by Imogen Sera
“Is it safe?” the man asked bluntly.
“Likely not, but I’m quite capable of defending myself. I’ll bring guards of course. It seems to me that having a powerful family against us and so nearby is just as dangerous.”
The man nodded, looking unconvinced.
“If there’s more we’ll discuss it this evening,” said Helias, rising from his seat. “I have other matters to attend to.”
He swept out of the room, aiming for where Ingrid slept when Reis found him.
“Helias, you cannot meet with the Renaud family.”
Word traveled fast, apparently. Helias whirled around to face his mentor, frustrated. “Don’t presume to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
Reis shrank back a bit.
Guilt washed over Helias. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit… overwhelmed.”
The older man nodded, looking sympathetic. “We lost your father, Helias. We don’t want to lose you.”
Helias nodded, contrite.
.....
Caelian was slouched over the desk in the sitting room, writing quickly. He startled at his brother’s appearance and then smiled widely at him.
“Any change?” Helias asked, gesturing toward the bedroom door.
“None at all. Sorry.”
Helias shut the bedroom door behind him and tucked himself next to Ingrid. He was disheartened that she was still ill and hopeful that she would wake soon, but just being near her helped to calm him. He lifted her hair and pressed his face against her warm neck, inhaling deeply. This was where he wanted to be.
He’d been preparing his whole life for the task of becoming king, but he was not ready for it. He felt as if he were acting at it, a child wearing his father’s shoes. The palace was his father’s, the advisers were his father’s, even Reis was his father’s. Helias longed to start anew; new advisers, new attendants, new everything, but he didn’t even know who he could trust. Ingrid; certainly. Caelian and Tarquin; always. Reis: perhaps? The list got smaller and more depressing from there.
He wished for Ingrid to wake. He wanted to show her the palace, and to hear what she liked and didn’t. They would remake it however she pleased, this place would be theirs. He wanted her opinion on his old friends, and on many of the new faces that he’d never known before his banishment. He wanted to know what her thoughts were on him as king. Did she think him capable? He knew that he would be leaning on her much throughout this adjustment. He was surprised at how quickly she’d become so indispensable to him. He needed her, always. He needed her touch, her smile, her opinions and her decisiveness. He pressed a kiss to her neck, gently, and pulled her tight against him for a moment longer.
“Please wake soon, love,” he whispered before rising and returning to his endless responsibilities.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ingrid awoke in a huge unfamiliar bed, in a huge unfamiliar room, cold and alone. She glanced toward the window where the sun was setting, surrounded by an ornate gold frame. She tried to sit up and was surprised at the difficulty, an odd hum buzzing in her head, before lying back onto the pillows. The palace. She remembered arriving, vaguely, but couldn’t remember if that had been a dream. It couldn’t have though, because she remembered Helias helping her to a room, this room. She sat up again, more slowly, and realized that the buzzing wasn’t in her head at all but was coming from beyond the door. She looked at it curiously and recognized it as conversation. She looked down at herself and saw that she was dressed in her nightgown, and with effort she climbed down from the bed and steadied herself with a hand on it. She breathed quickly for a moment, trying to maintain her balance, before she felt steady enough to cross the room to a small table with a large mirror.
She sat at the chair there, covered in cloth of gold, and examined herself in the mirror. She looked awful. Pale skin, sunken eyes, dry cracked lips. Her hair was sloppily braided and she took it in her hand, examining it. Her heart warmed with affection as she realized that her sweet mate had tried his best to take care of it.
There was laughter from the next room, and she glanced at the door again. The bedroom was becoming dark in the twilight and as she glanced around she didn’t see a way to light the candles scattered on the many surfaces. She looked at herself one last time, sighed, and rose, looking around for her clothing. She didn’t want to face an audience in her nightgown.
She found her wardrobe nearby and selected her only gown, the pink one that Helias had chosen to save from Dragongrove. With more effort than she was accustomed to she removed her nightgown, bracing herself on the bed, and pulled on her dress, lacing it loosely. All the strength seemed to have gone from her hands. She assessed herself. She seemed to be alright, nothing in particular was hurting or not working, she was just exhausted. She crossed the room and realized she was barefoot, but decided against the effort of looking for her shoes. She opened the door, slowly, not knowing what to expect.
There was a large sitting room, with many seats arranged around a roaring fireplace. The room was quite full of people, she saw in surprise, and she was glad for a moment that she’d taken the time to dress. Caelian and Tarquin both sat in large chairs, as did the gray haired man whose name she couldn’t remember. Four young women sat along two couches, and Ingrid eyed them with surprise. They were human. As she shut the bedroom door behind her with a small thud, seven sets of eyes turned to stare at her.
