King Midas chuckles after taking a bite of fruit. “I’m aware.”
Fulke eyes me thoughtfully. “You sure you won’t change your mind and gold-touch one of my saddles for me?” he asks, even as he kneads Polly’s ass where she sits atop his thigh.
Midas shakes his head. “No. That honor is only bestowed on my Auren,” he replies smoothly. “I like setting her apart.”
Fulke makes a grunt of disappointed amusement, while I bite my lip in pleasure at Midas claiming me. Polly and Rissa both share a look of clear displeasure and start fondling each other at the table, like they want to draw attention back to themselves. “I can see why you chose her,” Fulke says, ignoring Rissa when her hand runs over his crotch. “Her beauty is unparalleled.”
My skin prickles with his roving gaze and with the daggers that Rissa’s and Polly’s eyes are throwing at me. But based on the gleam in Midas’s eyes, I can see how pleased he is. He gets great satisfaction when people envy what he has.
“Of course she’s beautiful,” my king says smugly. “She’s mine.”
My face heats, his possessive tone making my insides go warm. I steal a glance at him through the strings of the harp, my fingers plucking the tune out like an offering.
Fulke turns his gaze over to Midas. “One night, Midas. I’ll pay you handsomely for one night with her.”
My fingers slip on the strings. A sour note clangs through the air, ruining my favorite crescendo. My gold eyes shoot over to my king. Midas will say no of course, but holy Divine, I can’t believe Fulke dared. Is Midas about to smite King Fulke for saying such a thing? Right here at the dining table?
My stomach twists as the room goes completely silent. Once, one of Midas’s financial ambassadors said something very similar, and my king had all of his toes and fingers cut off one by one before he threw them in a vat of melted gold and hung them on the man’s door. Harsh? Definitely. But it was a message to everyone who leered a little too long, who became a little too bold.
The guards and saddles go tense and alert, all of us waiting with bated breath. The kings’ advisors look between the monarchs anxiously, and my fingers stay paused on the strings, the silence a different kind of song.
King Midas carefully sets down his fork and then looks up at Fulke steadily. A long pause stretches through the air. My heart thumps in my chest as I wait to see how he’ll reprimand Fulke, how he’ll dress him down.
Midas braces an elbow on the arm of his chair, setting his face into his hand as he regards the other king, and now my stomach churns for an entirely new reason. Because there’s a gleam in my king’s eye, an inkling of contemplation.
Oh Divine, is he actually considering it?
Chapter Four
No. No way.
I refuse to believe that my king is considering giving me to another man to use. Midas would never let anyone have me. He’s far too possessive of me, loves me, prizes me. He has ever since he rode in and rescued me.
But every second that passes and he doesn’t say anything makes my gut churn.
“Well? What do you say?” Fulke presses. “Name an amount.”
Bile burns the back of my throat at Midas’s cocked head. What the hell is happening?
Finally, Midas lifts his hand and gestures around the room like he’s reminding Fulke of his surroundings. Gold walls, gold ceilings, gold floors. Gold fireplace and portraits and window frames. Gold, gold, gold. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t need to be paid anything. I have more wealth than all of the other five kingdoms combined, including yours. I’m the richest person alive.”
Thank Divine.
Instead of getting offended, Fulke just waves him off. “Bah. Not money. Something else you desire.”
My eyes bounce between them, my headache coming back full force. It pulses at my temple like an aching war drum. A beat of threat. A rhythm of dread.
How is this happening?
Usually, King Fulke just makes lewd comments about what he’d like to “do to me,” but Midas never entertains him, and it never moves past that, because my king always shuts it down. But this has gone much further than ever before. Fulke is getting bolder, and Midas…Midas is looking at Fulke with that cunning look in his eye that I know all too well. The look that tells me he’s thinking.
Unease swirls in my stomach like a dark tidepool.
One of Fulke’s advisors chances to lean forward, his face anxious. “Your Majesty—”
“Quiet,” Fulke snaps, not even looking at him.