Chapter 13
RHI
I am absurdly, outrageously sexually frustrated.
After yet another fitful slumber, Aurelia and Mira come knocking at my door to dress me for the day.
“Am I to attend another riveting breakfast?” I grumble sleepily.
“You are free to do as you please today,” Mira says almost cordially. In fact, she seems oddly jovial in her tasks. Meanwhile, Aurelia places a silver tray on the small round table on the far side of the room. She removes the cover, and a combination of sweet and savory scents assault my nostrils.
Perking up, I climb out of bed and inch over to the table, eyeing my breakfast. There appears to be a smorgasbord of everything I had seen the day before in that room I stumbled upon, the one where I found Nick.
“The King sent this for you,” Aurelia says with a smile.
“Really?” I don’t hide my shock. After our encounter last night, I’d thought, at the very least, Nick would go back to being indifferent towards me.
Yet, a honeyed warmth spreads throughout my chest, remembering his words: I know this body.
Not to mention, last night, he’d repeated the same words he’d said to me nearly two years ago, on a night when he’d found me vulnerable and he’d helped me remove those ridiculous garter straps.
Done this before? I’d asked him.
Once or twice.
That night replays vividly in my mind. It was the first time I felt the strength of his hands, so at odds with the gentleness of his touch. It was the first night I’d seen those golden eyes, a bit more amber at the time, ablaze with ravenous hunger as they ravaged me.
Last evening held certain parallels to that night—not only in what Nick has said, but in the way he’d simply stripped me bare with those beautiful eyes.
A small kernel of hope sprouts in my heart.
He’s remembering.
“Yes.” Mira bounces over to me, appearing to be more excited about this than I am. I hardly understand it. Perhaps she feels Nick showing me some favoritism is a step up as opposed to attending to a random guest of the palace.
I sit down to eat, allowing Aurelia to brush and plait my hair. She keeps the style I like, sweeping only half of my hair onto my head while letting the rest spill down my back.
Mira helpfully fixes my coffee then lays out my dress for the day: an azure silk number.
Once I finish breakfast, Mira helps me step into it, lifting the straps over my chest then tying them into a knot at the back of my neck.
The front of the dress, though offering a deep plunge, is actually thick enough so, for once, my breasts are modestly covered.
The back of the dress, however, is non-existent.
Still, the dress is surprisingly comfortable, and it was a welcome reprieve to get ready for the day without Mira’s constant hostility. I’m running through what, exactly, I can do with this so-called free time, when an unexpected guest bombards me the minute I step out of my room.
“Hi!” Caliste says exuberantly.
“Um…hi.” Any concern this will be an awkward encounter is quickly stifled by Caliste hooking her arm in mine and whisking me away. “Where are we going?”
“It’s such a lovely day! I thought we could take a walk in the gardens!
” Everything out of her mouth sounds like a celebration.
I’m still mystified as to why Isadora’s supposed BFF is dragging me along the castle corridors to spend the day in my company.
She’s either backstabbing Isadora or attempting to manipulate me. Maybe both.
I keep my mouth shut as Caliste babbles on about the stunning florals and overflowing fountains in the gardens.
Eyeing her peripherally, I note she is, in fact, beautiful, possibly as beautiful as Isadora.
Her skin is several shades tanner than the future Queen, her hair a shock of onyx swept into an elegant updo.
Dark rubies shine in both of her petite earlobes, and she dons a gown of the same shade with a fuck -ton of skirts.
It’s a mystery how she moves so fast.
Finally, we reach the gardens and, true to her word, they are exquisite.
Every color imaginable bursts into my vision, with ivy clinging to the high garden walls in desperation.
Crystalline water flows from several fountains, and Caliste leads me to sit beneath the shade of a tree with leaves the size of car-tires.
“So,” she begins as we settle onto comfortable chair cushions, “last evening’s dinner was so eventful, was it not?
” Even though it’s a question, I can still hear the exclamation in her tone.
