King Fulke doesn’t leave as originally planned. Not now that he mobilized his army and agreed to help Midas on a secret attack on Fourth Kingdom. Not now that he has a night with Midas’s favored to look forward to.
Every day that his soldiers march closer to meet up with Midas’s army, it feels like an attack is closer to being launched on me.
My hands curl over the book I have in my lap. Even though my eyes are on the page, I’m not reading any of the words. I’m too busy eavesdropping.
I’m acting as a pretty centerpiece where I’m sitting in the center of my cage inside the library. Back straight, ribbons draped across the chaise, I listen to everything that’s being said with rapt attention.
King Midas and King Fulke have been meeting with their advisors for the past six days in here, poring over maps and strategizing the attack and the following victory.
Apparently, Fulke’s men should be getting to Midas’s army tomorrow morning. They’ll breach Fourth Kingdom’s borders together, essentially destroying the peace pact of the six kingdoms of Orea.
Now sit pretty on your stool and play your silly music. Leave the men to speak, Auren.
Maybe Midas didn’t expect me to take his advice so thoroughly. He’d said it to put me in my place, but all week, I’ve sat and I’ve played while the men have talked.
They’ve talked, but I’ve listened. Watched. Pieced together their plans against Fourth. It’s almost funny how much people will say in front of a woman they only view as a possession.
Since Midas decided to have their war meetings in the top floor library for more privacy, that means that I’ve been able to hear everything. It’s been enlightening, to say the least.
It became very clear very quickly that Midas had been planning this breach on Fourth’s borders for weeks, if not months. And with his ready answer to Fulke’s bargain concerning me? It makes me think that Midas planned ahead for that too.
Which means…he had me come to that breakfast for the purpose of a lure. I was the shiny coin that Midas placed on the ground at Fulke’s feet. King Fulke couldn’t resist picking me up and slipping me into his pocket, not when he’d been coveting me for so long.
In his eyes, Fulke not only gets me, but gets the chance at owning half of Fourth’s lands and wealth. I admit, I don’t know a lot about the inner workings of a king’s mind. I don’t know how their advisors advise them. But I do know this: All men, whether they’re a king or a peasant, covet what they do not have. And these two men covet Fourth Kingdom.
“You’re sure?” King Fulke asks as they sit around the map of Orea carved into the table, gold-touched so that it gleams on every mountain range and river ridge. “Because it must be made clear that Fourth Kingdom was the one in breach. The last thing we want is for the other kingdoms to declare war on us.”
“It won’t happen,” Midas replies, confident and precise. “They want to be rid of King Rot just as much as the rest of us. The only difference is they’re too timid. They fear him.”
“Shouldn’t they?” Fulke counters. “You’ve seen his power, as I have. King Rot,” he repeats with a grumble. “The moniker is a true one. My border soldiers speak of the smell that wafts in. They plug their noses with leather stubs soaked in oils. And even so, they say their eyes burn from the smell of decay.”
A shudder taps up my spine like a chilled fingertip, making my ribbons twitch ever so slightly. King Rot’s reputation precedes him. Tales of how he rots the land to keep his people in line, how he’s vile and cruel. They say he doesn’t act with honor even on a battlefield—that he uses his power to make people fester and decompose, leaving their bodies in his fields for the flies to hatch maggots in.
“He’s purposely instilled fear to become untouchable,” Midas argues, my head turning ever so slightly to point my ear in his direction. “But he’s not. We’re going to prove that and take back the land he’s edged into.”
Fulke’s eyes dart up at him from across the table, a meaty hand skimming over burnished summits. “And the Blackroot Mines?”
And there it is.
After the shock at the breakfast when I heard Midas declare that he was launching an attack on Fourth, I’d been flabbergasted. Completely confused as to why anyone would want to take the risk of attacking Fourth. I knew it wasn’t just about the fact that Fourth was slowly edging past his boundaries. It couldn’t be. It just didn’t feel right.
So I did a little sleuthing of my own at night, sneaking into the library and climbing the rungs of my cage, reaching as far as I could to some of the shelves to snatch books in the history and geography section. I couldn’t reach many, but I did luck out and find one with a resources map of Orea on a front page spread.
And that’s when I spotted the mines. Right smack in the middle of Fourth Kingdom.
Midas smiles slyly. “The mines will be ours.”
Even from all the way over at the back of the room, I can see the glint in their eyes. The excited straightening of their shoulders. I don’t know what’s in those mines, but whatever it is, they want it. Badly.
Fulke nods, appeased, while his advisors look on with matching expressions, like they’re already anticipating the royal coffers growing, rather than the lives and deaths they’re directing. But then, it must be easier to sit in a castle and move cavalry pieces on a map, rather than facing a sword on the battlefield.
“I want the north side,” Fulke declares, his pale purple leggings and matching tunic only embellished with the leather belt wrapped around his sagging middle.
Midas arches a brow at him, and his own advisor frowns uneasily, but instead of countering like I expect, Midas tips his head. “Very well. The north side of Blackroot will be yours.”
