Healer to the Ash King (Dark Rulers, #5)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

For one burning second I hesitate, my jaw tense, glaring right back at him. A guard steps forward, hand upraised to strike me for my defiance, but the Ash King hisses “The fuck you will” at him, and he backs down.

“And you think I improve upon acquaintance?” “Well…no.” He’s still bowed over, breathing heavily, but he looks up at me with dark eyes, no longer flaming. A smile quivers across his mouth. “An honest answer.” “The only kind I’m capable of, unfortunately. You’ll kill me for it, one day.”

“Did none of them stand out to you? No exceptional first impressions?” He shakes his head. “What about you?” “Me?” “What did you think of them?” He pushes himself upright, his eyes lighting as if he’s had an idea—and that makes me nervous. “Ah, why didn’t I think of this before? You will be treating these women, interacting with them. I’ll have time with each Favored, of course, and I’ll be watching them during the challenges—but you will see them in unguarded moments. You can tell me the truth of who they are, not who they pretend to be. Cailin—” He takes me by the shoulders, and my skin warms under his fingers— “Cailin, you can help me choose.”

“Did you sleep well?” There’s something odd in his tone, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I did, thank you.” “I thought you might, after all that.” I frown, confused. Does he think it cost me a lot of effort to help him quench his fire? “Water wielding doesn’t require much energy.” “That’s not the activity to which I was referring.” “Oh, you mean what I did at the Welcoming of the Favored? I did drain quite a bit of my healing energy, but it has already recovered.” “Not that either.” His eyes never leave my face. “You should know that I have above-average hearing. One might call it a secondary magical ability of mine.”

what he means. He heard me say Your Majesty right before I came. Fuck. Me. My hands press to my burning cheeks. I can’t meet his eyes. “Next time, if you want me to join you,” he says softly, “all you have to do is ask.”

She nods. “At the King’s insistence, most of the healing that goes on in the palace is unaided by magical means. He insists that we progress in that area, lest magic disappear from the land.” “Disappear?” I raise my eyebrows. “How could that ever happen?”

“Just one.” She rises gracefully from the table. She’s taller than me, possibly because she is wearing dramatic heels. “I hope you realize that magic doesn’t equal nobility. Sitting with someone on a balcony or residing near them doesn’t make you their equal.”

“You don’t understand,” Khloe says. “None of us expected a young, gorgeous healer with dual gifts. Seeing you up there on the balcony with him, watching him spare you from punishment, and then hearing the rumors that you’re staying in the Rose Room—everyone assumes you’re sleeping with the King. Which makes you our competition.” “But I’m not sleeping with him, and I’m not competition. I’d never want to be queen, and even if I did, the Calling is for the high-born.”

“Khloe,” I say as calmly as I can. “Do you know you’re pregnant?” Khloe’s dark eyes grow even more enormous. “What?” “There’s no requirement for contestants to be virgins,” I say quietly. “But carrying another man’s child is a different matter.”

“The healer you hired did very nice work for you.” I give her an encouraging nod. “Most healers can only regrow parts that were already there, but your healer created something entirely new, just for you. That’s a unique ability, put to excellent use.” Vanas’s face relaxes into a smile. “But you’re aware that a healer’s abilities only extend so far,” I add. “You understand you can’t have children?” “Yes, I do.” “That’s something you’ll need to disclose to the Ash King, since children are an important part of the monarchy. Of course adoption is possible, and there’s precedent for it among the royals, so if you make a connection with him, you could still win this.” “That’s what I’m hoping for. Thank you for your acceptance, Healer.” Vanas hops off the table and blows me a kiss before walking out.

“They are just girls looking for love,” I say quietly. “No.” His eyes snap to mine. “They are wolves hunting for a crown, sirens who crave a throne.” “Not all of them.” “The rest have been pressured to be here, forced to participate. They do not want me.” “Give them a chance. Some of them might surprise you.” I yield to an inner urge and add, “Look for Khloe, Vanas, Teagan, and Sabre.”