Ingrid was intensely uncomfortable, and was grateful when Caelian jumped up and greeted her. Everyone else stood, too, and her cheeks colored as she swayed on the spot. He asked her how she was feeling, what she needed, what he could get her as he took her arm and helped her into a chair close to the fire. A minute later she had a glass of water and a blanket for her lap, as everyone else in the room seated themselves and watched her uncomfortably.
Tarquin rose then. “You’re alright, Ingrid?”
She nodded slightly, and he crossed to the door.
“I’ll fetch Helias.”
She tried to flash him a grateful smile but it came out more like a grimace. Her face felt strange and slow to react. “Thank you, Tarquin,” she said, her voice gravelly and strange to her.
Caelian was seated again near the gray haired man, and looked around to make introductions. “Your majesty,” he began with an impish look, “you met Reis when we arrived, but you weren’t feeling well—”
Ingrid nodded, remembering suddenly. “Nice to see you,” she said, nodding slightly at him.
He smiled back warmly. “A pleasure to see you again, majesty.” He gestured to the pretty ladies on the couches. “These are my gift to you,” he said, looking pleased with himself.
She watched him closely, confused.
“Our queen needs her ladies in waiting,” he elaborated, “and as we have no ladies here I found some willing humans of good breeding who wish to attend you.”
Ingrid found herself furrowing her brow and glanced at the ladies. All were close to her own age, all were pretty and wearing fine dresses. None of them appeared to be distressed, on the contrary, they looked comfortable and at ease. Significantly more comfortable than Ingrid was at the moment, anyway. She turned her attention back to Reis. “Thank you.”
She was grateful as the ladies began to chat amongst themselves, leaving her to sort out her thoughts. Having ladies made her uneasy, but she wasn’t sure why. She’d known what to expect as queen, and Helias had given her hundreds of opportunities to back out, but for some reason having attendants bothered her more than anything else. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that she had ladies, maybe it was the strange way in which they were presented to her as a gift. Maybe it was that they felt forced upon her, and as queen she should have been able to choose in her own time. Maybe it wasn’t anything at all aside from her splitting headache and fuzzy vision.
She sipped her water, and found herself asking if there was anything to eat. The most talkative of the ladies, a curvy woman with a head of messy flame kissed curls, jumped to attention and peppered Ingr
id with questions of what she liked to eat and how she liked it prepared.
“Anything, really,” Ingrid managed to say politely, trying to ignore the bright lights of the torches and candles pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
The redhead rushed off to attend her mistress. Ingrid wished desperately that she could crawl back into bed, but she wasn’t sure that she would make it across the room without stumbling, and anyway, she was hungry. She focused on a blank space on the wall, watching it fade in and out of focus, and a moment later the girl returned with a tray full of fruits and cheese and meats. Ingrid eyed it hungrily, but upon tasting found that most of the foods turned her stomach unpleasantly. She forced down a few bites of cheese and another sip of water, hoping that having something would help her exhaustion. She offered the rest for the group to share, and soon everyone except her were talking merrily, eating heartily, and laughing gaily.
She watched Reis through her foggy eyes. He was charming and friendly, and his wide smile and easy laughter reminded her of Caelian. She noticed Caelian glance at him fondly, and she wondered if Reis was who he’d learned his manners from. The older man’s hair was graying, but he was still quite capable looking and handsome. She didn’t understand why her stomach churned unpleasantly whenever Reis glanced at her, or why she didn’t trust a single word that he spoke.
The door opened quickly, and Helias rushed to her and knelt in front of her. “Ingrid,” he breathed, cupping her face in his hands and studying her. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, but then slumped her head against his neck. It was too heavy for her own.
He was warm and lovely and his arms around her were hard and comforting, and when he commanded “Out!” she didn’t think she could love him any more. The room cleared quickly, and all the while he held her to him, rubbing her back, soothing her soul.
“Are you actually alright?” he asked, looking into her eyes again.
Her eyes welled up and she shook her head, miserably. Even the slight motion set her brain to throbbing. “My head,” she murmured.
He helped her to the bedroom and tucked her into bed, then disappeared and returned a moment later with her water. “Do you need anything?” he asked, as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
“Just you,” she whispered, so he stripped his clothes off and laid next to her and held her until she slept, and then all night afterward.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Helias was awake most of the night, worrying over Ingrid and wondering when she’d be feeling herself again. He was eager to meet with Lord Renaud and settle things, or at least come to an agreement, but he wouldn’t leave Ingrid until she was well. He hated to leave her at all, but she would be safe at the palace, and he didn’t know what awaited them at the Renaud estate. He wasn’t concerned for his own safety; he would be very difficult to injure. Ingrid, however, was very fragile here, and that worry ate at his chest.
She slept fitfully, waking frequently in a panic, but calming when she realized he was with her. Guilt flooded him. Leaving her would be painful, especially so soon after her recovery. Putting the kingdom back together was the first step to ensuring Ingrid’s safety in the long term, though, and he knew that in this matter duty came before want.
