Page 76 of Her Soul for a Crown

Anula closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Reeri’s heartbeat. To the breath level out in his lungs and the soft snores of his sleep. The tension leaked out of her to the rhythm of him, drifting her into placid dreams.

***

A hand swept down Anula’s curves, softly waking her.

It squeezed her roundness, drawing a line over her hip, fingers curling around it, grabbing hard and pulling into the firm body of another. Reeri’s hardness pressed between her legs. Anula moaned, running a hand down soft muscles, through thick chest hair, and into a bush.

“Anula,” Reeri whispered.

She moaned again, finger circling his base, testing, teasing, delighting as it hardened.

“Anula.”

Her eyes opened to their legs tangled. Reeri’s hand held her backside, gripping it as though it might fall off. Her hand had found its way beneath his sarong and around his girth. She stilled, blinking up at him.

“Good morning, my Lord.” She smirked.

He growled low, “Good morning, my raejina.”

His grip tightened. He squeezed her roundness, leaned in and kissed her, biting at her lips. A thrill rocked down her spine.

“Thrice-cursed blessings,” she breathed, then smashed her face against his. She ripped the blanket off and hitched her leg over him. He groaned as she straddled his hardness, rocking her hips. “I knew men prayed on their knees. Until last night, I didn’t know Lords did, too.”

Reeri quirked a brow.

“Your prayer has been heard, Blood Yakka, and here is my answer.”

A shiver racked his body, and Anula slid down the rest of him.

She tugged at his sarong, whipping it off, and memorized every naked inch of him.

She trailed one finger across his collarbone, down the planes of his chest, over tightening muscles, to the dip at his hips. She smiled up at Reeri and sank.

Placing her hands on his knees, she slowly drove them up his thighs. She found his hardness, robust and ready, and took it in both hands. Her tongue flicked out to meet it. Reeri’s knees wobbled and she tasted his want.

Up and down, she stroked, smiling as his head fell back, eyes closed and groaning. She licked him, kissed him, stroked him in a circle, his hips swaying to her rhythm. And then she swallowed him.

He buckled. Fisted her hair and moaned. “Anula.”

She lost herself then, pumping faster.

“Anula,” he gasped.

She sucked harder as he bucked and trembled, spurring her on.

“O Heavens,” Reeri roared as he went over the edge. Warmth filled her mouth with heavenly sweetness and earthy salt.

“Are you pleased with my answer?”

A fire glinted in Reeri’s eyes. “Pleased enough to pray again.”

He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back to straddling—

The door burst open.

They jerked to a stop, panic flooding them both. Was it Bithul or another guard? Had something gone wrong?

“Once you’re crowned and it’s official”—Premala’s voice echoed through the chamber—“we need to clean up both the inner and outer city.”

Reeri scrambled, wrapping Anula’s robe around her and fumbling for the blanket on the floor.

“There’s a significant number of injured and homeless. Bithul has sent scouts to see how far the Polonnaruwans reached into the villages. We need to tell the fisherman about the Makara. Fate can’t actually be eating sailors and demanding sacrifices, right? I mean, I know they’re a Divinity but—”

Premala paused, half-bent picking up a blanket off the floor. But it wasn’t a blanket, it was a sarong. One that Reeri was also grabbing.

Premala shrieked, dropped the sarong, and spun around.

“No knock?” Anula shouted. Reeri hurriedly covered himself.

It took a moment for Premala to answer, and when she did, she giggled. “Friends don’t have to knock.”

“I must have missed that rule.”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be…occupied. Nice to see you again, Reeri.”

“Likewise,” he mumbled.

Anula slipped off the bed, tightening the blue water lily robe around her and turned Premala around. “How did you know?”

“I’ve told you, the guruthuma can sense the Yakkas. It’s hard to explain, but he has a vibration about him. I felt it enter the palace last night.”

“I sense yours as well,” Reeri said, now fully clothed. “A blessing not granted to many.”

Premala blushed and smiled. More secrets of the cosmos Anula would never understand. Perhaps no one was supposed to and the cosmos was a mystery to be explored, instead of a question to be answered.

“Remind me why my friend is in my bedchamber so early in the morning.”

“It’s nearly noon.” Premala blanched. “Your ceremony is about to start.”

Cursed blessings. Anxiety flooded back, and a hand flew to the empty space at her throat—but Anula caught it before it landed.

“Are you ready for the servants to prepare you?” Guruthuma Premala asked.

Anula met her friend’s gaze, then Reeri’s. She took a steadying breath, remembering who she was, what she had gained, and that she was not alone. She’d never tell herself such a half-truth again.

“Yes,” she asserted.

***

The walk through the palace to the throne room was nothing like it’d been before.

Anula passed door after ruined door, room after plundered room.

Cushions and divans littered the floor in broken heaps, art either stolen or destroyed, as if their enemies had wanted to cut off their connection to the Heavens even if they couldn’t carry everything away.

Bronze statues and paintings were all gone, the whispers of destinies and songs of home silenced.

It should’ve dismayed Anula, and perhaps it dismayed everyone else, but Anula knew the palace wouldn’t lie broken and plundered for long. Neither would Anuradhapura. They had freed themselves, and together, they would rise from the ashes.

Only one room remained untouched, whether by chance or blessing, Anula didn’t know. Darker than all others, tendrils of smoke curled out like fingers, beckoning—the palace shrine. Auntie Nirma’s final words swam in her mind. Faith starts where strength ends, Anula.

Perhaps she’d been right in that, too. Anula had found her own belief, and though it looked different than others’ faith, it was no less strong. No less true.

The procession was short. The carved wooden doors, inset with silver and brass, swung wide.

There was no opulence, no blooms around pillars or across tables, none that hung from the ceiling.

Only the lamps remained, casting the room in a golden hue, glinting off the gilded throne.

And where once she’d aimed for the seat in a jewel-encrusted hatte with fake sapphires at her neck, she now strode forward in her favorite red silk sari.

Instead of wedding mehendhi, bangles rose from wrist to elbow, tinkling along with bell-drop earrings.

No weight pressed against her; no frenzied thoughts spun in her mind.

Thunder rumbled outside. A cool Maha breeze whirled around all those gathered. Palace officials, central administrators, the board of ministers, all the wives and children of the inner city, the outer city, villagers, fishermen, and farmers. Anuradhapura was in attendance.

As she neared the dais, Prophet Revantha motioned to the guruthuma, who stood near the terrace doors and began a song.

The sound of Anuradhapura swelled inside Anula’s heart.

Not only for Auntie Nirma’s plan, nor for Amma and Thaththa and all those lost on the way.

It swelled for those with her now and for those yet to come.

The Age of Usurpers had ended. Now was the time of new beginnings.

A time for the most important thing: life.

The song crescendoed, dovetailed to the end, and in a silence brimming with hope, Anula sat on the throne.

Prophet Revantha fitted the crown on her head. “Long live the Raejina!”

“Long live the Raejina!” the people chanted. “Long live the Raejina!”

Anula opened her mouth, her first declaration as raejina flowing from her lips. “Long live Anuradhapura!”