Page 14 of The King's Maiden
Honestly, they’d had me athealthcare expenses.
Plus, how bad could one guy be for thirty days?
I hadn’t seen a reason I’d want to back out. Even with Gia’s latest intel from the gossip she’d collected in class, I figured I could handle it. But now, I found myself second-guessing.
“What if the guy is a total asshole, Gia? What if he…What if he hurts me? Like he’s into that. Gets off on seriously causing girls pain and shit.”
Gia slid off my back and clamped her hands down on my shoulders, her mouth twisting into a frown as she spotted my incoming—okay, very clear and present—downward spiral.
“Oh my god! He could have some extreme bodily fluid kink, Gia. How could we not think about that? What if he wants me to take a dump on his chest?”
My thoughts took a nosedive to a dark place as I realized my error in judgment. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. “Ugh! This is exactly why I shouldn’t make important life decisions while drinking boxed wine.”
When the subject came up last week, we’d laughed it off. Both of us found the idea of a fifty shades situation happening a little hot. We didn’t consider that there might be kinks out there that I, personally, had no desire to try.
Gia grimaced, chewing on her lip before trying to put my mind at ease. “But the contract said you’d be protected, right? It said you get to set hard limits and have safe words and all that. Remember?”
“Yeah.” My fingers twitched with the urge to tug on my hair. “In hindsight, all of that being in the contract seems like a bit of a red flag we ignored.”
Gia didn’t say anything to that.
But we both eyed the envelope more cautiously. She took the keys from my other hand and slipped past me to open the door. Once inside, I set the envelope on our coffee table while Gia grabbed the wine and brought it over.
Foregoing glasses, she yanked out the cork with her teeth and handed the bottle—the source and solution to my life’s current problem—straight to me.
Sinking onto the couch, I took a deep swig and handed the bottle back to her. I picked up the envelope and held it in my hands.
Gia put her arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to make The Quest your bitch. That Knight of yours, too. Whatever happens, you’ve got this.”
I did my best to smile at her, grateful for the reassurance but still seconds away from puking my guts out. With a deep breath, I flipped the envelope over and slid my finger under the gold wax seal. Lifting the flap, I pulled out the thick card inside.
It looked like an invitation to a wedding, but it felt more like a funeral pronouncement.
“You are cordially invited to Camelot Court for the annual selection of Maidens on Friday, April the twenty-ninth at seven o’clock in the evening.”
Below the elegant royal blue script, the D’Arthur University logo had been imprinted on the center of the invitation. The lion, bearing a crown on its head, had been altered slightly. Two gold swords crossed behind it now.
Running my fingers over the embossed blades, I read the final line of text. “Applicants are encouraged to dress to impress and prepare to stay for the night, if chosen.”
I turned the invitation over, finding nothing on the back. Flipping it over again, I reread the message. The envelope I’d set on the table was empty, too.
“That’s all it says. Pretentious as fuck, and there isn’t even an address.”
“Wait, what?” Gia took the envelope from me and conducted a second search, which also came up empty. “There has to be more. That literally told us nothing.”
“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” I replied automatically, sinking back into the couch cushions and still staring at the invitation like more clues might magically appear. “Unless they hid a message in magic ink, that’s it. You got a lighter on you?”
Gia laughed, reaching forward to take another sip of wine before launching into a rant about how this was yet another example of men failing to communicate important details. She handed over the bottle, but I barely registered what I was doing as I took it from her.
My eyes remained fixed on the invitation.
I had my father to thank for that curiosity. He had always loved leaving me secret messages around the house, but they weren’t secret clues or hidden agendas—just notes. To remind me he loved me. To tell me he was proud of me. I’d hunted for them everywhere I went, loving that so fucking much when I was a kid.
So, as soon as I joked about it,thatpart of me couldn’t help but go there.
But the part of me that was gutted the first time I found one after he died…that little girl sat frozen on the couch. She drew in a shaky breath. And slowly released it with all the guilt and painful venom my thoughts brought with it.
Jumping up, I headed straight for the catch-all drawer next to the fridge. I scavenged past countless take-out menus and sauce packets, finding what I’d been looking for—a Zippo lighter gleaming in antiqued silver. I prayed it still worked.
