CHAPTER TWELVE
-GUIN-
"Look at me," the king demanded.
My eyes flashed open. "I... apologize for... displeasing you, sire."
He chuckled again. "You wanting me to fuck you doesn't displease me, little temptress."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing at all, my throat constricting around words that refused to form. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken implications and dangerous undercurrents.
All the while, I berated myself mercilessly for getting so thoroughly caught up.
I was supposed to be detached, immune to the charms I was meant to exploit.
Calm and collected—that was what years of training had been designed to instill in me.
I was supposed to be cataloging his weaknesses, searching for leverage I could use against him.
Instead, here I sat like some village maiden struck dumb by her first encounter with a man, crumbling under the weight of his piercing blue gaze and the heat that seemed to radiate from his imposing frame.
My mission—the reason Merlin had sent me into the heart of enemy territory—felt as distant as the stars above Annwyn.
"Tell me, have you ever been fucked?"
Shock coursed through me at his nerve, but I knew I had to answer. "No, Your Majesty."
His brows lifted. "You—such a beautiful creature."
"No, sire."
He leaned closer, breath warm against my ear. "A man has never known the feel of the inside of you?" His voice was low, intimate, yet it still carried that edge.
Heat seared through me, pooling low and spreading until my fingertips tingled. Merlin's training—combat and subterfuge—had never prepared me for this type of battle.
"Has a man ever felt the slick heat of your cunt?" he whispered, raising gooseflesh across my body.
"N-no, sire."
It was the truth.
His eyes narrowed to slits of blue, studying me like a hawk eyeing prey. "You are an unspoiled maid then?"
Though my body rebelled against logic, the question irritated me. Who was he to ask something so personal? Yes, he was king—but he wasn't my king! Regardless, his position didn't make it any of his business.
"You haven’t answered," he said coolly.
"No." Anger flared beneath my skin. I’d prepared to face him as an enemy, not to navigate this mess of desire and humiliation that was currently coursing through me.
He studied me. "Are you dreaming up another lie in that beautiful head of yours?"
I couldn't respond—all my energy was focused on wrestling my traitorous body into submission, trying desperately to talk my attraction to him down from the precipice it teetered on.
My breath came shallow and uneven as I fought against the heat that coiled low in my belly, spreading outward like molten lava through my veins.
I couldn't believe he was speaking to me this way—with such brazen intimacy, such raw possession in his voice—and that I was responding to it with my own hunger.
The rational part of my mind screamed that this was wrong, that I should have been repulsed by his arrogance, his assumption that my body was his to question and claim.
Yet my pulse hammered against my throat, and I could feel the dampness gathering between my thighs despite every ounce of willpower I possessed.
This was Arthur Pendragon—the tyrant I'd been sent to destroy, the man whose downfall Merlin was orchestrating through me.
And yet he was making me utterly, shamefully wet.
"When a king asks a question, he expects an answer."
"No," I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant it to be. His eyes narrowed—not with anger, but something like amusement. I exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down my temper. Still, the words slipped free before I could stop them.
"No?"
"The answer is no." I took a deep breath, realizing he could have my head whenever he wanted it.
"You are offended?" There was a smile on his lips.
"Yes, I'm offended!"
"Why?"
I frowned. What did he mean—why? "Asking about my past—that part of my past—hardly seems… well, kingly."
"And back-talking your king hardly seems maidly," he replied, his voice silked with warning.
Remember yourself, Guin.
"I apologize, sire..."
"You apologize, yet there is still fire in those magnificent eyes."
"I apolo—"
"—No. It’s that fire I want. Everyone bows and scrapes, apologizing for their every breath. Do not be like the rest."
My pulse quickened. What was he asking of me?
"Speak your mind," he coaxed. "Tell me why I have offended you."
"Very well. I don’t appreciate being treated… as if I… owe you an account of my body."
His eyes narrowed, though his smile lingered. It was the expression of the cat once it has got the mouse cornered. "You owe me whatever I ask of you."