“Give me the book,” says the Ash King, hand outstretched. “No, my Lord.” His eyebrows rise. “Do you realize how often you deny me the things I ask? I am your king, you impertinent vagabond. Obey me.” “Your Majesty.” I hand it over, but when he grips it, I tug a little on my end. “Will you give it back later, so I can finish it?”

He presses a ringed finger to my mouth. “Hush. You must learn not to interrupt me, even in private. If you do that when we’re with others, I’ll have to punish you.”

Cautiously I release the book and lean back, breaking the contact. The Ash King stirs and frowns slightly, like a man woken from a dream. Then he props a pillow behind him, leans against it, and opens the book at random. In a sonorous voice, he begins to read aloud. “‘You’ll take all of us, one after another,’ said the highwayman. ‘We’re going to remind you who you belong to. If you’re very good, we’ll let you take all four of our cocks at once.’ ”

“The better I know the person’s body before their injury, the more quickly I can heal them, yes.” I hesitate, seeing my opportunity—a chance to get information for the Undoing. “Speaking of which, I should probably scan you, Your Majesty.” Caution flares in his gaze. “No.” “But what if you—” “I said no.” Abruptly he returns to his room and locks the door.

“Rule violation!” screeches the King’s herald. “Illegal use of magic in the arena.” I’m trembling on hands and knees, wrecked and wretched, even as I weave magic over the volunteer’s shredded feet and send more tendrils of healing power out to the contestants on either side of me. There’s movement above, on the balcony. A scarlet-robed figure. I look up into the Ash King’s crimson eyes. I must be a pitiable sight—eyes washed golden, dripping in gore, my clothes torn and wrenched askew, a web of magic spreading from my hands. The herald is right—I used magic in the arena. Even if it was to save a life, I have no reason to believe the Ash King won’t punish me. “The Healer is not a contestant, and is therefore exempt from that rule,” the Ash King says, in a loud, firm voice. “She has saved the remaining volunteer from certain death, and for that, she is to be commended.” And he stretches his hand toward me.

“Careful,” he warns, crossing his arms. “You’re talking to the King. Though you seem to have forgotten that, since you’re bathing in front of me. Have you no concept of proper decorum?” “You’re the one who came into my room and spoke to me while I was bathing.” “I’m the King. I do whatever I fucking please. You’re just a village girl.” “Well, this village girl just saved two lives and healed all your potential brides,” I retort.

“Me? No.” I shake my head soberly, blinking innocently at him. “Just a few questions, like how does your magic work? Where does the fire come from? Why haven’t you Muted yourself so you don’t have to buy new bedroom furniture every month or so?” He slams a palm against the doorpost. “You think I haven’t tried to Mute myself? Do you honestly believe that wasn’t the first thing I did after it happened?” He doesn’t have to explain what “it” is. He’s talking about the massacre in the Ashlands. “But everyone thinks you didn’t try a Muting, that you don’t care about what happened.” I frown. “I let them think that. A king who is powerful and fearsome is much more secure on his throne than one who is helpless, captive to his own uncontrollable magic. I want everyone to believe that I choose to keep my enormous power. The truth is, I would have stifled it long ago if I could. My skin simply won’t accept the Muting tattoo. I’m impervious to my own fire, as you know, and while I’m not invincible, my flesh is difficult to damage. A tattoo won’t hold. It vanishes within hours.”

He’s breathing hard, a panicked light in his eyes. He prowls forward, menace in each step, and without warning he goes to one knee by the tub and wraps a hand around my neck—not tightly, but his fingers sting with heat. “If you speak a word of this, I will end you, do you understand? I’ll do it personally, and I’ll enjoy it.” Staring into those burning eyes, after everything today—I can’t hold back anymore. My lip trembles and my eyes fill with tears. The Ash King lets go of me immediately, alarmed. He backs away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Broken sobs escape me as he rushes out. I hug my knees and weep for everything he has taken from me.

Suddenly a warm palm grazes the bare skin of my back, the open space between the panels of my dress. It’s the lightest touch, gone in a blink, but I can still feel the vibrating heat of it. I turn, and there he is—the Ash King. But he’s walking past me, arm in arm with one of the Favored, telling her the stories behind the engravings. It’s Morani on his arm—the spiky-haired girl with the olive complexion, the one I healed of venereal disease. She laughs and squeezes his bicep as they walk, an intimate gesture that makes my stomach twist.

