Page 41 of The King's Omega
“He’s the king,” Tarn said, moving down the tunnel. I stormed along behind him, but grew distracted when we entered a room I’d never seen.
“Oh, I like this,” I exclaimed. A tray of cakes and sticky cinnamon rolls sat on a small table by the hearth. Unlike so many of the rooms in the castle that were dim and lit only by torches and candles, this one boasted a large glass window with curtains on each side that could be drawn. With Mischief cuddled against my neck, I ran to the window, peering through the rare glass at the city beyond. “It’s beautiful!”
“Yes, it is,” Tarn murmured, but when I turned to him, he was staring at me. “Would you like a cake, Peaches? I have nothing for Mischief…”
I prodded Mischief’s tummy. “She feels fat. I think the king’s been overfeeding her.”
“I will mention it. We have a few minutes before we’ll need to return her to his rooms.” He stepped away, apologizing. “There’s only one chair. Why don’t you sit where you can hold your kitten?”
I buried my face in her fur and climbed on the bed to snuggle with her. A sapphire blue quilt covered the down-filled mattress, and the sheets were pink. Pink? I remembered Sorcha cursing the week before, when a basket of dye had somehow fallen into a vat of boiling laundry. Wondering if Tarn liked soft colors, I peered at him. The muscles on his back and arms flexed deliciously as he bent over the table of cakes. He was taking such care with them, placing them just so, unlike the rough men I’d seen in my years at the Sow.
“Tarn likes pink sheets,” I whispered to Mischief. “I wonder if he wears dresses sometimes like his brother.” Tarn started coughing so hard he almost dropped the plate he held. “Do you need some help? Did you choke on a bit of your cake?”
“No,” he sputtered, bringing me the sweets. “These are for you.” He watched as I ate. It made me self-conscious, and I had trouble swallowing. My throat had gone inexplicably dry, with those sparkling blue eyes on me. “S-some water?”
His lips curved up as he poured a cup of water, but a pounding on the locked door interrupted him. “Tarn!” It was King Rigol’s deep voice.
“What do I do?” I mouthed. He pointed under the bed and I slipped beneath the frame, leaving the plate of sweets on the quilt, but taking Mischief with me—just in time.
The door slammed against the wall and the king barged in, sounding half-crazed. “Tarn, I need you!”
“What additional task today, Your Majesty? I’ve already met with the visiting liaisons from Starlak and Mirren, broken into their rooms, and read through all correspondence regarding the upcoming war. I left a report on your desk in your room.”
“In my room! Did you let out the cat? It’s missing.”
“Is that what you’re having a fit about? You lost the kitten you stole from the helpless girl? Quick, call out the guards.” Tarn’s voice was cutting.
“Helpless? She’s a witch. The cat is probably her familiar. It’s evil, see these scratches? It’s a demon.”
“A demon you’ve had a healer checking on each day for the past two weeks.”
“Well, it had a hurt paw. It’s collateral. I have to keep it alive.”
“Hmmm.” Tarn strolled over to the bed. “Why would you think the girl was a witch?”
“Goddess, how could she not be? Her scent is everywhere in the castle. My bed, the bath towels… fuck, I got hard at dinner last night when a servant placed my napkin on my lap!”
“That must have been a shock.” Tarn’s tone was amused.
“It was a surprise to me—and to him. Poor man can’t look me in the eye now.”
“So, your obsession with her means she’s a witch.” Tarn clucked his tongue. “Everyone has noticed how many hours you’ve spent watching her in the courtyard.”
It wasRigolwho had been watching me? Ew.
“By the fucking stars, I can’t look away from her.” The bed creaked above me, like he’d leaned on it. “What is it about her? I thought she was a grubby urchin. But someone’s given her dresses.”
I smiled; Lorn had sent me three new dresses with pockets, which I loved.
“And the dresses show every fucking curve she has. I swear, I’ve watched her breasts grow these past weeks.”
“A few good meals can do that,” Tarn remarked. “She was starving, not that you noticed. She was dirty because that slut Selene was abusing her, and before that, the brothel patrons and madam. Did you ever see the marks on her back? Someone whipped her, and badly.”
I suppressed a whimper, wondering when Tarn had seen my back. My scars weren’t terrible; I’d healed clean. But if anyone looked closely, they were there, silvery stripes on my back and thighs.
“Whipped?” His roar filled the room. “We had that madam jailed, yes?”
“Yes,” Tarn said coolly. I pressed a hand over my mouth. Madam in jail? Maybe the Goddess did answer prayers. I hoped Nell was running the Sow now.
