The Queen of All that Dies
Page 16

“Go for a swim. I have a pool.”
My eyes widen, though I shouldn’t be surprised to learn about this. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. What I don’t mention is that it seems wrong to enjoy myself when so many others can’t.
He waves away my concern. “That’s not an issue. Marco can get you one.” The king stands up. “Give me a moment.” He walks out of the room, presumably to talk to one of his servants.
As soon as he’s gone, I eye the door. I could slip out now and return to my room. Where would that leave me, though? No, I need to stick around a little longer.
At least my plan is unfolding as I wanted it to. So long as I keep the king talking I don’t have to do anything physical with him. But more importantly, if the king sees me as more than just a pretty face with an attitude, I’ll have more leverage.
The king comes back in the room. “Grab your glass of wine,” he says, seizing his own glass and the wine bottle that sits next to it.
I glance at our half-eaten plates. “What about the food?”
“It’ll be here when we come back.”
I know he says that for my benefit. I doubt the king would eat a reheated meal. But he’s probably learned enough about me to know that I’d balk at wasting it.
He takes my hand and leads me to the door. I stare at our joined hands. The backside of his is tan, and I don’t know why that particular detail makes me wistful, but it does.
Ashamedly, I savor the warm press of his palm. I can tell that he’s used to being touched by the way his focus is on other things. And now, horror of horrors, it sinks in that I actually like skin contact with the king.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I respond too fast, and the king’s lips twitch. “Why do you ask?”
“You had a small smile on your face for a minute there. It was nice.”
I look away, mortified that the king caught me smiling while I was thinking about him. Scratch that, I was embarrassed that the king caused me to smile in the first place.
“And the lady shuts down yet again. I should add smiles and compliments to the growing list of things that make you uneasy,” King Lazuli says.
“You are what makes me uneasy,” I say.
His grip on my hand tightens. “I know.” He looks down at me, and I see the desire in his eyes.
I swallow. Tonight is going to be long.
I hold my towel tightly to myself when I leave the bathroom. It’s a good thing the alcohol is really starting to hit my system and lower my inhibitions. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have the courage to do what I’m doing now.
King Lazuli waits for me in the room that houses his pool, wearing a swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination. I suck in my cheeks. I’d expected the king to have thin, doughy arms and a shapeless stomach under all those suits of his. I hadn’t expected him to be toned like a soldier.
Our eyes meet across the room. “Are you going to take off your towel?” he asks.
“As soon as I get more wine.” I probably shouldn’t drink more. I’m already starting to feel a little queasy from the alcohol and overly rich food.
The king grabs my glass from where it rests on the edge of the pool next to the wine bottle, and he brings it over to me. “How about a trade: your glass of wine for the towel.”
Instead of answering him, I take the wine in his hand, down it in two long gulps, and then let go of my towel.
It drops to the ground, and I’m left standing in only a black bikini. The king takes a step back, his expressive eyes brighter than usual. I know what he sees—a lean body toned by war. He might even see some of my fainter scars.
I never thought there was anything particularly beautiful about my body. It is useful, and in my war-torn country, that’s the best I can ask for.
Only now, as Montes’s gaze drinks me in, I realize he’s savoring me like he does his wine. Like I am something rare and refined and he wants to take his time enjoying me. The thought makes me aware of every inch of exposed skin.
He takes my empty glass and sets it on a nearby ledge, his eyes serious. I sway a little on my feet as I watch him; the alcohol is already affecting me.
When the king turns back to me, he bends and scoops my feet out from beneath me.
“What are you doing?” I gasp out.
“What do think I’m doing?” he asks, carrying me to the shallow edge of the pool, where steps trail down into the water.
Alcohol swirls in my stomach, and I’m not sure whether I like the heady way it makes me feel. It’s causing me to notice the way the king’s dark hair curls at the base of his neck, and the golden skin that covers his strong muscles.
My body dips, and I hear the first splash of water as the king steps into the pool. He gazes down at me, and I catch my breath.
I’d never much cared for those epic love stories I’d heard growing up—Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Helen and Paris. All couples who’d placed love above all else; I thought the whole lot of them were idiots. But the way the king is looking at me … now I can see why so many loved those stories. There is something to forbidden passion. One heated look has me feeling like I’m on the edge of a precipice, waiting to jump.
My body dips again as we descend down the last two steps. The water kisses the bare skin of my back, but I’m still staring at the king, and he me.
I blink rapidly. I’m here to seduce the king, not to actually feel something for him. I need to remember that at all times.
To distract myself, I focus on my surroundings. The white walls dance with the strange patterns the water makes. “This place is beautiful.” I forget for a minute that this beauty represents everything I despise about the king. Right now I’m able to let go of some of my hate.
“If you think this is beautiful, you should see the pool at my official headquarters.”
“Is that an offer?” I joke, still staring at the beautiful light that dances above us.
“It is.”
My gaze snaps back to the king. “You should seriously leave the lying for the cameras,” I say.
We move into deeper water. “I’m not lying,” he says, his eyes trained on me.
I blink at him. He’s serious. “Why would you invite me?” I ask.
“Because I enjoy your company.” His statement is proof that he’s out of his mind. I’ve been nothing but mean and malicious to him.