The King's Pleasure (7 page)

“Careful how you speak to me. Abigail is the real thing.” Wasn’t she? Of course she was, but the seed, however untrustworthy the source, had been planted.

Yvette stood as gracefully as possible under the circumstances and brushed past him. She paused when she reached the end of the wall and turned back to the king. “But how would you really know?”

As she made her exit, he gripped her hard around the arm.

“Ow! You’re hurting me.”

“Be glad that’s all I’m doing.” Niall escorted her to the edge of the grounds and handed her off to one of the guards. “Yvette is to be banned from castle grounds. Send her back to her family.”

She struggled, trying to pull away. “No, please, Master. Don’t send me back home. It will shame the family. It’s bad enough you won’t use me.”

“Do
not
ever call me that. It’s not your right.” He turned to the guard. “Get her out of here. I don’t want her near me or Abigail again.”

As Niall walked back through the throng of revelers, he thought about what Yvette had said. She was wrong. Of course she was wrong. His Abby wasn’t like that. She hadn’t chosen any of this. It wasn’t as if she’d positioned herself right in front of him. Or had she?

He knew Yvette was jealous. But that didn’t mean the woman couldn’t be right. He’d watched so carefully for signs of those around him who might try to undermine his reign.

Could Abigail have manipulated the whole thing from the beginning? Wasn’t it at least possible? Why else would she have taken such a dangerous chance to steal bread from the castle, of all places? And why end up conveniently right outside his door during her escape attempt? His stomach turned at what he was considering. He didn’t want to believe it was possible, but anything was possible. Greater men had been brought down by beautiful and seemingly helpless women.

***

In only a few weeks, Abigail had adjusted to her position in the kingdom. Her family had been invited to dinner several times. Her father refused the invitations, of course. It irritated her because he seemed happy enough to live in the house the king had given him after his initial angry outburst.

Niall had been nothing but polite and proper during dinners with her family, only turning the evening sexual when they were a safe distance from the castle. Her brothers and sisters didn’t seem to fully understand her position with the king, and her mother appeared to be trying to forget it, but seeing how healthy and happy Abigail looked had seemed to quiet the woman’s inner demons.

There was only one thing that kept everything from being perfect. The king was pulling away from her. It had started the final night of the festival. She’d wanted to ask what she’d done wrong, but she was afraid to broach the subject and appear too aggressive. She didn’t want to displease him further.

Her loneliness grew as she became more attached and dependent on him and the necessities he provided her, while he became increasingly detached and distracted. Maybe he was just growing bored with her.

He was the first king in recent history to have a single slave, rejecting an official harem and only keeping those girls around to entertain guests. Did he want a harem? If he wanted one, why didn’t he just start one? He was the king. He didn’t need Abigail’s permission. She didn’t know how she would feel if he took more women and she got pushed to the side. She hoped she’d remain special since she’d been the first, but with their growing distance, it seemed unlikely he’d keep her at all.

The door opened and two servant girls entered. “The king wants you prepared for him and brought to court at once.” There was an edge of anxiety in the voice of the woman who’d spoken.

The servants rushed her through a bath, the fragrant oils haphazardly thrown into the water. There was no time for a long, languid soak.

“He wants you in this one,” the other girl said, holding up a red slave garment. The red would be striking and dramatic against Abigail’s black hair. It was stupid to think about such vain things when obviously something was about to happen. She didn’t make a fuss when they hauled her out of the tub and toweled her off.

Her eyes looked glassy and unfocused in the full-length mirror as they helped her into the top and panties and belt. Next came the anklets and bracelets, and the chain that went around her belly. The previous night, her nails had been painted a scarlet red. She looked down at her bare feet and wondered if Niall had seen her nails and chosen this garment to match. If he had, it gave her hope he hadn’t completely lost interest—if he could notice small details like what color her nails had been painted.

