“Corrin paid me a visit.”
My eyes widen. “She did?”
He chuckles, but the sound falls off with a serious look. “She told me a few things about your previous keeper. About what he did to you. What he made you do.”
I sigh, feeling my cheeks flush. “I shared those in confidence.”
“She didn’t go into too much detail. But enough. He was cruel.”
“Yes.” A tremble courses through my body. “Danthrin was never gentle, and he always took too much.” Of everything. Of me. “I can’t say how many times I blacked out afterward and was punished for it. The other men he let feed off me were even less gentle.” Silence meets my confession. I dare peer up into those blue eyes, lined with a heavy fringe, to see fury.
“If I had known this before, he never would have walked free.” He reaches up to stroke my cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, pulling away to reveal a dusting of white powder.
I laugh. That’s the second time today I’ve met the king with flour on my cheek. My dress has smears of lard on it. Who knows what the rest of me looks like. Certainly not a groomed and delicate king’s tributary. “Why me?”
His hand finds the underside of my chin and lifts it until I meet his gaze again. “I can feel your pulse, Gracen.” He steps in closer until we are a hair-width apart. “When I stand this close to you, I can feel how your body reacts to me.”
Another wave of embarrassment hits, even as my desire stirs. “Surely you would find that same reaction in any mortal you approach.” Especially any female.
“Yes, most.” His breath skates over my face with his chuckle. “But I don’t want any mortal. You are my choice.”
His blunt declaration stirs every nerve ending in my body. But quickly chasing it is a wave of fear. He’s the king, and he’s been kind to me. If I deny him, will he punish me? But if I say yes, the same worry stirs: Will he change into someone else? Someone to loathe?
I may be his choice, but I have no choice in the matter. I’m fooling myself if I think otherwise. I reach up to unbutton the top of my dress and push the linen past my shoulder. Cool air grazes my bare skin, stirring gooseflesh, as I grant him access.
He takes it immediately, his grip seizing my nape, guiding my head back, exposing my neck to his mouth. His soft lips graze my flesh where my pulse pounds like an invitation, and I brace myself for the sharp pain.
Only it doesn’t come, his featherlight kisses continuing up, along my jawline, over my cheek, until his mouth meets mine. Shivers skitter down my spine as he angles my head, deepening the kiss. I let my lips fall open and his tongue is there in an instant, sliding over mine with teasing strokes that pull a moan from my throat and coax me closer to him, my fingers trailing over his biceps for purchase, the gold threads of his king’s finery lingering beneath my touch.
I’ve never been kissed by anyone like this.
“You may go,” he whispers against my mouth before releasing me and stepping away, his breathing ragged.
“What? But …” My hand fumbles toward my dress, only to discover he already adjusted the collar and refastened the buttons without my notice, while I was so deeply entranced by his mouth. “Have I done something to upset you?”
“No, you’ve done nothing wrong, Gracen.” He punctuates that with a headshake, reaching up to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “But I know you were relieved to not serve as tributary anymore, and I will not take something from you that you do not wish to give.”
Knuckles rap on the outer door, and Kazimir steps in. “I apologize, Your Highness, but the assembly is gathered and growing anxious.”
“Perfect timing.” Atticus presses his fingers against his temple. He is suffering, Kazimir had said.
Is he feeling weak? Atticus can’t afford to be weak now, not with all he told me.
“A guard will escort you back to the servants’ hall.” He offers me a bland, tired smile. “You should go now.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I rush out, passing a sulking Kazimir.
My head spins with a medley of emotions I don’t understand, and none of them are relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ROMERIA
“Should I put my face on it?”
Zander pauses in his search to give me his attention. “Should you put your face on what?”
I hold up a gold coin. It has Ulysede’s emblem on one side and the nymph’s swirling scrawl on the other. “Where I come from, when they mint money, they put the faces of rulers on their coins. Some countries have king and queens. Mine has dead presidents.”