Free The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) by Emily Gee

inside her, uttering an involuntary groan of pleasure. By the All-Mother, it felt good to be inside a woman. For several seconds he held himself still, eyes tightly closed, savoring the moment, then he began to move, setting a rhythm for them.
    He lost his awareness of Innis. The dream narrowed until it was nothing but rhythm and heat and pleasure. His climax went on endlessly, so intense it was close to pain.
     
     
    I NNIS LAY AWAKE in the dark tent, listening as the prince’s breathing slowed and became steady again. Don’t worry, his voice whispered in her head. This is only a dream. It won’t hurt . But it had hurt, hurt so much it had jolted her awake. She turned her head and looked at the prince, but it was too dark to see him.
    Did he realize what they shared when they dreamed together? Thoughts. Memories. Emotions.
    No. Of course he didn’t.
    She reached out and found him in the darkness, laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, felt his warmth through the damp blanket.
    A strong bond. That’s what Dareus said the dreams meant.
    Friendship. Empathy.
    Love?

 
     

    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
     
    T HE HILLS CLIMBED to a plateau between Sault and Roubos. Sweeping winds chilled Jaumé to the bone; he rode with his blanket knotted round his shoulders. Bennick found him a cap to pull over his ears and boots for his bare feet. At a hamlet of four dwellings—huts built of dried mud and wood—an old woman scuttled inside as they approached.
    Bennick halted. He felt in his pouch and held up a copper coin.
    The woman’s door opened a crack. “There’s no food here.”
    “It’s not food I’m buying. A jacket for this boy.”
    “What good’s a penny? What good’s ten? It’s twenty miles to market and I’ve no horse to get there. I buried my husband two moons ago. Give me a loaf and you can have his jacket.”
    Bennick put the coin away. “Get one, Jaumé.”
    Jaumé dismounted and went to the packhorses. “Shall I give her two?”
    “One,” Bennick said.
    Jaumé found the largest loaf. He carried it to the hut, where the woman opened the door half way and held out a garment.
    “Spread it out,” Bennick said.
    The woman drew the door wider and showed a sheepskin jacket. “My man shrank. It’ll fit the boy.”
    “Jaumé?” Bennick said.
    “It looks all right.” The jacket had worn patches, but looked clean enough, and the stitching was sound. It was like the jacket Mam had made for Da.
    Jaumé took it and gave the woman the loaf of rye bread. She grabbed it, held it like a baby in two hands. He wished it was fatter. He wished there were two. He was sorry for her, with her sunken cheeks and gap-toothed mouth and greedy eyes.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    She didn’t reply. The door slammed shut.
    “Put it on,” Bennick said.
    Jaumé obeyed. At once he was warmer, with the hide holding off the wind and the wool inside next to his shirt.
    He folded the blanket he’d worn and used it again as a saddle.
     
     
    J AUMÉ SLEPT WELL that night, with the jacket spread on his blanket as wide as it would go. He half-woke and saw the moon low on the horizon and the watchman, Odil, moving like a shadow beyond the embers. Odil leaned and whispered to Nolt, risen on his elbow, and then melted away into the dark, and Jaumé slept again.
    They breakfasted on rye bread. Jaumé saddled his pony with the folded blanket. Wrapped in the jacket, he smelled the old man, but that didn’t bother him as long as he was warm. Today’s ride would be more comfortable. Then, beyond the horses, by a scrubby tree, he saw a pile of old clothes. He looked harder. Not clothes—a body. A gray, gap-toothed mouth seemed to grin. Blood, drying black at the edges, spread from under a slackened jaw.
    “Bennick.”
    Bennick paused in saddling his horse. He looked where Jaumé pointed.
    “It’s her. What happened?”
    Bennick turned back to his horse. “She came in the night. She was after your pony.”
    “But—”
    “Odil heard her.