The King(39)

Against that rushing backdrop of the running water, he heard her walk around, her bare feet nearly soundless on the tiles.

“If you were his brother instead of his sister,” Wrath said, “it would be the same. The problem is me, not you—so do yourself a favor and get off this feminist pulpit you’re on. It’s boring me.”

A little harsh, maybe. But he’d already proven that being civilized was outside his wheelhouse at the moment.

More silence. Until Wrath almost threw his hands up in frustration—but remembered his hey-nannies didn’t need to be on parade. “Come on, Payne. I can totally appreciate your pride being injured. Except I want you living and breathing more than I care about your feelings getting hurt.”

There was another long stretch of quiet. But she hadn’t left—he could sense her presence almost as if he could see her: She was right across the tile from him, standing between him and the exit.

“You believe you would not have stopped,” she said roughly.

“No.” He closed his eyes, regret stinging his chest. “I know it. And like I said, that part has nothing to do with you. So please, for the love of God, drop this and let me finish my shower.”

When there was no more conversation, Wrath felt his temper start to boil again. “What.”

“Let me ask you something.”

“Can’t this wait until—”

“The Brothers spar together, correct.”

“No. They’re too busy taking off-duty knitting classes.”

“So why don’t they work out with you anymore?” Her voice got lower. “Why don’t you keep sharp with them? Did it change after you took the throne?”

“After I went completely blind,” he bit out. “It changed then. Do you want an exact date?”

“I wonder if I asked around whether people would agree with that.”

“Are you suggesting I can actually see.” He bared his fangs. “Seriously.”

“No, I’m questioning whether your brothers would have gone to the mat with you once you properly assumed the crown upon your brow. I have a feeling that answer would be no.”

“You want to explain why this is relevant,” he cut in. “Because your other option is to watch me lose my shit again—and we both know how much fun that was the first time.”

When she spoke next, her voice was farther away and he had the sense that she had gone over to the archway that led to where the lockers were.

“I think the only reason why we spar is because I’m female.” As he opened his mouth, she talked over him. “And I think you would continue to fight with me if I were male. You can keep telling yourself it’s about my brother, that’s fine. But I believe you are more chauvinistic than you know.”

“Fuck you, Payne. For real.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. Why don’t you ask your shellan, though.”

“What.”

“Ask her how she feels about dealing with you.”

He jabbed at the air between them. “Get out. Before you give me a reason to put you in another fucking choke hold.”

“Why doesn’t she want you to know where she goes while you’re working?”

“Excuse me?”

“Females don’t keep secrets from mates who respect them. And that’s as far as I’m going to take this. But blind or not, you need to get a clearer picture of yourself.”

Wrath marched forward over the wet floor. “Payne. Payne! Come back here this fucking minute!”

He was arguing with himself, though.

The female had left him alone.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Trez thought as he breathed in again.

Recovery from a migraine was all about a soft landing for your return to consciousness. Usually the prescription was food and actual rest—because shit knew that even though you were in a dark room with nothing but Howard 100 streaming through your iPhone, you weren’t hanging proper with the sandman.

At the moment, however, he was seriously reconsidering years of get-back-to-normal trial and error: As the door shut behind his brother, and Trez was left alone with the Chosen Selena, every cell in his body went on full tingle.

Oh, man, he had to will on a lamp, even though it was a little early for his retinas to handle any real light—

Hello, goddess.

Selena was tall, and though she wore the traditional white robing of her station, it was clear she was built exactly like a female should be: Nothing was keeping down those curves of hers, not even all that draped fabric. And talk about your beautiful faces. She was all pink lips and pale blue eyes, her features perfectly symmetrical and engineered to catch a male’s stare and hold it. Then there was the hair. Long, thick, and the color of midnight, she wore it in the style of the Chosen, all coiled on the crown of her head.