CHP51

Serfrit bustled through the palace halls, outside the gardens and into a less-ostentatious stone building with a curled and pitched roof. Large lounging quarters lay outside, hollows of stone surrounding a firepit, accented by flowers and opulent topiaries. Large oak doors split wide open and Seneya stirred in the man’s arms, her tail twitching, alerting him to it. He nearly dropped her in shock and hurried through a welcoming lounge of a room and into a hallway that, though it held such beauty from sharp pillars and pleasing dark hues, held all the alure of a prison. Serfrit kicked a door open, rushed in and tossed the girl face-first on an enormous bed that dominated the space of the room.

Her linens, tattered on her body, revealed the majesty of her Ikris, and her long tail fell limp over the bed. He stared, distressed, and stepped back from her, knowing nothing good could come of this girl being there. He warded the door and slammed it shut as the locks folded into place in a series of clatters. The barbaric design of the chambers had every consideration in mind for the unwilling resident. Thankfully, not since Kael’s father did this particular feature of the harems find use. Sael, it seemed, had a taste for women that did not have a taste for him.

He sent a moth off to their healers, demanding they send someone to attend to the king and to meet him in the foyer. That girl had put up a fight, he noted.

“We’re going to war over this before it’s over,” Serfrit said in a whisper. As he made his way back into the main palace, a group of healers gathered where he had asked. Grizzled men and stone-faced women met his stare with slight panic in their eyes. He glanced over at them, about to pick one of the elder healers, when he saw the meek violet eyes of a young woman, a new healer he’d not yet met. He’d seen her name before in documents when he had been searching for potential girls for Sael, “Tamria.”

“You, come with me,” Serfrit said. “And the rest of you can leave.”

He strode forward as she followed him, asking, “Where is our king at this hour?”

“He’s in his office,” Serfrit said, giving her a sharp-eyed gaze.

Her hair, a soft dark brown, a reddish hue buried in its depths with eyes that were not quite half-caste, and Serfrit sneered at her before glancing at her ikris to see pure Acerraien marks.

“Do you have phoenix in you?” He asked, staring the girl down.

“My mother was half-breed,” she murmured, averting her eyes.

“Are you bound?” He asked, musing over her as he stared her down and caught violet eyes staring back at him, petulant.

“No, I am not.”

“Show your colors,” Serfrit demanded, and she folded her wings out to reveal dark grey and white mottled things, reminding him of a shrike. Not a mote of black lay in those wings. His heart fluttered with hope.

“And your preference? Swan or Nightingale?” He asked.

“Nightingale,” she said, averting her eyes from him as he dragged her with him towards Sael’s office.

“He’s injured and amorous, with binding on his mind.” Serfrit said, giving her a sharp look.

“I shall mind my station, then,” she said, but he halted in her step.

“Do not mind your station. Keep your wings out and show him a mother’s kindness. A girl has turned his head, and he’s taken someone of political importance. We need his attention elsewhere.” Serfrit gave her a sharp stare and a sudden gnawing fear settled in her belly.

“You are asking that I seduce him?” She whispered.

“I would never ask such a thing.” He said carefully, watching her eyes turn determined and hard.

“Then show me the way, my lord. I have healing to do.” She pushed past him and headed the direction of the offices and Serfrit couldn’t read her expression. He followed behind her and pushed into his office, staring down at the injured king.

“Who has done such a thing to our master?” she said, gasping in genuine care as she unapologetically entered his space and kneeled before his strewn-out form.

“Come, come, my master. Give me your hand so that I might heal,” she pleaded, and his mistrustful eyes snapped to hers. She exercised caution and saw the wariness in him, doing just as Serfrit said, offering him a mother’s kindness and gentle touch.

As Serfrit imagined, he dropped his guard with her and let gentle hands touch his arms, his chest, neck, face, then lips, letting her fingers move in slow and lingering ways.

“Our king is so handsome, even bloodied after battle,” she commented, catching his eye in a fleeting glance. Serfrit’s smile stretched wide as he withdrew from the room with a quiet catch of the door.