The Ash King sinks onto the edge of my bed. “My advisors spoke to me tonight. Some of them want you to remain in your role. Others want me to send you home. They say you’re causing too much of a stir.” “And what do you want?” He reaches out, tentative, and brushes curls away from my temple. “What I want is rarely of consequence.” “I don’t think that’s true. You do what you want all the time.” “In small ways, yes. In larger matters, I must consider everyone but myself.” “You’re sending me away, then.”

“She won’t be able to serve the Favored tomorrow, will she?” “Certainly not,” replies the old man. “You’ll have to postpone the challenge.” The Ash King sighs. “Many of the girls already hate her. This won’t help matters.” “I think she gained more friends than she lost today,” replies the old man. “Loyal, grateful friends who are, perhaps, more worth having than a flock of twittering throne-seekers.” “You always put things into perspective, Jonald,” says the Ash King.

“You were right,” says the Ash King, touching the gems with his fingertip. “I prefer Teagan. She is everything I want in a queen—intelligent, brave, determined, and beautiful. She has elegance and charm. She is diplomatic and kind.” It’s all true. Truth is a pain-sharp blade, piercing the muscle of my heart, slicing deeper with every descriptive he uses for her. “Anyone else?” I manage. “What about Khloe, or Sabre?” “I truly believe Sabre could lift me bodily,” he says, with a half-smile. “I respect that, and her courage. She’s a well-read, well-traveled woman with a strong sense of loyalty to the crown. And her smile is stunning. Another excellent candidate. Now Khloe—” his face softens, and he smiles wider— “Khloe is a sweet treasure in a small package. When I’m with her, I find myself compelled to kiss her, and I want to make those big eyes of hers widen with delight, over and over.” This hurts. It hurts so much. Why did I ask him about the girls? I am moments away from breaking my promise and telling him Khloe is pregnant, just so he’ll kick her out of the competition. But I clutch the sheet tighter, and I paint an encouraging smile on my face.

The Ash King doesn’t kiss me. With his mouth against mine he whispers, “I save my kisses for the women I might marry. But if you want other parts of me, I’m happy to oblige.” “I don’t kiss kings who threaten me,” I whisper back. “And I don’t fuck them either.” “That’s too bad.” He pulls back slowly. “I could make you forget your own name.” “And I could make you forget the past,” I reply.

As I continue palpating each muscle, I make an inner vow, sacred as my Healer’s promise. I will tell the Undoing nothing about the King until I’ve heard his version of the Ashlands massacre. Because despite his moments of cruelty, I can’t imagine him murdering so many human beings purposefully, in cold blood. I can’t believe it, or I don’t want to.

I’m not blind. I see the way he overcompensates for his insecurities with terrifying lies and vindictive punishments. I see how he keeps everyone at a distance and wears a harsh, cold façade to frighten away those who creep too close. He is controlling, power-hungry, jealous, proud, changeful, and selfish. But he is also tentatively edging nearer to me, opening himself up little by little. Maybe because he wants to fuck me. Or maybe there is more to this pull between us.

I smooth my palms over the Ash King’s pectorals again—only this time I circle his nipples and roll them gently between my fingers. His head tilts back, muscles along his jaw flexing, and his cock dips again. I work my way lower. His stomach is rock-hard and ridged now, taut with impending release. I mold my palms to each muscle, enjoying them on the way down. This time, when I reach his cock, I curl my hand around it and stroke upward once, firmly, and then let go. The Ash King lets out a broken gasp, twitching helplessly. I love that sound. I want to hear it over and over—I don’t think I will ever be tired of it.

“See,” he whispers. “I don’t ejaculate lava.” He overheard Teagan and I talking during the journey to the Capital, before I realized how keen his ears were. I smile at the memory, soothing him with a few more comforting strokes along the softening shaft.

