Chapter 22 #3
“What?” Kara and another maid, her nose long and bird-like, said in unison, blinking at me. “But your tattoo . . .”
“Kara. Hedda. Shush,” Meya warned. “She’s for the king. His betrothed. The hersir would never touch her.”
“I’m just saying every woman here, noble or thrall, would gladly give their arm to be his property in that way, and he marks a Day Raven?
” Kara leaned in, her energy so much like Sarina’s it hurt and comforted me in equal measure.
“I’ve heard he brings that same determination and vigor to the bedroom that he does to his kills.
” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Could you imagine what he could do with that beast between his legs?”
All five handmaidens turned to me with curiosity, confusion, and a twinge of jealousy, their eyes digging into me to see why I was special.
“He had to,” I sputtered under their gazes.
“Going through the Shadow Rift . . .” I swallowed, shifting under the water as I looked over them, noticing the lack of tattoos.
Not one had a thrall mark on her neck or chest, like my father had done to all our thralls.
“He had to mark me as his thrall. He said the king could change it. Mark over it.”
Kara and Hedda exchanged a glance, not looking convinced.
“I’m just saying, he has never even had a common thrall, let alone a private one.” Kara’s tone hinted at more.
“What’s the difference?” I only had my handmaidens and guards. My father had his own personal thralls, but they weren’t treated any differently from how he treated most of them.
“The king has his exclusive thralls.” The ones I must have seen around the throne. “They are all tattooed down the neck like yours, which means they are his until death. They cannot marry or have a family, but they have far more privileges and rights than we do.”
“Bunch of vain, pretentious assholes,” the girl, Hedda, scoffed. “They think they are so much better than us.”
“A mark on your neck like that means they are far more than regular thralls.” Kara’s eyebrows wiggled with intrigue, her gaze shooting down to my healing ink. “It means you service his every need. Publicly and privately.”
“Neck tattoos are only for a private thrall?” I swallowed.
“Yep, and you got the most coveted of all!” Kara became more and more excitable. “That mark screams you are the hersir’s property. That no one can touch you because you are his. In every way.”
“I’m surprised his majesty didn’t kill him for that.” The shy one finally spoke up.
“Unna.” Kara rolled her eyes at the girl. “No secret, the king is obsessed with him. Like I think he’d like the hersir to mark him.”
“Shut your mouth,” Meya barked. “I will have none of that talk about our king. Unna, go retrieve her robe and slippers.”
Unna rose, hustling out of the room.
My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Why would Onyx tattoo me like this, with such an intimate mark, if I was meant for the king?
“The king will replace it with his?” My hand drew up to my throat protectively, gasping for more air at the thought of it being stripped from me, as if it gave me comfort.
In a world where I was the enemy, surrounded by people I didn’t know or couldn’t trust, it was the only thing which made me feel anchored.
Which made no sense.
Onyx was just as much my enemy as the others, if not more so.
Before anyone could answer, Unna came back into the room carrying a robe and nightgown. Her eyes widened at something on the floor and she let out a scream.
“What?” Meya rose up.
“A rat!” Unna pointed toward my pile of dirty clothes next to Sassa.
Sassa screeched, scrambling away as my eyes spotted the tiny figure peeking out, his own terror making him try to burrow back in, wiggling the pile like it was alive.
“Kill it before it escapes!” Meya ran toward it with a scrub brush.
“No!” I scrambled out of the tub, swishing water onto the floor, diving for my old clothes before she could reach them. “Don’t hurt him!” My arms went out, guarding the items.
“But it’s a filthy rat!” Meya tried to move me out of the way. “It’s probably carrying diseases.”
“It’s not a rat!” I blocked her, my body and hair dripping on the floor. “Please. Do not hurt him.”
“Hurt who?” Kara asked, appearing half scared and half thrilled by the excitement.
Turning back to the clothes, I peeked under. “It’s okay. I won’t let them hurt you.” Munch’s head rose up slowly, his eyes blinking at me, a piece of fabric stuck between his teeth. “You’re okay.”
I spread out my hand, coaxing him with gentle affirmations. Gradually he inched forward, crawling, his eyes darting around nervously.
“I got you,” I whispered, curling my fingers around the little creature.
“What is that?” Sassa crept forward, interest widening her eyes. Her younger age still wrapped her up in innocence.
“This is Munch.” I kept him cupped in my hand but held him higher for everyone to see. “He’s a groundling.”
“A groundling?” Sassa kneeled, taking in the little guy. Munch peeked out, a clicking sound coming from him.
“Huginn-Muninn, he’s sooooo cute,” Sassa cooed. “Can I pet him?”
“Go slow.”