Indignation burned within me, and I felt my breath coming faster. "Kings are supposed to protect their people—not interrogate them like criminals."
That caught him off guard—his expression shifted, the momentary flicker of surprise betraying him. Had I gone too far?
"You’d do well to remember who stands before you. Need I remind you that your fate lies entirely in my hands?"
"And yet, you asked for honesty."
"You speak of honesty," he replied, his tone icy. "Yet I have asked for your name more than once, and each time you respond, it is with another lie."
"I gave you my name." I met his gaze. "I’ve done nothing wrong, my king."
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in. "Death should’ve awaited you for touching Excalibur. Or for trespassing on the most sacred ground in Camelot—a place forbidden to everyone but me."
The accusation burned. I crossed my arms. "I didn’t know the lake was off-limits."
"Everyone knows."
"Where is that written?"
He stepped back, clearly surprised by my defiance. The words had slipped from me like instinct—but now they hung between us like a challenge.
"Gratitude might serve you better," he said coolly. "I could have you dragged to the dungeons. Or worse." He paused. "And might I remind you—I still can."
He was right. I was playing a dangerous game, and it was one I could very easily lose.
I dropped my gaze. "I apologize, my king."
"Look at me."
I glanced up at him again and watched as he studied me, something shifting behind those storm-blue eyes.
"Your life depends entirely on my will."
The threat hung heavy between us—but beneath it, something darker stirred. That same heat, rising again. His face lingered close, breath warm against my cheek, eyes deadly.
"And there it is," he murmured, chuckling, moving his face even closer. "That look. The one that says you want me to slip my fingers inside you and decide, once and for all, if you are a maid."
"I—" A soft, shameful sound slipped from my lips as he leaned even closer, mouth just shy of mine. My eyes fluttered shut on instinct, body betraying me.
"Yes? You want me to touch you, don't you?"
I closed my eyes, hating myself for feeling this way. "Yes."
He chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound reverberating through his chest where it pressed against mine.
The heat in his eyes intensified as he watched my face and leaned down, bunching the material of my kirtle as he lifted it.
I could barely breathe; my heart was pounding so hard.
The rough calluses on his palms scraped against my legs as he lifted the hem higher.
Cool air kissed my exposed skin, making me shiver despite the fire coursing through me.
"Open for me." His hand moved with deliberate slowness, fingertips grazing along my thigh with a touch so light it might have been accidental—if not for the desire burning in his gaze.
The command sent a tremor through me that I couldn't suppress. My body responded before my mind could protest, opening my legs to grant him access. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the barely contained power in his touch as his fingers traced lazy patterns against my thigh.
I stepped to the side, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I felt his fingers move between my thighs, touching my most private of places.
I threw my head back and moaned as the fabric of my kirtle bunched higher, exposing more of my trembling legs to his exploring touch.
When his fingertips grazed the sensitive nub above my opening—a place only I had ever dared to touch—a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The sensation was nothing like my own hesitant explorations in the privacy of darkness. His touch was confident, knowing, as if he could read the language of my body better than I could myself.
"Such a willing little liar." His voice was a velvet whisper that made my skin burn with something far more dangerous than embarrassment. "Let's see just how honest your body can be when your tongue continues to deceive, shall we?"
The moment he slipped one finger inside me, my entire world narrowed to that singular point of contact.
My body betrayed me completely, arching against him with a violence that shocked me.
A strangled gasp tore from my throat as every muscle in my frame went rigid with the overwhelming sensation of being filled, possessed, claimed.
The invasion was gentle yet undeniably commanding, his touch both tender and ruthlessly confident as he explored territory that had remained untouched by any hand but my own in the darkness of my chambers.
I reached out, and my fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into the fine fabric of his tunic as my body struggled to accommodate this foreign presence that somehow felt like it belonged there.
My hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of that exquisite pressure even as my mind reeled with the implications of what was happening.
The wetness that had gathered between my thighs eased his passage as he pushed his finger even deeper, my body welcoming him with an eagerness that made my cheeks burn with mortification.