I risk a look toward the Ash King. He’s standing up, smiling eagerly and proudly at Khloe. Pain lances straight through my beating heart, so sharp I can’t breathe for a second. He loves her. At the end, he’s going to choose her. They will do so well together. She’s perfect for him.

A creaking sound shatters my reverie. There’s a disturbance in one of the cages—Samay’s vicious monster, unhappy at being confined again, is smashing itself against the cage door. Which pops open. Heartsfire. Oh gods. The door must not have been latched correctly. With a guttural bellow, Samay’s ollpheist launches itself toward Khloe.

The beast tenses for a spring, and I hold out both hands and bark, “Stop!” The ollpheist skids to a halt in front of me and roars, spraying spittle from its fangs. It swipes at me with a paw, but I don’t move, not even when the tips of the claws rake across my chest. Pain sears through my flesh, but I force myself to step forward, slamming my boot to the ground, a tangible threat that reverberates through the turf. The monster withdraws a step, like it’s confused about why I don’t scream and run like Samay did. “I’m not afraid of you.” My voice is low and firm, but I know a certain gifted pair of ears in the audience can hear every word. “You think you’re so big and scary, that no one can handle being around you, but that’s not true. You can’t hurt me, because I’ll heal and I’ll come back, every time. Everything you want—you can have it if you just give in. If you submit to me.”

When the creature squalls, I bare my teeth in a smile, because I can hear the difference in its voice now. This isn’t a raging scream; it’s more of a “who-is-this-scary-girl-and-why-doesn’t-she-run-when-I-hurt-her” scream. The monster scuffles backward as I keep prowling forward, caging it against the bars of the outer fence. Beyond those bars is the royal box. “See there,” I murmur. “You’re not so terrifying after all.” And I lift my eyes, just for a moment, and meet the scarlet gaze of the Ash King. The ollpheist cringes down against the bars, quieting.

So not only is there a spy for the Undoing in the palace—possibly among the Favored—but she could also be hiding unknown powers. Wonderful.

Though I wonder if many of the nobility secretly purchase international goods despite the trade ban. Those with money and privilege seem to find ways around every law, while the poor have no choice but to submit.

They always do

“If you don’t agree to the healing, I’ll have to speak to the King,” I say evenly. “Whatever problems you have with me, please believe that I take my duties very seriously. I would never harm you. And if you don’t let me do this, you won’t last the day.” Axley stares at me, then nods once. “Hurry up with it, then. I have to meet someone before I join His Majesty, and I’m already late.” “Meet someone?” “None of your business.”

I’m wearing a simple blue backless gown tonight, with a couple pieces of jewelry. My hair is pinned up neatly. Nothing about the ensemble invites censure, yet people I pass still break into significant whispers of which I can’t catch more than a few worrying words like “mistress… scheming… bewitched… not fair… scandalous.”

“Your reputation is already soiled in that respect, Healer. I ensured that when I placed you in this room.” He gives me a sly smile. “No one will believe I haven’t tasted the pretty little treasure next-door, no matter how much you might protest. Since they already think us guilty, why shouldn’t we allow ourselves this diversion?” My face heats, and I grip my towel tighter. “You did this on purpose. You put me in the Rose Room so you could weaken my resolve.” “Guilty.” He saunters toward me, his sheet of white hair swaying, sinuous as a serpent. His eyes are hooded, glowing richly red with lecherous thirst. His voice softens, circling me like a snake’s coils. “Do you feel your resolve weakening, Healer? Just once, let me come inside you. I promise you’ll have a good time.”

He kept Axley in the competition, even after she insulted him on the balcony. Yet he eliminated Vanas, a good-hearted person who was only guilty of honesty. And then he dared to tell me, You won’t win my heart or my throne. As if I want his stupid heart or his godsdamned throne. He should be so lucky.

“Which is why you came in here dressed in that.” He cocks an eyebrow at my skimpy nightdress. “I thought you swore you’d never seduce me.” He rises from the bed, and a bolt of thrilling shock courses through me as I realize he’s entirely naked. “I’m not seducing you,” I gasp. “I’m yelling at you.” “By all means, continue. It’s working for me.” He halts by the bedpost, his lithe, powerful body angled against it.

