No one’s intentions for you are more wicked than my own.
“It’s too late. I’m making good coin,” I said, uneasy and desperate to keep it from showing. “Good enough to be free of Madam Morin in no time.” I straightened from where I’d been leaning against his desk. “I know what I’m doing.”
The anger in Gane’s dark eyes was soon replaced with sadness. “Flea, you have no idea what you’re doing. You’ve lived your entire life inside of books and this rotting building, and your naivety will land you in disaster.”
He was likely right, but I had nothing else. All I had was this slowly opening doorway to everything I’d ever wanted.
Even if it might cost me more than I could have ever imagined.
The sparrow came mere hours after I left the library.
In nothing but a towel, I padded across the apartment to where the bird ceaselessly tapped against the kitchen window. It chirped when I pushed open the glass, and as I reached for the note, rubbed its blue-feathered cheek against my finger.
I smiled in wonder as the sparrow took flight, but then quickly collected the tiny roll of parchment before it was lost to the soapy water in the kitchen sink.
The note was the same as the first.
With little else to do besides try and fail to read, I arrived at room twelve an hour before the scheduled meet time of midnight.
I’d dressed simply in a gown of my own. A sky-blue cotton tunic that cinched at the waist and dropped to my ankles. The flowing sleeves gathered at the wrists, and the neckline dipped right above my breasts. It was worn but lovely, and it would do.
Even so, I fidgeted and paced, worrying if I had time to change into something better. Something more seductive. Then I took a seat upon the end of the bed and finger-combed my hair. I hadn’t touched it after washing it.
I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to present myself in such a bland way. Impatience, maybe. Perhaps it was because I’d barely been touched at all during our last meeting after I’d gone to some effort to seduce.
I knew too little of such things, so if I were to be embarrassed again, it would not be because I’d tried to be someone I wasn’t.
Someone I perhaps wanted to one day be.
The air stilled then changed as the king materialized.
Warmth spread throughout the room, followed by blistering cold. More of those small flurries danced and melted upon touching the floor as the king appeared wreathed in fading midnight tendrils of shadow. He wore a tight, long-sleeved black tunic with similar armor-lined pants and matching knee-high boots.
He looked as though he’d just left a battlefield, though not a trace or scent of blood could be detected.
Every impressive inch of his enormous physique was outlined. Every inch of him dangerous in a way I’d already known but had perhaps failed to wholly realize.
Amusement sparked within his eyes as he surveyed my expression.
I closed my mouth and averted my gaze to my bare feet. I’d kicked my slippers off before perching upon the end of the bed.
“No curtsy this time?” Panic had me ready to spring to my feet until the king said, “Don’t bother. I like you where you are.” Three long strides brought him within touching distance, and touch he did. He tipped up my chin until I met his eyes with mine. “Ready and waiting for me.”
I blinked, without words.
His lips parted as he stared. “I dreamed of you,” he murmured as if unwillingly. “It has been a long time since I’ve dreamed of anything.”
“Truly?” I heard myself ask. I couldn’t imagine merely sleeping when dreams were all that had kept me floating from one day to the next.
“Well…” His luscious mouth tilted. “Not of anything sweet, at least.”
His admission created a strange twinge within my chest. “I’ve thought of you,” I said, thinking it only fair to give him something in return.
“I expect you have.” His touch fell away, leaving a crisp burn. “Been wondering over my answer to your request?”
I frowned. “That’s not what I—”
“Trust I will not leave without giving you one, but first…” He yanked at the sleeve of my gown. “What is this?”
“A gown.”
“It is a tent to hide within.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong, but annoyance still flared. “No one is telling you to wear it.” My eyes widened at my foolish audacity.
Florian stilled, as did my heart.
It pounded hard when he unleashed a devious grin. “My, you’re something else when a little riled, sweetling.” His humor died as rapidly as it came. “Take it off.”
Though I would have loved nothing more than to see what he had planned for me, my annoyance refused to budge. “And if I don’t want to?”
“Then you do not have to.” He turned for the divan. “We will conduct this meeting as you wish.”
The question left me without thought. “What will you do if I remove the gown?”
He stopped, and with his back to me, said with a softness that grazed, “What would you like me to do?”
I shouldn’t have said anything.
I should have just told him I would like him to kiss me again. To touch me again, wherever his hands desired to roam. Instead, I blurted, “You did not even wish to kiss me during our last meeting.”
He stalked back to me with slow grace, a brow raised. “Did I leave you disappointed?”
I couldn’t deny that I had been. He saw as much when I again averted my attention to my feet.
“Cease trying to hide. Look at me.” My eyes rose, and his knee knocked open my own as he loomed above me. “You shocked me. You continue to shock me in ways I find myself ill-equipped to handle, but I’ve decided something.”
“You have?”
“I’ve decided that I like it.” He cupped my face, brought it close to his, and ordered to my lips, “Now, I want this tent gone and your back upon the bed.”
He helped me pull the gown over my head. Slowly, I eased down on the bed. He stepped away, and I rose to my elbows in nothing but my slip. “What are you doing?”
“Admiring the treasure I’ve found.” But his expression remained unmoved. He stood with his hands clasped before him, his feet braced apart. “Open your legs.”
My heart stopped galloping and climbed into my throat.
King Florian cocked his head. “Are you uncomfortable, butterfly?” He knew I was, but still he said, “Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make your choice.”
“And if I choose not to?”
“Then you choose not to,” he said as though not having me however he wished would not bother him when we both knew it would.
It thrilled me that it would.
My skin burned beneath the weight of his attention. But as each second ticked by, my breathing evened, and the itch to see what he would do to me became a need impossible to ignore.
He knew I was nervous. He knew I wanted to play regardless.
My knees rose. Then slowly, they opened.
My slip slid over my thighs as they did, and though he made not a sound, I could feel it. The flood of tension emanating from him crackled, an iced breeze before a blizzard.
“Sweet indeed,” he murmured, as if to himself. “Tell me something.” His voice was closer, and I tore my eyes from the filigree etched into the mildew-dotted ceiling to find him standing at the end of the bed.