Fulke scoffs, pushing the saddles off his lap so he can lean forward, while Polly and Rissa hurry to stand behind him. “There isn’t time for that, Midas. My army couldn’t possibly catch up to yours. And I’ve told you my stance on the matter.”
“There is if you send word today and I have my army change course,” Midas counters, as if he already had the cogs turning. My mind churns with the direction of their spin.
He’s going to make me fuck another king so that he can use an army?
“It’s against the Orean Covenant,” Fulke replies.
“Don’t pretend that you haven’t sent soldiers to weaken Fourth’s border.”
Fulke’s nostrils flare. “Fourth was pushing into my lands, spreading his rot. I’m simply defending what’s mine.”
Fulke’s defensive temper rises, while Midas looks like the cat who got the bowl of cream. “And I’m simply being proactive. It’s time to cut Fourth off before he can attempt to encroach on territory that isn’t his.”
I can’t help but stare, appalled. He’s launching an attack on Fourth Kingdom? Nobody launches an attack on Fourth Kingdom. King Ravinger is called King Rot for a reason. He’s powerful and brutal and vicious. What the hell is Midas thinking?
The allied kings look at each other, both of them contemplating, judging, studying. Like a scholar poring over ancient texts of a dead language, trying to thumb through the pages and comprehend the passages without a key.
Seconds tick by, a whistling wind from the blizzard bolstering the moment, the noise a representation of the harrowing gale that’s gusting through my insides.
The same advisor who tried to interrupt before leans forward to King Fulke, speaking quietly into his ear. Fulke’s eyes dart over as he listens, the man pulling back just a moment later.
A meaty hand comes up to trace over the gold goblet in front of him as Fulke gazes contemplatively at Midas. “We’re allies, Midas. I support you in your endeavor toward challenging Fourth Kingdom’s breach. But one night with a whore is hardly worth the might of my army.”
Midas lifts a shoulder in an unimpressed shrug. “You’re wrong about that. A night with my famed favored, one who has never been touched by anyone other than myself, whose body alone is worth more than all the riches in your vault. Trading her for the use of your army is more than fair.”
Fulke’s eyes narrow while my own vision tunnels. My bruising head thrums with a pulse of its own, anxiety whipping it like a cruel horseman, forcing it to go faster and harder with each snap of the lash.
“One month.”
The back of my throat burns with Fulke’s counter offer. My fingers dig in harder to the strings.
“One night,” Midas repeats, unyielding. “One night with her, and you stand with your ally. We share the victory of Fourth and split the land, or I may need to reevaluate your worth to me as an ally.”
A gasp hitches in my throat. The tension in the room spikes up again to an entirely new level. If I weren’t already watching Fulke, I might’ve missed the shocked flash that goes through his eyes, but I catch it. The thought of him not having Midas to add to his own wealth alarms him. The shock makes way for anger, but not quick enough. Midas saw it too, I know he did. He hit Fulke’s mark.
“Are you threatening me?” Fulke growls.
“Not at all. But after an alliance of seven years, and with a common enemy, I’m offering you a way to solidify our collaboration. Having my favored is a gesture of my appreciation.”
My headache inflates, pressure popping behind my eyes with a snap of my mouth. “No.”
Everyone’s eyes slide over to me at my sudden outburst, but my heart is pounding so hard that I can’t focus on anything except the pain that somehow traveled from my head to my chest.
I’m not sure when I jumped to my feet, but I’m suddenly standing, facing Midas with my sliced hands held up in front of me as if I can ward this off. “No, my king. Please…”
Midas ignores me. Fulke’s eyes trail over my body, half of me cast in snowy shadow, the other in firelight.
“One night, no interruptions, to do with her as I wish?” Fulke asks in confirmation.
Midas tips his head. My whole body tips forward.
I catch myself on the bars of my cage, cut fingers curling around the metal, fusing myself to it in a shaky embrace.
“I want half of Fourth.”
“Of course,” Midas agrees, as if it’s a done deal. As if he’d been planning this scenario of negotiation for the entire time Fulke has been here.
One more sweeping glance crawls over my body. “I’ll agree to those terms, Midas.”
My king lifts his chin, a victorious tilt baiting his expression. “Your army?”
Fulke shares a whispering consultation with his advisor for a moment before he nods. “I’ll have them moving by tonight.”
My soul goes as sour as turned grapes, my stomach crashes with tumultuous waves that lick over my organs in bitter, biting acid as denial floods me.
He doesn’t ever let anyone touch me. I’m his. That’s what he always says. I’m precious to him. I’ve been his for ten years, and in all that time, he’s never let anyone near me.
Midas saved me. He pulled me from ruin and put me in a castle. I gave him my heart, and he gave me his protection. One look. He said he took one look at me, and he loved me, and I loved him right back. How could I not? He was the first man to ever treat me with kindness. How can he ruin that and give me to Fulke of all people?
My throat catches as I grip the bars, my vision tilting in unsteady panic. “No, Tyndall, please.”
I hear the gasps from Polly and Rissa at my use of King Midas’s first name. Nobody dares to speak so casually to him. People have been beheaded for less. But the name just flies out, unchecked. He used to let me call him Tyndall once upon a time, when I was just a girl and he was my vigilante knight in shining armor. But that was before.
My slipup is probably my mind’s way of trying to call back his protector role in my life, but I can see from the hard set of his jaw that it was the wrong thing to say.
His brown eyes cut into me like the knife on his place setting. “You would do well to remember your place, Auren. You are my royal saddle to be ridden by whomever I wish.”
Tears burn in my eyes. Don’t cry, I coach myself. Don’t break down.
Fulke tilts his bald head, watching me with unrestrained interest. To him, I’m already his. “I can punish her, if you like. I’ve been very successful at breaking in my own saddles.”
The first tear slips down my cheek even though I try to keep it balanced precariously on my lid. It tracks down like a noose, a rope of remorse falling limp against my cheek.
Midas shakes his head firmly. “No punishing. She’s still my favored.”
I guess that’s my bright side.
Fulke nods immediately, as if he’s nervous Midas will change his mind. “Of course. I won’t lay a hand on her. Just my cock.” He laughs uproariously, his giant belly jiggling while the advisors laugh nervously.
King Midas doesn’t join in, because his attention is locked on me. I’m stuck under his gaze, feeling a mix of hurt, fear, and subservience. I could kick myself for whining last night about how lonely I was. This is what I get for not being thankful for my cage.