A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“The queen will be pleased, but others will not be,”Hawthorne said. “There are those who always believed the marks were a sign of servitude to one greater than themselves. A mark that said plainly, this person is my master.”

I looked at him still covered in armor, helmet in place. “Is that how you feel about it?”

“I did once,” he said.

Frost pushed up his jacket sleeve to bare his lower arm. “If the marks work as they should, it will be important to be able to see them. They will carry messages between us, warnings. As much as I would love to press my body against yours, I would rather the sign be on my arm where it is easily seen.”

Doyle sighed. “Better strategy than the chest. I did not think.”

“You were befuddled with her beauty and the promise of power.”

Doyle sighed again. “Yes.”

Frost held his arm out toward me. I sat up carefully, still not wanting the moth to struggle. “Why does it hurt me every time? There are no marks on my skin.”

“You already bear the mark,” Frost said. “As for the pain…” He smiled at me gently, his eyes full of some knowledge that I did not have. “Merry, you should know by now that no power comes without a price.”

I would have liked to argue, but I couldn’t. He was right. I stared at his pale, muscular arm, waiting. I took a deep breath, and let it out as I laid my hand on him. His breath hissed out between his teeth.

I made no sound for a moment, then my breath came back in a gasp. I looked at Galen and Nicca still on the bed. “If we all three have marks, then what happens if we touch each other?”

“Let us not find out, not tonight,” Doyle said. “I do not know if it would work as it should between the three of you, not with all of you so… fresh.”

Kitto came to stand beside Frost. “I would gladly carry your symbol, Merry.”

I had to smile at him. If the marks really could help us keep track of one another, I didn’t want to leave Kitto out. “Your arm, then.”

He held his arm out, so trusting. I braced for it, and laid my hand on his arm. He hissed, like an angry cat, but did not pull away. When I drew back the moth was bloody on his skin.

I touched my own arm where it hurt. “Let’s change arms for the next one, okay?”

“And who will be next?” Ivi said. “Nothing personal, Princess, but I bargained for sex, not slavery.”

I frowned at him. “What do you mean by ‘slavery’?”

“The marks mean we are your men,” Doyle said. “They are proof that the Goddess has chosen us for you.