“You see? That is what I’m talking about.” I point at the sizzling scorch mark on the door. “That was unnecessary. You frightened him, when the only thing he’s guilty of is checking on you, protecting you. You’re so rude.” “Yes,” he says, nodding, smirking. “I’m very rude.” “And selfish.” I step toward him for emphasis. “And cruel.” “Selfish and cruel. Both true.” Whatever self-destructive spirit has gripped me and throttled my better judgment, she seems determined to go for the King’s jugular. “And you’re a mass murderer.” His mouth twitches in a snarl. “And you want me. You want the murderer of thousands—the wicked, cruel, selfish monster. That’s why you’re really angry, Healer—admit it, or I’ll make you scream the words.” He stalks forward, his hands gloved in flame.

“I thought you took a vow of healing,” he growls. “You hurt me.” “You hurt yourself,” I retort. Palms to his bare chest, I shove him with all my might. “Asshole.” His brows rise. I’m fairly sure no one has dared to call him names to his face for a long time.

“There she is,” says the King, pulling back, while his eyes burst into hot blue flame. “There’s the water goddess I’ve been waiting for.”

He rises, the fiery whips gone, and for a moment I think he’s done fighting me. But then his entire naked body begins to glow molten, like an ember stoked to fresh fierce heat. Even his hair is aflame, though it doesn’t burn. Incandescent, white-hot with flickering amber edges, the Ash King stalks toward me. I empty the urn and pull more water from his washstand. As he charges, I encase myself completely, head to toe, in a shimmering suit of water. We crash together, fire and water sizzling into steam, both of us crying out with the pain of it. Somehow, when his heat and my water combine, I can hurt him. And that makes me strangely elated.

The Ash King flings me backward onto the floor again. His body hovers over me while his fingers slither, quick and merciless and tantalizing, along my folds. His scarlet eyes blaze into mine. “Submit,” he orders. “Your body has already told the truth. Admit that you want me.” I buck against his hand and lift myself on my elbows, pressing my breasts to his chest, my mouth grazing his lips. “Make me.” “Gods-fuck.” His face wrenches with an expression of near agony before relaxing again. “I almost came just then, you rebellious village brat.”

“Tell me you want me.” His forehead presses to mine. “Tell me you want me in spite of it all.” I can’t look at him while I say it, so I put my arms around his neck, my chest soft against his hard muscles. With my mouth to his ear I whisper, “I want you in spite of it all.”

I can’t take it anymore—I scream, arching as my body explodes in the most potent orgasm of my life. It tears through me, rips me open with sheer white-hot bliss. The King tucks three fingers into my open mouth to quiet me. He keeps thrusting until he shatters, and deep groans vibrate through his whole body as he comes inside me.

I said what I wanted to say. And maybe we didn’t resolve things, exactly—but at least he didn’t kill me. And I feel—purged, and sated, deeply, refreshingly, all the way down to my bones. Like a fierce, festering, painful thing inside me has been softened and eased. I think I’ve been wanting to fuck him since he branded my chest with his burning hand.

When I think of him pouring fire into the forest, burning his attackers, burning Brayda’s face—and when I remember him pounding into me, releasing inside me—I feel sick. I’ve never done anything this morally questionable in my life. I’m good. It’s who I am, who I’m proud to be. I help people, I don’t screw cruel, wicked kings on the floor amid the aftermath of our clashing magic. It can’t happen again.

My maid squeezes my arm lightly, and I glance at her, surprised. Her eyes are bright with awareness. “I must tend to my duties. Enjoy yourself.” “Not much chance of that.” I release a breathless laugh. She hesitates, then whispers, so quietly I can barely hear her, “Don’t chase him. Make him come to you.”

“Each of you will take three shots,” says the Ash King, loudly enough for me to hear. “No arrows should land above her shoulders. The one to come closest to her skin without breaking it wins a private lunch with me. But if your aim is off—well, she can heal herself.” He gives the girls a wolfish smile, and they smirk and giggle in response—all except for Khloe, who looks paler than usual, and Teagan, who frowns at the King but doesn’t speak.

Fucking rudeeee