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Only to scream when I see who’s standing above me.
Chapter 17
Unwelcome Visitor
Inearly have a heart attack when I find Grak standing over my bed with a tray of food in his hands.
He doesn’t so much as flinch, and I can immediately see why Ivar named him Hordechief when he just asks, “Why Empress scream?”
Meanwhile, my heart’s still racing as I belatedly remember to bring up a silk sheet to cover my breasts. “What the hell, Grak?!”
“No, not Hell.” A bit of confusion creeps into his squint. “Empress is no longer in Lower Realm. Empress has ascended to Middle Realm. Did Empress forget?”
I scrunch my forehead. “Wait, are you trying to say that you guys consider my realm to be Hell?”
He makes the same face my platoon sergeant used to when trying to figure out how to respectfully answer a question that was both obvious and stupid from a brand new lieutenant.
“Never mind…” I abandon that line of questioning to demand, “Why are you standing above my bed like some kind of creeper?”
“Grak was ordered to wait here and provide Empress food, along with preferred cultural dress.” He reaches under the tray and offers me the towel I came in wearing, freshly laundered and dry. Then he asks, “What is creeper?”
“That’s not what people from my culture wear—you know what, beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll take it.”
Instead of answering his question, I gratefully snatch the towel from him and wrap it around me underneath the sheet.
Grak extends the tray after I’m done. “Is Empress ready to eat?”
“The readiest,” I assure him before eating as much as I can manage. The plate is filled with hunks of dark bread still warm from the oven, some kind of purple berries I’ve never seen before, and fragrant, heavily spiced sausages. Believe me so hard when I tell you, I have zero intention of asking how they were made.
So I’m fed and dubiously covered. That still leaves the matter of needing to pee.
“Do you have a—I’m not sure what you’d call it here. Like a place to empty your bladder?”
Grak points to the largest pail I’ve ever seen, discreetly tucked into a corner, and my heart sinks.
I’m beginning to regret that the Army only ever gave me garrison assignments. Maybe if I’d ever been stationed somewhere less developed, outside of an established base, I wouldn’t have felt so awkward about bracing myself over the lip of a pail to pee.
“Could you turn around, please?” I ask Grak.
His brow furrows. “Why?”
“Okay, you wanted to know what a creeper is?” I huff. “Well, in my culture, staring at someone while she’s on the toilet is considered creepy behavior. And pervy.”
“Purrr-vy,” Grak repeats. Still not turning around. “What is Purrrvy?”
“Perverted,” I explain. “Like you’ve got a weird kink for watching another male’s wife pee.”
Grak tenses. “Empress believes Grak wishes to rut with Emperor’s Human Female?!?!”
“Okay, enough of this. I just can’t with you anymore.” I rub at my temple. “Grak, please just turn around. That’s an order, if my orders count for anything.”
I guess they do because he immediately turns his back to me.
Thank goodness I don’t have to do anything more than pee.
I empty my bladder like the opposite of an uber-sanitized Clara Quinn novel, then try not to groan when I have to stand again. Everything feels sore and bruised, even my insides. I now understand the slang “rearranged my guts.” Completely and intimately.
Grak whips back around as soon as I get to my feet, his expression indignant and outraged. “Empress should know it is impossible for Grak to want Emperor’s wife!”
