CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE #2
Kay's smile sharpened into something predatory and knowing.
Cruel. Certain. Like a blade finding its mark.
"Doesn't he? The white-haired ghost he's torn his kingdom apart to find?
The phantom woman who haunts his dreams and drives him to madness?
" His voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to echo in the confines of his chamber.
"Oh, but I think he knows exactly who you are, girl. "
Heat flashed through me—part anger, part fear, part something I couldn't name. "He doesn't know who she is," I snapped, my voice rising despite my attempts to maintain control. "He doesn't know the real me." The distinction felt crucial somehow, even through the fog clouding my thoughts.
"Well, of course he doesn't. That's the point, isn't it? The fool believes you to be a male knight. He has no idea who you really are."
That hadn't been my point. But now, as the wine continued to work against my mind, I couldn't recall what my point had been. Perhaps it was something about Arthur’s obsession with the white-haired woman—some lake-born vision. Not the woman who now stood in the shadows of Kay’s chamber, cornered and compromised.
It was true—Arthur didn't know me at all.
The only person who had really begun to know me was Lance.
No. Lance only knows Lioran—one of your many lies.
And at the thought of Lance and his kind smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the ends when he looked at me, the gentleness he'd shown me… I suddenly wanted to cry.
Kay's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam sharpening his gaze as he took a deliberate step closer.
"Tell me who you are." His voice dropped to a silky purr, the false gentleness more threatening than any shout could be.
His fingers brushed against my cheek, a mockery of tenderness that made my skin crawl.
"I am no one." I forced steel into my voice despite the herbs working through my system, making my thoughts swim and my magic recede like a tide pulling away from shore. I straightened my spine, refusing to cower even as I could feel dizziness beginning to overcome me.
Kay laughed, the sound cutting through the heavy air between us. "You are hardly no one, girl, if you made it this far." His gaze traveled down my body, assessing rather than desiring. "You are clearly someone with considerable skill and resources behind you."
"I am not."
But he wasn't fooled. "What is your name?"
His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing but resting there—a reminder of how easily he could silence me permanently if he so chose. In my present condition, where I needed to grasp one of his bedposts for support and was stripped of my magical abilities, I was completely defenseless.
"My name," I started, and then felt as if I might be sick as a wave of vertigo overcame me.
The floor beneath me seemed to tilt and sway like the deck of a ship caught in a storm.
Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and I could feel cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.
I stumbled backward and reached out blindly to steady myself against the mattress, feeling like I might vomit. The room started to dissolve around me.
"Finish what is in your goblet and tell me your name."
Kay's voice seemed to come from far away, echoing strangely as though we stood in a vast cavern rather than in his chambers. His face swam before me, features blurring and reforming, his predatory smile the only constant.
"I... can't finish it." The words were thick and clumsy on my tongue. My stomach lurched violently, bile rising in my throat. "I feel... sick."
"I must have given you too bloody much." He reached out to take my goblet before I dropped it. I pressed my palm against my mouth, fighting the urge to retch as the room continued its relentless spinning.
"Blast!" Kay slammed both goblets down onto the tabletop with such force that the wine inside sloshed over the rims. Droplets of deep crimson spattered across the polished oak surface, forming tiny constellations.
"Disrobe," he commanded, his voice dropping to a silken purr that carried more menace than his previous shout.
I could see the cold satisfaction spreading across his face as I reluctantly began to fumble with the fastenings of my tunic.
But my fingers felt like lead weights, clumsy and uncooperative, betraying me as thoroughly as the drugged wine had.
The simple laces that I normally undid without thought now seemed incredibly complex, each small movement requiring intense concentration as the room continued its nauseating tilt around me.
Kay watched my struggles with the patient cruelty of a cat observing a wounded bird, his thin lips curling upward at the corners in the ugliest of smiles.
His gaze traveled slowly across my trembling fingers, drinking in each fumbled attempt with obvious satisfaction, a connoisseur appreciating a particularly fine vintage of suffering.
