Chapter 174 Test
Bella
It’s been a few days since Damien and I have left our bedroom. We've barely stepped into the corridor to collect our food. We’ve lived on those trays left outside the door and jugs of water that keep appearing like magic. I don't know if it's something the staff have just done on their own will or if Damien has physically ordered everyone away. Either way, I’ve been grateful. It’s been nice.
It’s also been sweaty. The chamber is bathed in constant warmth from the firelight and steam; the heat is trapped within the stone walls. The air heavy with the aftermath of two elementals who keep forgetting they’re supposed to be civilized now. The windows have been cracked, but the outside air barely gets a chance to matter before Damien’s heat answers it and my ice answers him, and we end up in the same cycle of warmth and intamicy. The room smells like us, fire, damp stone and sheets that have been used too many times without a proper airing. I keep thinking I should feel embarrassed about that, and then Damien looks at me like I am the entire reason this castle was built in the first place, and my brain stops being polite. This morning, the musty part finally got its revenge. I sit up too fast, and the room tilts dramatically, just enough that I know I’m about to lose a fight I didn’t agree to. I shove the blanket off my legs and slide out of bed, feet hitting cold stone, hair stuck to my neck, throat tight. Damien shifts behind me, still half-asleep, his arm reaching like I’m supposed to stay exactly where he left me. I make it three steps before my stomach flips hard, and then I’m running. I barely get the washroom door open before I’m over the basin, gripping the edge like it’s the only solid thing left in the world, and then I’m throwing up. It’s quick, ugly, humiliating, disgusting and torturous. I swear at the last meal that I ate... it didn't taste or smell off when I was eating it. I hear Damien behind me, his bare feet on stone and the soft sound of him stopping in the doorway. Then, instead of concern, or a hand on my back, or even a quiet, are you alright, he does the most deranged thing a man has ever done in my presence. He claps a full, delighted set of claps as if I’ve just performed a miracle, and he’s afraid the moment will vanish if he doesn’t acknowledge it fast enough. I lift my head slowly and look at him over my shoulder. The look I give him could have melted iron. It could have made saints repent. It could have turned a lesser man into smoke and regret. Damien just smiles wider. His hair is a mess, his chest bare, sleep still in his eyes, and he looks like he’s been waiting his entire life to watch me gag over a wash basin. “My love,” he says, voice bright with joy, “do it again.” I glare at him. He blinks once, as if considering that maybe he should rephrase, then decides he doesn’t care. “I’ll be right back,” he says.
“Damien,” I rasp, because my throat is raw and my patience is thinner than the fog clinging to the ceiling. “If you come back in here with a midwife, I will kill you.” He pauses at the door like he’s listening to the threat. Then he leaves anyway. I rinse my mouth, wipe my face with the towel, and stand there with both hands braced on the stone, breathing slowly until the world steadies again. My skin feels overheated. I can’t quite cool down from the inside, which is wildly odd when you're an ice elemental with literal frost running through your veins. I tell myself it’s the room, the steam, the way we’ve been living like animals for days. I step back into the chamber and sit on the edge of the bed, waiting. Damien returns not five minutes later with an armful of something. He looks like he raided the healer’s cabinets and stole their entire inventory. He drops a bundle of wrapped sticks on the bed like they’re weapons. “What is that?” I ask, looking from him to the sticks, back to him with his wide grin. “Tests,” he answers, like that should explain everything. “For what?” He looks at me like I’ve asked why the sun rises. “For the baby,” he says. My body just pauses.
“Ashlyn said this would happen,” I mutter. Damien’s brows lift, clearly pleased with his efforts of possibly breeding me into a balloon. “Ashlyn is wise.”
“Ashlyn is chaotic.” I roll my eyes.
“She can be both.” He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees, eyes locked on mine with that steady intensity he gets when he’s decided something is happening and the world can either cooperate or be dragged along. “Go,” he says softly. “Please.”
I blink. “Go where?”
“The washroom,” he says, and his voice drops like he’s about to share a secret. “And pee on it.”
I stare at him. “How about I pee on you for this inconvenience?” I tell him.
His smile tugs wider. “You wouldn't do that.”
“I might in this exact moment.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my knee, which should not work on me when I’m tired and gross and embarrassed, but it does anyway. “Please,” he says again. Something about his face makes it hard to refuse. Not the king part, or the dragon part. The man part. The part that has been holding his breath for days, quietly watching me, counting small changes I didn’t notice because I was busy being alive. I pick up one of the wrapped sticks. It’s surprisingly light. It looks insultingly simple for something that has the power to rearrange an entire life. I stand, I take the stick, and I go back into the washroom.