Page 45 of The King's Omega
She perched on the very edge of the cushion, poised for flight, her mouth pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. I pulled two books, the very primers I’d learned on decades before, onto the table between us, and opened the first one. “Each symbol is a letter,” I explained, “and each letter represents a sound or sounds. For instance, this letter is A, and it makes these sounds…”
Before I knew it, the plate was empty—except for the crumbs the girl seemed to scatter unknowingly all about her—the hour finished, and the girl stared at me as though I’d just shared the secrets to the universe with her. “King Rigol,” she said, her tone less waspish than before. “You’re very smart. And you are quite a good teacher.” She stood and dropped a small curtsey. “Even if you are still a giant pile of horse dung. Same time tomorrow?”
From a horse’s ass to horse dung in one afternoon. That was progress, wasn’t it? And she’d said she would come back.
“Yes.” I rubbed my chest at the tightness there, as though a hand was pressing on my heart. “Would it be acceptable for me to bring your kitten as well, so it doesn’t forget you?” Tarn had insisted on this point; he said I’d set myself up to be a villain, and I hadn’t disagreed.
“Yes,” she whooped and ran across the room, giving my hand a quick squeeze. Then she hopped back like a sparrow, as if shocked. “I’d love that.” Another quick curtsey and she vanished.
I lifted my hand to my face and smelled the sweetness of her joy. For the first time since I could remember, I felt proud of myself.
The following day, I was first to the library. By the time she arrived, I’d already changed my seat three times, and opened and closed the curtains twice. She skidded into the room five minutes late, her cheeks flushed from running.
“Sorry, Your Majesty,” she panted, dropping into a wobbly curtsey. “Sorcha was in a terrible mood. Shouting in some language I’ve never heard.”
“Shouting at you?” I assumed Sorcha was speaking in her native Gael, but she only ever did that when she was truly enraged.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t the one to dump the extra soap into the laundry vat. The whole room was bubbles.” Vali walked at a more sedate pace across the room, and settled into the chair next to me, her dark curls falling around her bare shoulders.
My mouth went bone dry at the sight. Her skin stretched out like a spill of soft, dusky silk across her shoulders and chest, interrupted only by a thick strip of white lace before smooth arms emerged, showing more of that perfect flesh.
I turned away and adjusted myself discreetly. Who had given her this dress? It was indecent. Had she been wearing that through the castle, in front of other men? I slipped the knitted afghan from the chair next to me and offered it to her. She wrinkled her nose.
“You might take a chill,” I said sternly, and she slipped it over her arms. Much better; at least I could think now.
I handed her a well-worn book with a painting of a dog and a cat on the front. “This was the first book my tutor gave me when I was learning to read.” I pointed to the words on the cover and we sounded it out together: “Rex and Mittens.”
She thumbed through the first few dog-eared pages. “You must have read it a thousand times.”
“I did. And then I taught Axe, Tarn, and Lorn to read it.”
“You taught all of them to read as well?” A tiny furrow appeared in between her eyebrows, as if she had seen something unexpected. “In this room?”
“I did.” Something made me ask, “would you like me to tell you about them?” She nodded quickly, and I closed my eyes, picturing the day.
“Axe and I were already friends when we met Tarn down in Turino one afternoon, collecting some horses for the blacksmith. Axe was his apprentice, and almost as big then as he is now.” She smiled, but kept silent. “While I was waiting to pay the stable master, Tarn crept up behind me and stole my coin purse. Axe caught him before he could slip away.”
“He stole from a king?” Her dark eyes filled with mock horror. “Did you punish him, put him in the stocks?”
“I was only a prince then. A twelve-year old one, who needed the lesson. And no, I didn’t punish him. He told me the saddest tale of his brother who wanted nothing more than to learn to read.” I shrugged. “So, I brought them back here and let them into the library.”
She gulped, glancing around at all the small, valuableobjets d’artthat littered the tables. I answered her unspoken question. “Yes, he stole quite a bit more, but gave it back over the course of the next few years.” Most of it, anyway. My father had never found the hatpin the Queen of Mirren had sent for his coronation.
“Tarn said he taught you to pick pockets. That you got caught nicking the jewels from your father’s crown.”
I grimaced, remembering the beating that had come after that escapade. “I’d rather forget that day.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly. Her wide eyes glimmered with sympathy. “There are lots of days I’d like never to remember. Painful ones.”
My Alpha nature reared back at the thought of this woman ever knowing pain. I met her gaze and tried to smile. “No, it’s only my pride that will be hurt by you knowing what a numbskull I was. We were sixteen, and while most lads’ brains are filled with rocks, we were criminally stupid.
“We were both in his treasury in the wee hours, during a ball. My father’s treasurer was drunk, and we took the key straight off his neck while he slept. Tarn prised the main jewels out with a dagger in no time.”
“Were you really going to steal them, to sell them or something?”
“Never. We had a plan to show them to some… ladies… and then return them before dawn.” Tarn had bragged to two of the most luscious ladies of the evening that he could lay hands on the crown jewels. The ladies had bet him a full night with both at once that he couldn’t.
She made a face. “Showing ladies your jewels when you were only sixteen?”
