Page 75 of The Midnight King
“Oh… not exactly. I… well… I was looking for a book.” Her eyes widen slightly as she notices the salacious contents of the novel lying open on my thigh. She glances at me, a blush tinging her cheeks—but in her eyes I read interest, not condemnation.
“Ever read a book like this?” I ask.
“A woman of good breeding should say no, but… yes.”
I’m ridiculously pleased by her admission. “I respect your honesty.”
“I should say, I’ve only read short stories of that kind,” she clarifies. “Never an entire book.”
“Ah. Well, the story is good. It’s meant to titillate, of course, but there’s substance beyond that.”
Her lips part, and her blush intensifies, but I can tell it isn’t embarrassment, exactly. Or if it is, the embarrassment is mingled with lust. I was already aroused thanks to the delightful tale I was reading, and my arousal is now a full-blown craving, centered boldly on the young woman standing beside me.
She’s a mystery, this one. Bound by a magical device, aching for freedom, gifted with beauty, and brimming withsuppressed desire. Her scent is warm and honeyed, yet fragile with mortality, like soft petals easily bruised. She is gentle with animals and vicious with me, and I love that dichotomy of her character. It’s so fucking intriguing.
Even more intriguing is the way her body language suddenly changes. Her hips tilt provocatively and she begins twirling a lock of glossy golden hair around her finger.
“Do you read books like that often?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I reply honestly. “When I lack companionship.”
“I would think that a king could havecompanionshipanytime he desires it.”
“I could have companions, but I happen to be rather particular about that sort of company.”
“Are you?” She cocks an eyebrow. “What kind of person meets the standards of the King?”
I close the book, set it aside, and stand up so I can look down at her. I can smell traces of fear in her delicate scent, but stronger than that is the scent of her arousal. My cock hardens still more, painful in its insistence to be sheathed in the slippery heat of her body.
She asked what my standards are. At the moment, the only standard isher.
“It’s not something I can define,” I say. “I know it when I see it.”
“Do you?” Her voice cracks slightly. She’s terrified and desperate all at once.
Much as I might wish to, I won’t attempt to seduce her. After all, this form might have an undue influence over a servant girl trapped in a life she hates. I should deflect her attention elsewhere, before I do something I’ll regret.
“Have you seen our winter roses?” I inquire. “They are something of a specialty here at the palace. A point of pride with our gardeners.”
“I saw some. By the windows, when I came in. They were drenched in moonlight.”
“Drenched…” Fuck, now I’m wondering if the undergarments I made for her are also drenched beneath the skirts of her gown.
With a mighty effort I turn my mind from that tempting image. “Come with me. You can take a closer look at the roses.”
I lead her toward the urns of winter roses, and when she comments on their beauty I agree with her, though I’m not looking at the flowers at all.
I can’t seem to break the enchantment she has unwittingly laid over my brain and body, the overwhelming sense that this girl is different than anyone I’ve ever helped, that once my task is done I won’t be able to step out of her life like I did with the others, that Icouldn’tleave her entirely, ever. Now that I’ve met her, I can’t imagine not being near her once in a while, hearing her voice, watching the play of emotions across her face. There is a depth to her character that I ache to explore, even more than I yearn for her body.
What is this magic? Does it have to do with the anklet she wears? Surely not. Judging by the scars on her skin, she is being held and harmed against her will. She doesn’t seem like the type to be wielding a love-spelled artifact against me.
Without warning, she touches me—one pale hand at my waist, her tapered fingers resting against my shirt. I can feel the warmth of her palm through the material, against my skin, and it drives me mad instantly.
She tips her face up and whispers, “Will you fuck me?”
Shock blazes through my body, and my cock jumps against the confines of my pants. With difficulty I manage to speak. “Aren’t you here for the ball? For the Prince?”
“I came here for your son, yes… but now I’d like to come for you, Your Majesty.”