Ingrid would agree, he knew. Duty was everything to her, what she had structured her life around before he’d come and blown it all apart. He thought of her tidy home and strict schedules and excellent management. She had a knack for leading and would be an excellent queen, once she accepted that to be true.
Ingrid wasn’t who he’d have chosen for himself. Ten years ago in this palace he’d entertained many women, each of them fun loving and light hearted. Ten years ago he’d amused himself endlessly while waiting for his mate, and a woman like Ingrid wouldn’t have earned a second conversation. Ten years ago he’d been a dense moron. Ingrid wasn’t who he’d have chose for himself, but thank god the fates were smarter than he was.
He nuzzled his face into her neck and breathed her in, feeling as though the moment was fleeting. She stirred at that and turned to him.
“Sorry, love,” he breathed, but she held his face and shook her head.
“I missed you,” she whispered and pressed her face to his shoulder. “How long have I been sick?”
“It’s Thursday night. We arrived Monday morning.”
“So I arrived and collapsed for four days.” She groaned. “How very regal of me.”
“It’s normal, love. We expected it, no one thinks less of you.”
“Have I missed much?” she asked, her fingers lightly running over his chest.
“Nothing of note. I’ve been getting reacquainted with everyone and learning about the situation.”
“Hmm?”
“There’s a great family, the Renauds, half a day’s journey north of here. They’re the wardens of a large portion of the countryside. It seems that they’ve declared against me. Reis says they’re the ones who sent the two who attacked us.”
Ingrid nodded. “Has anyone else rebelled?”
“Not that we know of, but it’s hard to piece together the reports that we’re getting.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked quietly.
“I want to visit the lord at his estate. His oldest son grew up here. He and Caelian were very close.”
“Will Caelian come with?”
“Yes. Tarquin will stay here with you,” he said, watching for her reaction to the news that she’d not be coming.
He was surprised as she nodded slowly. She was silent for a moment, a serious look on her moonlit face. “You know, I was really mad at you when Caelian grabbed me and flew away. I knew right away that you planned it. You were being attacked and I wanted to help, I wanted to be able to watch and know that you would be alright.” She paused and chewed her lip as he watched her silently. “But what would I have done? I would’ve died. You can take care of yourself, and even if you can’t, having me to look after just makes it more difficult for you.”
“Ingrid, you’re not a burden,” he began.
She shook her head, silencing him. “That’s not what I mean. I’m not going to apologize for being human. But I think it’s wiser for me to stay here and do what I can until things are safe again. I can help you plan, but I don’t want to put myself in danger and make you worry about me.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Is this what you really want? You have the cottage, you love the cottage. I can send for you when things are better here, or you can go back to your own life and I’ll leave you alone. You can go home.”
“Helias,” she said, “I love you. You’re my king and my mate. I am home.”
Ingrid turned to press her back against him, and linked her fingers with his that were against her chest. She raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm softly, settling the weight of her head on his arm.
He shut his eyes and savored the soft warmth of her against him. He knew she was right, but guilt ate at him for ripping her familiar life from her. Of course she wanted to stay with him— where else would she go?
He was distracted from his thoughts by Ingrid taking his hand and trailing it slowly along her collarbones, down the soft valley between her breasts, and finally releasing it when his fingers grazed over her peaked nipple. As she guided his hand she pushed her ass into him, rubbing it along his length.
“You’re still sick,” he said carefully, not moving his hand from where she’d placed it.
She turned her head around to look at him. “It’s been four days,” she whined with such pathetic sincerity that he laughed out loud.
“Pull up your skirt, love,” he murmured, and she shivered and obeyed. She was facing away from him in his arms, her skirt up around her waist; properly dressed above her waist and completely bare below. Her firm, round ass pressed against him and he ignored his stiffening cock. With his constricted arm he fondled her nipple under the cloth of her dress, and with his free arm he stroked her stomach softly from top to bottom,
each stroke going a fraction of an inch lower. He flicked his tongue along her ear, enjoying the sight of goosebumps rising there. Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed the top of her mound, and then turned into a desperate moan as he moved his hand again to the valley between her breasts, stroking slowly down again. This time he kept going, enjoying her small gasp as he quickly brushed over her clit and kept descending, barely grazing her, until he paused at her entrance. She was completely still, holding her breath, and when his lifted his hand to again stroke between her breasts she groaned.
“Four days,” she repeated.
He chuckled into her neck and pressed his hand against her more firmly; trailed it more quickly down her until he paused at her clit. At her insistent moan he swirled his finger there gently. She was so hot, throbbing and slick, and she writhed at his touch, pushing back against him, his cock pressing in the cleft of her ass. He continued his ministrations with his finger, rubbing, swirling, gently flicking. When she began unconsciously thrusting against his hand he moved down to her entrance and slipped one finger inside her, and then a second.
