A Word so Fitly Spoken (Severed Realms, #1)

by T.A. Lawrence

The king escorted Dinah to his rooms himself, a gesture of faux kindness and mercy that made me want to grab one of the ornate brands nesting beside the fireplace and shove it down his throat. I didn’t though. Great restraint on my part, I know.

“From where I’m standing, there was nothing for that boy to work through.”

“The next being to leave as much as a scratch on your skin forfeits their privilege to breathe.”

“A few times, mostly during foreign relations trips to Avelea…with my father,” he added, and I thought I heard his voice cake and crack like mud in the desert at that last word. “Oh. So I guess you didn’t have the chance to enjoy it, did you?” Kiran choked. “You’re incredibly frank, you know that, right?” “A byproduct of having half your face scorched off as a child,” I said. “Did your magic burn your filter, too?” I shrugged. “No, society did that. You see, society only cares about a woman’s filter if that woman is eligible to marry.” “Well, you certainly showed them, didn’t you?” Kiran nudged my arm with his elbow, and my stomach tightened. A grin tugged at the edge of my lips, and I didn’t work all that hard to fight it. “Oh, I dunno. There’ll be gossip that I bewitched my poor husband into agreeing to our union.” His molten eyes washed over me as a smirk emerged on his face, softening the harsh edges of his jaw, his brow line. “He’s not complaining.”

“No Asha, Queen of Naenden, weaver of tales and protector of the helpless, a girl—no, a woman—like you deserves to be cherished. Right here. Right now. To eternity and every fleeting moment in between.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Please just leave me alone.” Kiran’s eyes aged to coal. His knuckles bulged white on his clasped hands, shaking against the cracked marble, sending a rumble through the wall on which my skull rested. Fear coursed through me. Was this it? His breaking point? The part where he pinned my throat to the wall and consumed me in his rage? “As you wish,” he said, his voice crackling and dry as it scraped the bubbling air. He pushed himself from the wall, his towering form casting a shadow over me even as he stepped backward into the middle of the hall. It was almost as if, when he stepped away from me, he took my breath with him. When he spoke, his words hung in the sweltering air between us. “When are you going to forgive me, love?” Love. That word hooked on the loose shreds of my heart and tugged.

“Now,” Kiran said, the low rumble of his voice barely audible over the minstrels’ strumming of the lyre, “speaking of acts of war, should it ever cross my ears that you have as much as made my wife squeamish in your presence, I will personally crown your nephew at his coronation ceremony.”

“If you’re talking about these,” he whispered, “all they do is remind me how lucky I am to have ever met you. All they do is remind me that I could have lost you before I ever had the chance to find you. Your body, Asha, as much as I would like to…” His gaze lingered on my lips, his voice catching. “Your body is the vessel that tethers your soul to this side of the sun. It’s what keeps you here with me. That, and that alone, is what I love it for.”