rooms were.
She passed closed doors and wondered where Virak’s rooms were.
She passed kitchens and dining rooms and lavish rooms that served no apparent purpose.
At last she came upon a large, dimly lit room that seemed to be filled with books.
Well, books, screens, scrolls, carved stone blocks, and all types of artwork.
Sculpture, architecture pieces that looked salvaged, and ancient-looking objects filled the space.
It looked like a museum curator’s cluttered office.
Three stories of walls were covered in shelves for all these items, and one looked like a massive filing cabinet with thousands of drawers.
A platform sat before it, presumably to deliver the rider to whichever drawer they wished to visit.
In the center of this, at a gleaming stone desk, sat Virak.
Watery green light came from a fist-sized crystal on his desk.
The light accentuated the shadows of his face, highlighting his cheekbones, straight nose, sensuous lips.
He studied a screen with a frown. Long fingers stroked his chiseled chin.
Jessa took a step backwards, planning a quiet escape to leave him to his work, or whatever he was doing.
“Come in.”
Jessa startled. He hadn’t even glanced up from his screen.
“Hi.” She stepped inside, taking in the scent of old things and the male who clearly felt at home in this space. “I wasn’t looking for you, just so you know.”
“How lovely to hear,” he murmured. “Nevertheless…” He gestured to a seat across the desk from him.
She crossed the room, weaving between carved rocks and bins of relics, and sank into the padded seat.
He shut down the screen and placed it to the side.
Jessa caught a glimpse of a crowded mass of words in blue before it returned to a clear rectangle.
“How is the sandstorm?” she asked.
“Raging. I trust you slept well despite it?”
“Actually, I didn’t.” Might as well tell the truth. “I was distracted.”
His gaze locked on hers. “As was I.”
“Right.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “The sandstorm.”
“No. A different kind of storm.”
She leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. “These games are getting on my nerves. You either want me or you don’t. It’s that simple.”
His eyes flashed. “There is nothing simple about it.”
“Okay, let me make some guesses.” She held up her fingers as she rattled them off. “You’re disgusted by humans? You’re not attracted to females? You’re into some weird kink that is going to gross me out? Am I getting close?”
He crossed his arms, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Not at all.”
“What is it, then?”
Virak sighed and pulled a metal box from a drawer, followed by two small cups and a bottle of blue liquid.
Taga. “Let us play a different game.” He poured two small glasses and placed one before her.
Then he moved the box to the table between them.
“This is a traditional Virilian way to pass time. I think you may enjoy it.”
“You’re impossible.” Jessa took the cup, conceding defeat for now—just for now. “Seriously.”
He waited, fingers drumming on the box’s metal lid, gaze holding hers with thoughtful patience. There was no way she would ever win a staring contest with him.
“Fine.” She threw up her hands. “How do you play this game?”
He explained the rules as he removed stacks of different colored tokens and several wooden blocks carved with symbols.
It was essentially a game of chance and choices, not too unlike card games on Earth.
She caught on quickly enough and before long she was pleasantly buzzed and engrossed in the game.
They rolled the blocks and had to answer questions and make moves by betting tokens.
As an experiment, she made a point to touch his fingers when he handed her a token. His reaction was to pull back immediately, like a reflex.
He hid his reaction well. Only an imperceptible tightening of the lips and a tense flex of his fingers. Nonetheless, Jessa noticed the flicker of vulnerability that was snuffed the instant after it flared.
Her senses went on alert as she processed this. When she tried to “accidentally” touch his hand again, Virak dodged with the deftness of one long used to avoiding casual contact. Or more likely, all contact.
Understanding soaked through her like a drenching rain. Her interest in the game faltered, along with her attention, giving Virak the advantage. He beat her in two turns. An uncomfortable quiet fell between them.
She tossed back the rest of her taga and assessed him with new eyes.
She knew his secret now—he couldn’t tolerate touch.
The next step was to understand why. He said he’d been raised by attendants, not parents.
Had they abused him? Jessa mentally shook herself.
What did it matter to her what caused his issue?
She was there to have his baby, not fix him.
But what if she had to fix him in order to get him to have sex with her? Ugh, the high sage didn’t give her an easy match. Jessa had never had to work so hard for sex before.
She glanced up at him to see him watching her intently. He revealed nothing, as usual, except for inquisitiveness, but even that was mild. Or, it appeared to be.
She put the cup on the table with a resounding thunk. “I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing before I arrived.” She rose from her seat, thoughts pinging all over the place. “Thank you for the game and the drink.”
Virak leaned back and leveled that ice-blue gaze on her. He swirled his glass, which was still half full. “My pleasure, Jessa.”
She took a deep breath when she was on the other side of the door, pressing a hand to her chest. Okay, that was weird.
No, it was sad. She hurried back to her rooms and sank into one of the low, plush couches in the center of the sitting room.
She went over what she’d learned. Clearly, and for reasons as yet unknown, Virak had an aversion to touch.
This had to have something to do with the reason why the woman before her hadn’t stayed.
Obviously, there was something wrong with the woman to begin with, if she wanted the solarium in these rooms blocked off because of humidity and smell.
Seriously—what smell? But Jessa also had to concede that it was difficult to have sex with someone who didn’t want to touch you.
Impossible, in fact.
Jessa pondered this as she got a snack from the food dispensary unit.
She wandered into the solarium in time to see Henry tearing apart his carefully made nest. The long fronds, which had been so lovingly woven, floated to the ground one by one.
She sighed and peered up at the gruti, who let out a mournful cry, then destroyed the last bit of his nest.
Tomorrow, the birdlike creature would build another one, and the cycle would continue on, unless a female arrived to change things.
Henry’s predicament wasn’t completely different from Virak’s.
Jessa closed her eyes and cursed herself for having a soft heart. “Fine,” she muttered to herself as much as the bird. “I’ll try to change things.”