Page 55 of Prize for the King
His wet fingers return to the spot he rubbed earlier, now moving so much more easily in the slick. I buck and keen into his hand, ridiculously embarrassed and aroused by his words. They feel shameful, yet aren’t, because he’s so clearly pleased with me.
My flesh throbs under his touch, as if wanting to leap into his hand. Heat builds in my lower belly, a boiling, squeezing tightness. I breathe in the scent of leather from his glove, and that stokes my senses higher until I can’t hold back pleading sounds for more, forsomething.
“There you go,” Magnar murmurs, so very smug. “I’ll give myself a medal for this and only tell the knights. Our dirty inside joke. It will be a lily that looks like a cunt, and I’ll wear it proudly. Got my beautiful wife off on a horse. You’re the real prize, you know, pet? All those wars, all those conquests were for you. So I could have you.”
His touch grows faster, smoother, and I keep trying to move my hips, but Magnar presses me to him with unyielding strength. The horse stays calm and still, and I whine into the glove, the world slipping away. It would be terrifying if it wasn’t so magnificent.
“How sweet you are,” Magnar sighs, his voice husky. “It’s all right, pet. You can let go. I’ll hold you. I’m right here, and I won’t let you fall. My lovely queen. You can take it all now. It’s all right. Take your due, my queen, my beautiful, lovely, perfect Caliane.”
The world breaks apart as my body seizes in a burst of pleasure so bright, it wipes out all else. I scream until my throat is raw, letting out that roar I held back earlier, letting out countless screams and pleas that were never heard, never honored. True to his word, Magnarholds me through it until I fall limp and exhausted against him, fat, unstoppable tears streaming down my face.
I shake and cry, shake and cry, and he holds me tighter and tighter, murmuring sweet words of comfort. Here it is, me grieving, at last.
Except, it’s not my father I mourn. It’s me, the girl I used to be, so ill-used, so wrongly loved. I cry for her, for how wretched she was.
“Shh, pet. It’s all right. I’m right here. Cry all you want.”
As if from afar, I hear the sounds of hoofbeats splashing in the wet earth. Three riders approach, and I close my eyes with a whimper of misery, refusing to be seen in so undignified a state. Magnar squeezes me tighter.
“It’s only our knights. Don’t worry.”
“What the fuck did you make her cry for?” Khay shouts, outraged. “What did you do?”
I want to shake my head, tell them it’s not Magnar’s fault, but my body is loose and helpless, as if I’ve spent all the tension holding me up in one go. Magnar doesn’t need my help, anyway.
“Sometimes, a queen needs to cry,” he says evenly. “She’s been through a lot, Khay. Let’s ride.”
We set out slowly at first. Magnar bows low to hold me close, which can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t complain, and I don’t have the strength to speak. My eyes fall shut, and the gentle rocking lulls me to sleep.
The day passes in a drowsy stupor, my body weak, my thoughts muddied and fearful. I avoid thinking about anything important, because it feels like my very mind is filled with traps.
Take four.
Bad daughter.
Head on a spike.
Beautiful, lovely, perfect Caliane.
Come to Daddy.
As soon as a sharp, unwelcome thought drifts close to the surface, I redirect my attention to the soaked landscape, Magnar’s even breathing, or whatever else is happening around me. We don’t speak. It seems like he’s giving me space after my pitiful emotional display.
But as another castle belonging to an Agnidari nobleman looms in the rainy gloaming, I make up my mind. I will disarm at least one of the dangerous thoughts and put it to rest.
“I changed my mind,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“What about, dear?”
“I want him dug out, his body dragged by wild animals, and his head on a spike in the courtyard of the Farneer royal castle. Dead or not, I want him to see all the Agnidari ruling in his stead. I want him to know he lost.”
Magnar hums softly, slowing down, even though his soldiers talk about how eager they are to be indoors after the wet, cold day.
“As you wish. Will you tell me what he did?” Magnar asks softly, his voice so very gentle, so encouraging.
I shake my head.Never.He can’t know my shame, how defiled I am, how hideous.
“Maybe some other time, then,” he says lightly, urging his horse into a faster trot. “Nadreg will have a feast ready, and I had the foresight to tell him we might need a dress for you. Let Khay pamper you in the bath, hm? You earned it.”
