I’ve never felt like a walking coin so much in my entire life as I do right now.
Midas gives me a reassuring nod and then turns away from me, grabbing more wine from a servant as two new saddles surround him with sultry giggles as he takes his place on his throne and is immediately approached by a pair of nobles. I’m officially on my own.
Turning, I walk over to King Fulke with my chin held high. I won’t let him see how much I’m dreading this. I have a feeling that would only amuse him more, when what I really want is for him to lose interest entirely.
When I was tossing and turning last night in my bed, I told myself that no matter what happened tonight, I would handle it. Saddles are forced to give away their bodies to people they don’t like every single day. I’ve endured far worse than this before.
Besides, King Midas is growing his empire, ridding Orea of a rotten king. And he was able to do that because a single night with me was worth an entire army of soldiers.
King Fulke grins at me, showing off his yellowed, rotting teeth. His eyes run over my form greedily with carnal hunger. Despite the way my ribbons are giving me extra coverage, one look seems like he’s peeling away the layers in his head, imagining what lies beneath the wrapping.
“You’re mine for the night, gilded pet. Let’s celebrate.”
The music lifts into a crescendo.
My spirit drops into my shoes.
Chapter Eleven
He makes me feed him.
Platters of food are brought out and placed on a table between the thrones, and Midas and Fulke enjoy the spread, the saddles around me indulging too.
Meats, cheeses, chocolates, fruit, bread. Sweet-smelling cakes and vinegar dips. I feed him everything as I sit on the armrest of the throne, my body twisted toward him as much as I have to without allowing any part of me to touch him.
But no matter how careful I am to hold as little of the food as I can without dropping it, he still sucks my fingers into his mouth, licking the pads of my fingers, scraping my nails with his teeth.
The piece of chocolate in my hand is quickly nabbed, his mouth sucking my fingers in before I can pull away. He laughs as he chews, the confectionary staining his teeth as he licks them. “Your gold skin makes the food taste so much richer.”
I feel the eyes of the other saddles look over at me, assessing, judging, calculating, sizing me up as a threat, as if I want his attention.
Midas is speaking to more nobles again, the spot beside his throne filled one after another, as people occupy his time and borrow his ear. He hasn’t glanced my way at all since I was traded off to Fulke.
“Open.”
My eyes flick up to Fulke’s hand that’s hovering in front of my face. A slice of meat is caught between his fingers, sauce dripping off the bottom and landing on his black velvet leggings.
When I start to shake my head, horrified at the thought of having his fingers anywhere near my mouth or touching my food, Fulke raises a bushy brow. A question. A demand.
Behave tonight.
My lips part, barely, and Fulke presses the meat into my mouth, more forceful than he needs to. When he tries to push his fingers inside, I turn my head and snap my mouth closed.
He smirks. “What a naughty thing you are.”
I feel Midas’s gaze fall over me, and my shoulders stiffen.
“No matter. It marks for a titillating evening, doesn’t it?”
Bread is pushed past my lips next. Cheese. Grapes. I chew mindlessly, staying silent, my eyes watchful, my ribbons tight.
With an outstretched index finger, he does a double tap against his goblet, his power flaring as he duplicates the cup and hands one to me. With a snap of his finger, a servant hurries over, filing them both with wine.
“A toast to our night,” he says before tipping it against his lips and gulping down the contents.
I take a bitter sip.
When Fulke is bored of feeding me, he takes both goblets and places them on the table, shooing away any more trays of food. I’m glad that’s over at least. The food sits in my stomach, as heavy as stones, my tongue belligerent for the taste of his fingers still lingering on it.
Of course, I don’t get let off that easy though, because Fulke lifts a finger to point to his plump cheek. “Kiss me.”
My eyes narrow, skin tightening, fingers curling in the skirts of my dress. When I don’t move, Fulke’s eyes flash. His hand comes up to pinch my ear, pulling me forward until my mouth lands against his scratchy cheek. Scratchy, not smooth like Midas. A rounded jaw and pudgy cheek, smelling of wine but reeking of arousal.
My lips don’t pucker, because I refuse to kiss him. My mouth presses against his skin as he holds me there, my ear squeezed between his finger and thumb.