Page 39 of Prize for the King
I shake my head. “No. Don’t call him. But how… How can this befine? He… He knows about it? He doesn’t mind?”
Khay presses his forehead to mine, his gentle fingers tangling in my hair. I close my eyes, strangely comforted.
“Would Magnar like to be the first one to see you bare? Yes, without a doubt. Is he trying his damnedest to be good to you and respect your wishes? Also yes. Hedidkill your father, and Magnar is nothing but willing to accept the consequences of his actions. Only a monster would expect a woman to lie with her father’s killer before his body cooled properly.”
I clench my teeth, hating to think about my father right now. “Enough about that. So you… You are allowed to see me like this as my knight? This is what the Agnidari consider proper and right?”
Khay hums in confirmation, his fingers burrowed deep in my hair and gently massaging my scalp. I realize he must have taken out my pins, because my hair is loose, locks sticking to my wet arms. I didn’t even notice.
“He trusts me with you. I am his first knight, and that’s why I am here right now, not Raduna or Arvi. Though they can serve you, too, in whatever way you require. If you’d like one of them to be here, I can…”
“No. I… This is perfect. Thank you for explaining.”
Khay takes a deep, happy breath, the warm air he exhales caressing my face. It smells like mint, and that small detail makes me finally lose the last of my reservations.
They aren’t monsters. And Khay… I trust Khay.
“Start with my hair, please.”
He releases a shaky breath of relief and stands up, turning quickly away to bustle with a row of bottles standing on a dresser. I try to shake off the remnants of my nervousness as I submerge, getting my hair properly wet for washing. When I emerge, Khay sits at the head of the tub on a stool. He motions me closer.
I sit with my back to him, and Khay’s fingers bury in my hair, lathering a soapy, fragrant concoction into my strands. It smells sweet, like fruit and honey, and I think Khay likes it. His face is close, and he sniffs the air repeatedly with small, happy sighs.
“Do you really enjoy doing this?” I ask with a disbelieving huff, because I can’t imagine anyone being so riveted by my hair and body.
“Enjoy is too weak a word,” Khay says, massaging my head with firm, circular motions. “I love this. You are so beautiful, little diamond.”
I smile at his joke, my eyes falling shut when softening, melting pleasure flows from Khay’s skillful touch. My nape relaxes, and my head lolls back, right into his waiting palm. He holds me up, still working the delightful lather into my hair.
If I had a maid, she would have been done by now, her movements fast and efficient, sometimes painful. Khay is gentle and takes great pains to make this as pleasant for me as possible. When he takes his time like this, it’s easier to believe he’s telling the truth—that he enjoys taking care of me.
“All right,” Khay says when the foam in my hair grows cold. “Tilt your head back, and I’ll rinse it out.”
He has a small bucket he uses to get water from the tub. With this, too, he takes his time. His fingers comb through my hair time and again, and I sigh with pleasure as warm water cascades down my head and back. He works up to an even, dependable rhythm, splash, rinse, comb, splash, rinse, comb, until I sway loosely, everything elseforgotten.
When that’s done, he squeezes water out of my hair, then rolls it up into a towel he deftly wraps around my head.
“Close your eyes.”
I do as he says, leaning against the tub with a happy sigh. A moment later, a warm, wet cloth presses to my forehead and runs down my face in easy, gliding motions. Khay takes his time, and my breathing deepens. I never knew taking a bath could be so restful.
When the cloth glides down my jaw and throat, and then over my collarbones, I stir. He hums the same melody he did before, when I almost drowned, and I settle back with a sigh. The cloth skims the tops of my breasts, and my nipples tighten as my breathing grows faster.
“Keep them closed,” he murmurs, his voice deep and taut. “I’ll take care of you.”
The cloth travels lower and dips under water, circling my breast in slow, easy motions. As the circles grow smaller toward the center, I hold my breath until the cloth passes over my tight nipple, and I release a heavy sigh. Heat builds in my lower belly, and I clench my fists helplessly.
“My queen must be pampered,” Khay whispers as the cloth circles my other breast, gentle and inevitable.
My eyes firmly closed, I focus on the sensations. Nothing exists but my body, his hands, and the all encompassing heat of the water. He washes my other breast as carefully as the first, then lifts each of my arms to gently clean the skin of my armpits. Round and round the cloth glides, cleaning every inch of my stomach and arms, lingering between each of my fingers. I was never washed with so much loving attention before.
When it’s time to do my back, Khay rearranges my loose body until I sit, hugging my knees, and he glides the cloth with firm,blissful strokes over my muscles. My breathing becomes so deep and unrestrained, I almost feel like crying. It’s as if something comes loose inside me, a screw that was previously tightened. There’s more space for breath, more sensation.
“I adore doing this, my queen,” Khay murmurs in a low, worshipful voice. “I love seeing how you sigh and quiver under my touch. I will do so much more, and I’ll give you so much more pleasure. Lean back now. Keep your eyes closed.”
When he grasps my ankle, I sigh, realizing what other parts of me are yet to be washed. Khay glides the cloth over my foot and up my calf, then switches to the other leg. That done, he lays his palm against my inner thigh and pushes it gently to the side, his breathing fast now, hand trembling.
I shake but let him open me, my body soft and pliant in his hold.
