“Auren?” King Midas calls, his voice deceptively even.
I turn my head to look at him as Rissa is escorted away. “Yes, my king?” I ask, watching his back where he’s leaned over the map.
“Since you’ve divested King Fulke of his dancer, you will take up the saddle’s duties.”
Divines be damned.
I stare at him for a beat, wondering if I could chuck a book at myself and get out of dancing too. But one look from King Fulke and the tension in Midas’s shoulders tell me that they’d probably make me dance even with a bloody mouth.
No good deed goes unpunished.
Quirking my jaw in frustration, I make my way to the center of the cage and then slowly start moving my hips and swaying my arms up above my head. King Fulke licks his lips, watching me with a smirk, and my stomach bubbles with acid. The days are counting down until Midas will give me to that man. Every time Fulke looks at me, I can see the sand in the hourglass getting lower in his grainy eyes.
I’m not nearly as graceful as Rissa, but I take a breath and play a slowed-down version of “Cock Him in the Cuckoo” in my head, using the tune to guide my movements.
What I wouldn’t give to cock King Fulke in his cuckoo right about now.
Fulke watches me as I move, while I try my hardest to pointedly ignore him and watch the spot on the wall over his head. Despite my best efforts to pretend he’s not there, he saunters over, his velvet-covered thighs chafing together until he stops directly in front of me. There’s a good eight feet or so between us, but he’s still too close for my liking.
“You’re mine tomorrow night, pet,” he says with a grin, his plump fingers wrapping around one of my bars and stroking the gold up and down suggestively.
That bubbling acid in my stomach begins to boil up.
His eyes glitter with something hungry and excited, but I stay in my head, forcing myself to hear the music, to keep dancing, to pretend he’s not here. He must not like my efforts to ignore him, because he moves to step into my line of vision.
“I’m going to mark you with so much cum your skin won’t even look gold anymore,” he says before rasping out a dark smoker’s laugh.
Shocked at his crass words, my movements come to a jerky, awkward stop, and my gaze latches onto him.
His lips curl up, satisfied that he won. “Oh yes, how I’m going to play with you.”
My ribbons curl against my spine like a snake arching up to hiss. I trade my gaze from one king to another, only to find King Midas already looking at me.
My stomach does a flip. Has Fulke finally just pushed Midas too far? Is my king coming to his senses about what a horrible, degrading thing this is, and he’ll change his mind right now and put a stop to this?
But Midas says nothing. Does nothing. He just stands there, watching Fulke speak to me like this, as if it doesn’t bother him at all.
I swallow hard, my stinging eyes moving away from Midas’s betrayal to settle back on the disgusting man in front of me.
Fulke licks his yellowed teeth. “Mmm, yes. I’ll have you bathed in my spend and unable to walk for a week straight,” he promises, and it takes everything inside of me to keep my mouth shut and not to turn and get the hell out of this room. Midas would no doubt just force me to come right back.
“Auren?” King Midas says, capturing my attention, and my heart leaps with hope. Put a stop to this. Protect me. Call the whole thing off and—
“You’re not dancing.”
The words are an order. Lashed out like a stick across knuckles, abrading my skin and making me flinch. Fulke grins with an arrogant look before he returns to the map table with the others, done taunting me for now.
Sadness wells in my eyes as I shakily raise my arms, humiliation heating my skin and making me sweat as I dance.
Sit pretty.
Play your silly music.
Leave the men to speak.
I move to the sound of their resumed talks, their arguments an accompaniment to the rhythmic beat of my heart. With each sway of my hips and curl of my arms, I can almost feel the strings pulling me like a puppet on a stage. All I want to do is run to my bedroom and bury myself beneath the covers, away from lecherous sneers and betraying eyes. But I can’t.
Bright side? At least things couldn’t get any worse.
The door to the library suddenly opens, and inside sweeps a beautiful white-haired woman with high cheekbones and a golden crown.
Queen Malina.
I stand corrected. It just got worse.
The saddles? Yeah, they don’t like me. But the queen? She fucking hates me.
Chapter Six
“Malina, I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” King Midas says, turning to greet his wife with a tight smile.
Polly quickly backs away from the table with wine pitcher in hand, eyes immediately downcast. It’s almost comforting to know that the queen freaks out the other saddles too.
The queen looks around the room, her lip and nose curling up slightly. “I can see that,” she says breezily, her shoulders back and her neck poised, appearing royal as ever as the other advisors bow in her presence. She looks like a beautiful peacock with her emerald gown and sapphire jewelry dripping off her ears and neck. A display of power and poise, meant to draw the eye and intimidate.
She flicks her eyes to Polly, eyeing the woman’s revealing dress before moving her gaze back to her husband. “Really? During strategizing, Tyndall? How uncouth,” she says in high and mighty reproach.
Poor Polly’s freckled cheeks go red with embarrassment as she dips her head further, letting her blonde hair hide her face. Midas is always careful to keep his wife separated from his saddles. It’s clear that today, she’s ruined those careful lines he’s drawn.
The group of advisors look between the married couple, no one daring to say a word. Even Fulke keeps his mouth closed.
King Midas’s lips curl up in a fake display of casual amusement, but a flash of irritation crosses his eyes that I don’t miss. There’s no love lost between these two.
They’ve been married for nearly ten years. He resents her because she’s never been able to give him an heir, and she resents him because the crown should’ve passed onto her by birth. But because Malina wasn’t born with power, she wasn’t able to rule on her own—according to the law of Orea. She was forced to take a husband with power or would’ve had to step aside entirely, letting someone else sit on the throne.
At least by marrying Midas, she’s still queen, even if her husband is the true ruler.
Highbell Kingdom is split when it comes to these two. Some remain loyal to her. After all, Highbell was ruled by her family for generations. Her father passed away just after Midas married her, so in a lot of ways, Midas is still considered the outsider.
The people sympathize with her. They still remember the pretty princess who had the rug pulled out from under her. They pitied her when no power manifested. Now, they also pity her for having a barren womb.
The others in Highbell, particularly the nobles, are loyal to Midas. They’d kiss his feet if they could, since he’s brought them so much wealth. After all, Highbell was nearly broke before Midas came. He swooped in to save the desolate Sixth Kingdom with a marriage proposal. He enamored them all, boasting his power of endless riches. Of course, with an offer like that, Malina’s father agreed to the arrangement. But I wonder if Malina regrets it.