“Quickly,” one of them said, running a brush through Abigail’s hair and guiding her out of the king’s chambers. They hadn’t lost the frenetic energy since they’d interrupted her breakfast. Things were never like this when the servants came. It made Abigail worry even more that she’d inadvertently done something to displease the king.

Though she’d seen him make righteous and just decisions in the several weeks she’d been in his care, she’d also seen the swift punishment he delivered to anybody who stepped out of line even a little. He’d become increasingly paranoid about how his subjects were reacting to him, thinking someone would wish to overthrow him if he showed the slightest hint of weakness. She could tell he felt pressure to become someone he wasn’t to secure his throne. Or someone she hoped he wasn’t.

But the more he behaved like his father, the more Abigail cringed inwardly. If he made the complete metamorphosis, he’d look at her one day, see her dark skin and gypsy features and do something about it. Maybe that day had already arrived.

Abigail took a deep breath as she descended the stairs. Two guards nodded and opened the door for her. She glided in, feeling weirdly self-conscious in front of everyone at court, though none of her clothing had come off yet and she was weeks past embarrassment over her own nudity. She moved to her cushion by the king’s feet to await his orders, but he shook his head.

“No. Stand right there. You’re here on official business today.”

Business? His gray eyes had gone a harsh slate, like tar-blackened snow in the winter.

“Master?”

“Tell me, Abigail … why are you here with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why are you here? It’s a simple enough question. All I require is a simple answer.”

“I’m here at your pleasure because you chose to spare me from the guard that wanted to harm me.”

“Are you?” His gaze held suspicion and a touch of cold malice. A chill went down her spine at that shrewd look being directed at her. She’d seen it leveled at criminals and the stray noble who’d shown hints of disloyalty, but never at her. Though he’d grown more detached, he hadn’t seemed angry before now.

The king continued, “So you have no designs on power or wealth or being mother to the future king? This wasn’t some plot all along to get into my bed?”

“I … Master, I don’t know where this is coming from. I’m here because of your choice to keep me. Though I’m deeply grateful, I didn’t ask for anything you’ve given me, nor have I held any expectations for the future.”

“Really? We’ll see. Come here.”

She took the few steps to close the gap between them with a slowness that surprised even her. It had been foolish to forget what she was. How would it ever work between a king of Himeros and a gypsy? It couldn’t. Perhaps pressure had been put on him from outside forces. Or maybe he’d come to his senses on his own. Or this had been his plan all along. Why not? She’d attempted to steal from him. The only way he could return the favor is if she had something worth taking.

“Please, Master. I don’t know what I did. Have I not pleased you? Have I ever asked for a single thing or shown any ingratitude toward you?”

In response he gripped her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. He grabbed her breast and squeezed, roughly. “Do you mean to tell me you’d be happy as nothing but my common whore? Without the finery? Would you be happy if I shared you with everyone without discrimination to use you in any degrading way they saw fit?”

No, she wouldn’t be happy that way, and he knew it. “I’d be anything you wanted me to be,” she said, barely above a whisper, still not believing any of this was happening and becoming increasingly frightened for her life. At the rate the king was going, a noose around her neck didn’t sound outside the realm of the possible.

He released her breast, his hand going around her neck as if he’d read her mind.

“John,” he barked.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” the guard said from the back of the room.

“How would you like to fuck my gypsy?”

Murmurs rose around her, a stifling and oppressive din of noise. She heard John’s heavy boots as he came up behind her. He was the king’s most favored guard and the best.

He’d looked at her before with clear desire. She wouldn’t have minded being sent to his bed if the king had commanded it. He was level-headed and honorable and good-looking and strong. But like this? The king wasn’t rewarding John; he was trying to shame her.

“Why are you doing this?” Abigail said, barely above a choked whisper. She was too afraid to speak louder, afraid she’d enrage him by talking back loud enough for their audience to hear.

“I’m going to make you an offer,” the king said. “You have two choices. You can leave the castle and go live with your family in the house I’ve provided them, or you can submit to my head guard, right here, right now.”

