Page 82 of Queens

I need sleep.

My eyes slip shut, and I try my damned hardest to ignore the pulsating pain in my ribcage. Every breath hurts, and I wish I could kill those Greeds all over again. Who spears people? It’s an outdated attack, one I wasn’t expecting.

Rexton grabs my shoulders, and I cry out as I’m forced out of my cot. This is not what I want, and I glare at the top of Rexton’s head as he crouches and taps my leg.

“Foot up,” he instructs.

Fuck him. I place both my hands on his head, my fingers sinking into his hair as I use him for stability. He lets me, not arguing as he rips my shoes and socks off. My pants are next. Rexton guides them down my legs with suspiciously gentle movements.

He leaves my underwear untouched, probably because he knows what’s good for him. I’m vulnerable, but I haven’t forgotten who I am. If he tries taking advantage of this, of me, I’ll kill him. And if I can’t kill him, then I’ll run to my fathers and let them do it. If they won’t, then I’ll go to Valeria and David.

David’s a little bitch, but Valeria wouldn’t hesitate to kill Rexton if he assaulted me. I have no doubt about it. She’d be successful, too. The fates are sneaky fuckers, and she’d find a way to get it done.

Rexton rises, his hands covered in blood. There’s a lot of it, and I grimace as I notice the droplets on the ground. They trail from the entrance of my tent to my cot, and my sheets appear damp.

Shit.I’ve been bleeding on it. I didn’t notice.

Rexton eyes my destroyed shirt. The healers cut it to my belly button, and Rexton rips the fabric the rest of the way down. I’m relieved. I don’t want to lift my arms, and I don’t even help him shrug the fabric off my shoulders.

My bra was split open by the spear, and it falls to the ground as my shirt is removed.

“How bad is it?” I ask.

I still haven’t looked.

“It’ll scar,” Rexton admits. “Come on.”

He offers a hand, helping me step inside the tub. My back is to the tent entrance, a position I typically never put myself in, but I can’t bring myself to care. Despite Rexton’s several faults, I trust him not to let anybody enter.

The bathwater is lukewarm, teetering on the cold side, but it feels good. I’m burning up.

“There’s soap and washcloths on my desk,” I say.

If Rexton is going to make me bathe, then he’s going to wash me. I’m sure not going to do it. I’m going to sit here, waiting for death as he does all the hard work. Today has drained me.

Thankfully, Rexton doesn’t make a fuss. He grabs soap and a washcloth, then gets to work wiping me down.

“We’ll do your chest last,” he says.

“I don’t care.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, the lack of sound only broken by Rexton’s occasional request for me to shift into a new position. Having Rexton bathe me isn’t as awful as I feared, and I imagine if I weren’t in so much pain, I’d find it mildly enjoyable.

I love being pampered.

A loud, ripping sound tears through my tent. I already know who the culprit is. I rest my cheek against the tub’s edge, not bothering to turn around and confirm. There’s only one person who would dare force their way into my private space.

I should’ve known the healers would run to Aziel. They’ve told him about my injury, probably in excruciating detail. I have no dignity, no privacy.

“Cassia! What—”

“Get out.” Rexton’s voice is unusually cold, and his hand on my back stills as the scent of his power flares throughout my tent. I didn’t realize he was holding so much of it back. Is that for my benefit? He doesn’t need to do that.

I’m injured, but I’m still Cassia, Crown Princess. I’m no coward.

Cold silence fills the room.

I can only imagine the scene Aziel has walked in on. I’m mostly naked, sitting in the bath while Rexton washes blood out of my hair. It would be too easy to draw conclusions, and while Aziel has never shown excessive hostility toward men I’ve been intimate with, I doubt his resigned acceptance extends to Rexton. There’s too much history between the two.