Fulke beams and claps his hands together once. “Ah, then we are agreed! Now all we must do is wait for our armies to meet tonight, and win ourselves a kingdom.”
“Indeed,” Midas says with amusement.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Fulke asks, turning to his advisor.
The gangly man in similar purple leggings pulls out a scroll and launches into a list of the things they still need to discuss today, but my mind stays behind, wheels turning over what could be in those mines that has these men so worked up, so willing to breach a peace pact and risk the defeat of their armies. And why now? They’re either very confident, very desperate, or there’s something else I’m not seeing.
Movement catches my eye, pulling me from my spinning thoughts, and I look over at Rissa who’s dancing by the window.
In true King Fulke fashion, he brought her and Polly along today. He’s had at least one saddle with him up here every single day during their council. Rissa and Polly must be his favorites, because it’s usually one or both of them. Sometimes he has them massage his back or serve him food, always at his beck and call.
Today, the women both have their light blonde hair coiled in thick ringlets and they’re wearing matching dresses that are slitted at the sides from their feet to their hips, with plunging necklines all the way down to their belly buttons.
Polly has been making sure to refill the wine goblets in the room, earning handsy touches from the men as she does. But Rissa was ordered to dance almost as soon as she arrived. Right now, she’s still swaying over by the window with seductive gracefulness, moving her body to soundless music.
Fulke gave her the order to dance over three hours ago and hasn’t let her stop yet. Hell, he’s barely even looked at her, aside from the passing glances. All her effort for nothing.
As I watch her, I notice what the others don’t. Although she dances as if it’s effortless, I can see that it’s not. Every so often, she’ll wince a little, like she’s sore from the nonstop movement. And there beneath her pretty blue eyes, I can see dark circles, revealing her lack of sleep. King Fulke probably keeps her busy all night, and then doesn’t let her rest during the day.
I hear the men begin to talk about what routes they’ll have their armies take back to their kingdoms after the attack, completely distracted by the sounds of their own voices. I close my book quietly, looking down at it in my lap. The binding is such shiny gold that it could be used as a mirror, and I swipe over it with my hand, feeling its smoothness, looking into my reflection for a moment before my eyes are drawn back up to Rissa.
I get to my feet, hefting the book in my hand as I stretch slightly, acting as nonchalant as I can. I meander across my cage, heading over to Rissa at the other end.
When I get closer to the window that she’s dancing in front of, I lean against the bars, holding my book in front of me again to feign reading before I turn my head in her direction. “You know, if you drop to the ground, you can just pretend that you’ve fainted from exhaustion. I’ll back you up,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rissa’s hip-swaying falters for a half-second before she shoots me a glare. “Don’t talk to me, Gilded Cunt,” she replies coolly. “I’m working.”
“What is it with people’s obsession over my cunt?” I mumble.
Rissa rolls her eyes and speaks under her breath. “Exactly what I’ve always wondered.”
I shoot her a scowl, but a weary sigh escapes her lips, and I feel bad for her all over again.
“Look, I know you must be tired. I can make a distraction somehow,” I offer lamely, looking around my cage. I don’t have much in here. Just some accessible bookshelves both inside and outside of my bars that I can reach, my chaise lounge, and some silk blankets and pillows strewn around.
“I don’t need help from you,” she says between clenched teeth, keeping her eyes firmly on a point in the room nowhere near me. But she stumbles, nearly losing her footing, and my lips press into a hard line.
She’s obviously determined to hate me, but I’m so tired of it. She’s weary of dancing, but I’m weary of always being looked at like a hated rival. I want to help her, and I’m going to, with or without her permission.
Glancing down at the gold-plated book still clutched in my grasp, I make a split-second decision. No forethought, no planning. I simply thrust my hand through the bars, and then I chuck it at her.
Bam!
It hits Rissa right in the face.
Shit.
Rissa’s head snaps back, and she goes down with a yelp. It’s not the usual way I see her going down, but still, she somehow manages to make it look pretty.
She falls, landing on her ass, her sheer dress tangling up in her long legs as she screeches and clamps her hands over her lips.
I stare in wide-eyed shock, really wishing I’d thought that through more. Or at the very least, I should’ve aimed. Rissa looks mutinous.
I give her an awkward thumbs up, my face in a tight smile. “Distraction complete,” I whisper, as if I meant to do that. I mean, I did. But I didn’t mean to hit the poor girl in the face. I thought it would just bounce off her chest, and she could act like her boobs needed a lie down. Midas likes them, so it seemed like a sure thing.
She shoves her waylaid hair out of her face, and I see the first drops of blood dripping down her chin and coating her fingers, her mouth bleeding. Great. Not only did I hit her in the mouth, I also didn’t account for how damn heavy that gold-plated book was.
“What the hell are you doing, Auren?”
I snap my head over to look at a furious Midas as he glares at me from the table where the men are all circled around. Ten pairs of eyes are locked on me, and I fidget under the frowns.