"Such delicate hands for a knight." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Strange how they fail you now."
I could see the calculation behind his eyes—the way he weighed and measured my vulnerability, storing away each moment of weakness like a miser hoarding gold coins.
Soon, impatience overcame him. With three swift strides, he crossed the space between us, his shadow falling over me like a physical weight.
Before I could react, he was on me, gripping the tunic in both hands.
The fabric, which had withstood countless training sessions, surrendered instantly to his fury as he ripped it in half with a sound like distant thunder, exposing my breasts to the cool air of the chamber.
And then his hands were all over them, pinching and touching with abandon as his eyes devoured my exposed flesh.
His fingers explored each of them, alternating between bruising pressure and mocking gentleness.
Each touch sent waves of revulsion through me as his eyes gleamed with malicious triumph, drinking in my humiliation with obvious glee.
His breathing grew heavier, ragged with excitement as he continued his invasive examination, seemingly entranced by the power he now wielded over me.
"Tell me again how Arthur has never had you."
I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d vomit. So, I said nothing.
Kay pulled his attention from my breasts to look into my eyes. "Tell me."
"Arthur has…"
"No," he interrupted. "The king…"
"The king has never… had me."
Before I could comprehend what was happening, Kay had seized me by the shoulders and hurled me backward with such violence that my feet left the ground entirely.
I crashed onto the bed, the impact driving all air from my lungs in a sharp gasp.
The ancient wooden frame groaned and shuddered beneath us, its joints protesting with ominous creaks that echoed through the chamber like the breaking of old bones.
My head connected with the carved headboard with a sickening thud that reverberated through my entire body, sending brilliant white stars exploding across my vision.
Pain lanced through me in sharp, nauseating waves that made my stomach lurch violently.
The room tilted and swayed around me as I fought desperately to regain my bearings, my thoughts scattered and fragmented.
When my vision finally began to clear, Kay's imposing silhouette loomed above me like some predatory shadow, blocking out the amber glow of the torches behind him. His eyes gleamed with that same malicious satisfaction I’d seen moments before, but now there was something darker beneath it—something hungry and dangerous that made my blood run cold.
I pressed my palms against his chest and pushed with every ounce of strength I possessed, my muscles straining against his solid frame.
But it was futile—like trying to move a mountain with bare hands.
His body was so much larger than mine, and he absorbed my desperate attempts as though they were nothing more than the flutter of butterfly wings.
"Fighting will only make this worse for you.
" His voice dropped to a whisper as he pinned my wrists above my head.
His grip was like iron, crushing my wrists together until I could feel my pulse throbbing painfully against his fingers.
The weight of his body pressed down on me, making it difficult to breathe, let alone resist.
He straddled my hips as his free hand continued to roughly explore my breasts. His touch was invasive and proprietary, as though he were examining merchandise rather than a person. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, now burned with a frightening hunger.
"You're mine now, witch." Droplets of his spittle landed on my cheek as he spoke, each one a revolting reminder of my powerlessness. "And after tonight, you'll return whenever I summon you. You'll learn your place quickly enough—beneath me, serving my pleasure."
He reached down and tore my braies clear off me, the fabric ripping beneath his grip.
Soon my clothing lay in tatters on the bed, scattered like the remnants of my dignity.
All the while, I felt the room swirling around me in nauseating circles, the walls seeming to contract and expand with each labored breath I took.
Vomit continued to threaten me, bile rising in my throat before receding, only to surge again with each breath I took.
When I was finally bare to him, my skin exposed and vulnerable in the frigid air of his chamber, Kay leaned back on his haunches and studied me with the methodical attention of a hunter studying his capture.
His calculating gaze raked over every inch of my flesh, the heat of his stare almost physically painful as it moved from my face down to my throat, then lower still to my breasts, my stomach, and finally to the most intimate parts of me that no man had ever seen.