She glanced over at John, who watched her intensely. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Whenever she looked at the guard the only words she could think to describe him were: blank slate. Even when he seemed intense, she couldn’t begin to fathom what specific thoughts lay behind his intensity.

Today was no different. She couldn’t tell right now if he wanted to fuck her, if he was disgusted by all this, if he pitied her. She hoped he didn’t pity her. Spreading her legs for John, even under these circumstances, wasn’t something she’d class as a punishment. As long as he didn’t hurt her. But she didn’t think he would, not unless the king commanded him to.

“All right,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

She moved in a daze to the chaise lounge that she normally reclined on next to the king, John following behind her. She heard the clinking of his belt as he unbuckled it, and she sucked in a breath, aroused in spite of everything.

“Wait,” Niall said.

Abigail looked over at him, wondering if he’d been bluffing the whole time, and if so, what possible reason he could have for it. She still didn’t understand why he was giving her these strange choices: go live with her family or have sex with his guard.

Even with the king’s distance of late, she didn’t want to sleep in a bed without him. Whatever test this was—if it was a test and not just delayed gypsy hatred—she would pass it. She’d do whatever it took to prove she wasn’t using him. All she’d ever done was serve and obey him. It’s all she ever wanted to do.

“Whip her first. Otherwise she might like it too much.”

Cold terror shot through her at the command. The king had never whipped her nor had her whipped. The most she’d experienced at his hand was the occasional spanking, but even that was rare. She’d been so grateful to him for the life he’d given her that she’d been utterly devoted. Punishments were small and for trifling missteps. Nothing more.

This seemed like more.

Abigail heard the hesitation in the change of the guard’s breathing. She knew he didn’t want to hurt her. As loyal as John was, at least he could see she meant no one any harm. If he wouldn’t do it, what then? She silently prayed John would obey the request because she feared Niall would only call upon another guard, one that was less kind if he didn’t.

“Your Majesty, I … ”

“Yes, John?” the king said mildly, daring him to challenge a command at court. Niall turned to Abigail. “Abby, I’ll give you another chance. You don’t have to go through any of this. I will pardon you for your manipulation and will allow you to live in luxury with your family. All you have to do is accept my pardon.”

Abigail stubbornly shook her head, the tears gathering behind her eyes, both because of Niall’s betrayal as well as fear of the pain that was coming. She wanted to speak with him privately, away from all these people. He’d turned this into a show, and now too much was at stake for him to back down. He wouldn’t retreat on her say-so. However he’d gotten it into his head that she was manipulating him, it was there now, firmly stuck. It was why he’d been pulling away: he didn’t trust her.

She was playing a fool’s game. If the king didn’t trust you, the wisest thing to do was take the out he gave you. By this point, the longer she insisted on staying near him the greater the odds her life would be forfeit by the end.

“Very well,” the king said, “but I’m not a monster. You can stop this at any time if you wish to go stay with your family. It’s not an heir to the throne or a position in court, but it’s still money and food and shelter. I can’t fault you for wanting any of that. Anyone would. To stop this, all you have to do is beg for mercy, and I’ll give it to you.”

The room had gone completely silent save for the ominous sound of the sturdy oak table being rolled out. John and another guard tied her down on her stomach so she couldn’t pull away, then the other guard released the latch on her top and let it fall open, exposing her back.

“You’ll break,” the king said. “This pain will be pointless in the end. Beg mercy now and spare yourself the pain and indignity.”

Abigail shook her head. She felt numb, some part of her convinced none of this was really happening. People were talking in the background, but it all sounded like it was coming from very far away. She looked up at the king in time to see him nod at John.

The whip came down, causing a stinging lick of fire to trail down her back. She jerked hard against her bonds. The pain was so quick and brutal that it felt as if she’d been pulled momentarily out of her body, then shoved back in again. She tried to brace herself for the next blow, but having felt the pain of the first strike, it was useless. The second lash was just as hard and frightening as the first and just as unexpected in its intensity.