I blink at my king, opting for innocence. “My hand jerked, and the book just slipped out of my grasp, Your Majesty.”
His jaw grinds. “It slipped,” he repeats evenly, his brown eyes like rusted nails.
I dip my head, though my heart is pounding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I can hear Rissa crying beside me, and I try not to cringe. I really didn’t mean to hit her so damn hard. Where was all of that arm strength when I was trying to break out of my damn cage last week? Useless muscles.
Polly is glaring at me with hot hatred, but King Fulke chuckles. “A little saddle contention, eh, Midas?” he jokes.
“It would appear so,” Midas says flatly.
I worry my lip as my king continues to stare at me until he finally looks away. “Take the saddle back to the harem wing,” Midas barks out to one of the guards before he turns away from me again.
Two of the guards quickly rush forward, a little too eager to head to the saddle wing, if you ask me.
“See? It worked,” I whisper, trying to show her the bright side. “No more dancing.” She shoots me a furious glare, blood still gushing from her lip. If I had to make a wager, I’d say she’s not quite ready to look at the bright side yet.
“Auren?” King Midas calls, his voice deceptively even.
I turn my head to look at him as Rissa is escorted away. “Yes, my king?” I ask, watching his back where he’s leaned over the map.
“Since you’ve divested King Fulke of his dancer, you will take up the saddle’s duties.”
Divines be damned.
I stare at him for a beat, wondering if I could chuck a book at myself and get out of dancing too. But one look from King Fulke and the tension in Midas’s shoulders tell me that they’d probably make me dance even with a bloody mouth.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Quirking my jaw in frustration, I make my way to the center of the cage and then slowly start moving my hips and swaying my arms up above my head. King Fulke licks his lips, watching me with a smirk, and my stomach bubbles with acid. The days are counting down until Midas will give me to that man. Every time Fulke looks at me, I can see the sand in the hourglass getting lower in his grainy eyes.
I’m not nearly as graceful as Rissa, but I take a breath and play a slowed-down version of “Cock Him in the Cuckoo” in my head, using the tune to guide my movements.
What I wouldn’t give to cock King Fulke in his cuckoo right about now.
Fulke watches me as I move, while I try my hardest to pointedly ignore him and watch the spot on the wall over his head. Despite my best efforts to pretend he’s not there, he saunters over, his velvet-covered thighs chafing together until he stops directly in front of me. There’s a good eight feet or so between us, but he’s still too close for my liking.
“You’re mine tomorrow night, pet,” he says with a grin, his plump fingers wrapping around one of my bars and stroking the gold up and down suggestively.
That bubbling acid in my stomach begins to boil up.
His eyes glitter with something hungry and excited, but I stay in my head, forcing myself to hear the music, to keep dancing, to pretend he’s not here. He must not like my efforts to ignore him, because he moves to step into my line of vision.
“I’m going to mark you with so much cum your skin won’t even look gold anymore,” he says before rasping out a dark smoker’s laugh.
Shocked at his crass words, my movements come to a jerky, awkward stop, and my gaze latches onto him.
His lips curl up, satisfied that he won. “Oh yes, how I’m going to play with you.”
My ribbons curl against my spine like a snake arching up to hiss. I trade my gaze from one king to another, only to find King Midas already looking at me.
My stomach does a flip. Has Fulke finally just pushed Midas too far? Is my king coming to his senses about what a horrible, degrading thing this is, and he’ll change his mind right now and put a stop to this?
But Midas says nothing. Does nothing. He just stands there, watching Fulke speak to me like this, as if it doesn’t bother him at all.
I swallow hard, my stinging eyes moving away from Midas’s betrayal to settle back on the disgusting man in front of me.
Fulke licks his yellowed teeth. “Mmm, yes. I’ll have you bathed in my spend and unable to walk for a week straight,” he promises, and it takes everything inside of me to keep my mouth shut and not to turn and get the hell out of this room. Midas would no doubt just force me to come right back.
“Auren?” King Midas says, capturing my attention, and my heart leaps with hope. Put a stop to this. Protect me. Call the whole thing off and—
“You’re not dancing.”
The words are an order. Lashed out like a stick across knuckles, abrading my skin and making me flinch. Fulke grins with an arrogant look before he returns to the map table with the others, done taunting me for now.
Sadness wells in my eyes as I shakily raise my arms, humiliation heating my skin and making me sweat as I dance.
Sit pretty.
Play your silly music.
Leave the men to speak.
I move to the sound of their resumed talks, their arguments an accompaniment to the rhythmic beat of my heart. With each sway of my hips and curl of my arms, I can almost feel the strings pulling me like a puppet on a stage. All I want to do is run to my bedroom and bury myself beneath the covers, away from lecherous sneers and betraying eyes. But I can’t.
Bright side? At least things couldn’t get any worse.
The door to the library suddenly opens, and inside sweeps a beautiful white-haired woman with high cheekbones and a golden crown.
Queen Malina.
I stand corrected. It just got worse.
The saddles? Yeah, they don’t like me. But the queen? She fucking hates me.
