Page 165 of Prize for the King
“So I can’t wear my knives in public?” Arvi asks with a pout.
I shake my head. “I don’t think it matters as long as you don’t attack anyone.”
“Why doesn’t everyone bring in warriors or assassins under the guise of sexual companions?” Khay asks, his eyebrows raised.
“I’m guessing because of shame. No human king would bring in a man and announce to the world that he’s his wife’s lover, or even worse, his. Usually, kings who travel alone bring in mistresses, but these are secretive affairs because some queens are vengeful. That’s why Sidonius was bursting with excitement. He gets to be the one who tells our secret. And speaking of, well, prostitutes, our maids are ready to serve in that capacity. It’s common according to my father’s journals.”
Arvi snorts. “Do you think they lost a bet and that’s why they were assigned to us? Fuck, Magnar. You’ve got a lot to learn aboutentertaining royal guests.”
My husband’s eyes are still closed as he holds me tightly, as if afraid I’ll slip out. “Don’t care. Maids aren’t for fucking. Find any more spyholes?”
“Just the one,” Raduna says. “There was a well-hidden hole in the painting, too. It was positioned in a way to give the spy a good view of the bed.”
“You humans are perverted,” Magnar says with a tired huff.
L Queens
The bathroom is enormous and beautifully tiled in creams and azures. Five large copper baths are brought in, and a procession of servants with buckets fill them quickly. When the last one bows out, I inform the maids their services won’t be needed. Agnes doesn’t manage to hide a pout, and I realize they might not have lost a bet, butwonit.
“I think our maids are curious about your anatomy,” I say with a snort as Raduna helps me undress.
Arvi’s already washing, and Khay massages shampoo into Magnar’s hair and scalp, kneeling by his bath. Raduna helps me get in my tub, and I wash myself quickly. I want to drag Magnar into bed for a nap, and we only have a few hours.
“Yeah?” Arvi asks. “The only way they learn anything about my meat rod is if you tell them.”
“Meat rod,” I huff with amusement. “That’s a new one.”
“Better than eel?”
“Definitely. It doesn’t sound like something that might sneak up on me under water.”
That makes them laugh, and even Magnar cracks a smile “Oh, love, remind me to take you to the hot springs when we get back. I’ll sneak up on you.”
When we’re done, my men sitting around the bedroom wrapped in towels, Khay laughs under his breath.
“Fuck the mines,” he says with a snicker. “Sell them an architect or two, and they’ll praise you every time they flush a shit.”
Magnar grunts tiredly. I climb into bed to join him, wearing nothing but a ribbon tying my hair back.
“Rest, my husband,” I murmur, kissing his cheek, then his mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
He’s half-hard, his breaths deep and even, and I caress him with my hands and lips, remembering what Raduna taught me. Magnar is so still, I think he’s sleeping, but when I stop for a moment to get rid of a hair that stuck to my tongue, he grumbles adorably and buries his hand in my hair.
It’s quick from there. After he floods my mouth with his release, he tugs me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me. A minute later, he’s asleep.
Khay wakes us when it’s dark outside, the room twinkling with amber light, a merry fire crackling in the fireplace. There are heaps of bedding on the floor, pillows and blankets, and I realize this is where our knights will sleep. The carpet is thick and soft.
Before we leave, Magnar stops me in the doorway. “Caliane. Is it likely we might be poisoned?”
He looks worried and tired, his gaze on my belly. I shake my head and reach up to cup his cheek.
“No. The Citadel’s Duke is personally responsible for the wellbeing of his guests. If anyone at his table dies, his head will roll. The kings of the Eleven treat the Kings’ Peace in the Citadel very seriously, Magnar. Our lives are safe here, though our pride might suffer. They will insult us, and we can insult them back—as long as no one draws a sword.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. “Stayclose.”
The feast hall is resplendent in black marble and amber. Fires roar in three enormous fireplaces, and a small group of musicians sit in a corner, half hidden behind a screen made of black feathers. The music is subtle, providing a background to restrained, murmuring conversations.
They quiet when we enter. Only the music plays, a slow, pleasant tune. I smile, looking at the sea of human faces. People sit at five long tables, the one furthest away from the door reserved for the royalty.
