Page 37 of Prize for the King
“Good,” he says after a moment, his voice lower, husky. “I’ll start on the bath, and you can put your feet up in the meantime. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
I go to the bedroom and sit down by the window, looking out at the small inner courtyard. Dusk is falling, but I still make out Magnar as he speaks to a slim Agnidari man with a mane of curly black hairshot with silver. He supports himself on a long, white cane. The men embrace, then exchange kisses, two on each cheek.
My restless mind can’t help but try to seek meaning in the scene I just saw, finally adding it to the pile of “Magnar is Good” evidence.
Taking care of one’s elders is a sign of excellent upbringing.
“Come in,” Khay calls, water splashing.
I stand up with a wince of pain and take a grounding breath.It’s fine, I remind myself.He won’t hurt me.
Khay waits by the bath, his hair, previously loose, gathered in a bun on top of his head. I smile at the sight. It’s the messiest of hairdos, but I see how it might come in handy.
“All right,” he says, coming over when I stop nervously in the middle of the room, the fragrant steam rising over the bath already loosening my muscles. “Correct me if I get something wrong.”
When I look down, his graceful fingers already race down the front of my dress, undoing the hooks with nimble ease. His black claws, which I expect to get in the way, don’t slow him down at all. I take a shaky breath, grudgingly impressed. He’s faster than me.
“Everything all right?” Khay murmurs, sliding the garment off my shoulders until the undone bodice hangs off my hips by the threads connecting it to the skirt. My torso is covered by a white shirt tied under my throat with a ribbon, and he pulls it free as soon as I give him a shaky nod.
I don’t trust myself to speak right now. Something’s happening, hot and cold shivers pouring down my spine, and it’s a bit scary but shockingly exciting. I don’t want it to stop.
“Good.” His voice grows lower as he hooks his fingers under thehem of my shirt. “Raise your arms.”
I do. He takes his time pushing the soft fabric up, his fingers trailing my sides and the sensitive skin of my forearms until it’s off, and only the chemise is left. When I look down, I see my nipples, dark and obvious under the thin fabric. They’ve hardened into strange little points.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, looking down, too. “Let me, now.”
I raise my arms again, but it’s harder to keep them up. I’m shaking, but Khay doesn’t comment, his fingers trembling, too, as they skim down my stomach.
When he pulls the chemise off with a hard exhale, I cover my breasts with my arms, my face hot, my knees liquid. I can’t bear to look at him. Khay’s breathing is audible, hungry as he drops to his knees in front of me.
“I-it’s in the back,” I say, my voice cracking. “The ribbons t-tying the skirts. They are… in the back.”
He looks at my face that’s on the exact level as his now, and our eyes meet. Khay’s lips are parted, cheeks darkened with a purplish shadow, but he doesn’t get up despite my words. Instead, he circles my waist with his arms, fumbling with the ribbons at my lower back until the skirt pools around my feet, revealing the shorn petticoats. He relieves me of these with a few tugs, and I’m left almost bare, only my stockings, Khay’s underthings and my own covering my nakedness.
“I’ll wear these tomorrow,” he mumbles as if to himself, pulling his red underwear down my thighs. “Oh, and this… This is divine.”
His fingers run gently over the ribbons keeping my stockings in place. The soft flesh of my thighs is dented, the ribbons firmly tied, but Khay makes no move to undo them. Round and round his fingers go, until shocking, hot tingles spread from his touch up my legs, pooling in a forbidden place.
“Khay,” I whisper, needing him to stop, yet also not. “I… Please.”
He nods once, his face turned down, expression hidden. His movements are too sharp as he unties the ribbons, but when he slides the stockings down my legs, his touch is reverent.
One thing is certain. No maid has ever undressed me likethis.
When I step out of my stockings, he grabs my hips, holding me as if he’s afraid I’ll run. His eyes are firmly turned on the place where my legs meet, his breathing fast, cheeks dark.
“It’s so thin,” he says with wonder. “I see the shape of your hair underneath. So pretty.”
I shake my head with disbelief. “That’s not pretty. None of that is.”
“No?” Khay laughs hoarsely, looking up, and I gasp in surprise when I see his eyes.
They are darker than before, more intense, and his cheeks are hot with a purple blush so prominent, his freckles almost blend with the color. Candlelight glistens over the cool metal of his eyebrow piercing.
“My little diamond, everything about you is pretty. No, that’s a silly word, forgive me. Beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. That’s what you are.”
I realize he’s joking, because no one would ever call me such words other than in jest. I sigh in relief. A joking Khay I can handle, and much better than the strange, mesmerized one.