She doesn’t even allow me to respond. “I have never seen His Majesty react in such a manner! I truly thought he was poisoned!” She clutches her non-existent pearls. “Can you imagine? What a scand—”
“Cut the bullshit, Caliste.”
The demoness’ mouth drops open, the tips of her fingers still at her collarbone. “Excuse me! How uncouth! I thought you were a noble lady, not a heathen.”
I snort at her theatrics. “I’m also not stupid. You are Isadora’s confidante. So, what the fuck are you doing cozying up to me? Did she ask you to spy on me? Did the King?”
Caliste stares at me in bewilderment. Then, the shock fades from her face, and a slow, devious smile curls her lips. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” I snarl.
“Oh, my dear!” She clasps her hands over mine. “No wonder you are so antagonistic! Things are apparently different in Lord Hades’ realm if you are so oblivious to what the King has named you.”
“Named me?”
Her dark eyes glint mischievously. “I would assume you understood, considering your position to him last evening. His Majesty sat you to his left, all but announcing you as his official mistress.”
My brows shoot to my forehead. Anger builds, strong and vicious, within my blood. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Caliste’s eyes narrow, confusion washing her features. “There is no reason to be upset! This is an honor!”
I clench my teeth and try to control my breathing, lest the Scylla spring loose and devour unsuspecting, idiotic Caliste. “It’s an honor to be his whore?” Vitriol pours from every syllable.
The demoness pats my hand, like she’s consoling a petulant child. “You must understand! It is truly an honor! In our Court, the King mistress is revered and highly respected! You will have his ear, you will bear his children—”
I blink, my head spinning. “Wait—what?”
“Really, you must calm down! The Queen holds a title only, but power, the real power, is who the King will look to for guidance, to have his heir. You will be more powerful than the Queen herself as long as you hold the King’s favor.
There are so many well-known mistresses throughout history who lived lives of luxury: Diane de Poitiers, Madame de Pompadour… ”
Caliste continues to rattle off French mistresses, but the wrath roaring in my ears drowns out her voice. I understand now the strange looks of reverence from last evening, why Caliste is glued to my side like a fucking leech, and why Isaora’s hatred for me burned brighter than usual.
Nick basically fucking announced I was having his kid.
An acute pain spears through me at that thought.
I hadn’t really thought about children with him—not yet, anyway.
I’m only nineteen. But still, the vision I glimpsed when I bit him in that subway tunnel haunts me.
Those children were ours. Deep within my bones, with a knowledge as certain as Nick being my soulmate, I knew that little boy and that little girl were mine and his.
“Where is he?”
Caliste pauses mid-sentence, slightly jumping back. I have no idea what French name she was on. Glancing up, she seems to peer through the canopy of leaves before she addresses me. “It’s just about mid-morning, so the King is probably sparring.”
I roughly yank her up alongside me. “Show me.”
She wrenches her arm from me and scowls. “You don’t have to be so rude!”
“Just fucking take me to him.”
Caliste obliges without further protest. Luckily, the sparring arena is not far from the gardens.
Wooden benches serve as would-be bleachers surrounding a dirt- clad area where two shirtless figures attack one another with swords.
The muscled back of the figure closest to me I recognize as Lord Baal, his shoulder length hair tied into a knot at the back of his head.
I drag my gaze away momentarily as Caliste guides me toward the benches, where I note more women than men sit as spectators.
One of those in the audience is Isadora herself, who watches the match with hunger practically dripping from her pores, mouth slightly parted.
In fact, most of the women pull sleeves and straps of their dresses to fan themselves, and something tells me it isn’t from the heat of the blazing suns alone.
I follow Caliste toward where Isadora sits, an area that is more shaded and not as crowded.
The future Queen curls her lip in displeasure upon my arrival then quickly looks away.
I’m tempted to bestow her a rude gesture, but my attention is ensnared by the fine specimens sparring in the arena below me.