He smiles shyly and takes my hand. I squeeze his fingers lightly. “Your Majesty, I am honored to be here.”
It is not a lie. It feels as if my entire life has prepared me for this moment. It is the same feeling I had in the abandoned village when Maraud was attacked by outlaws—I knew what to do and that the moment I had practiced and trained for was finally at hand.
He tugs gently at my hand. “Come sit by the fire and let me pour you some wine.”
I raise my brows slightly. Kings do not dress themselves or wash themselves or put on their own shoes, so I did not expect him to pour his own wine. But it appears that he has dismissed all his attendants, and for that I am glad. What will pass between us is not something that is meant to be witnessed by others.
“Your rooms are magnificent, Your Majesty. I did not know such finery existed in all the world. And so many books! Have you read them all?”
He smiles with shy pride and turns to his collection, a stark hunger shining in his eyes. He is as consumed by lust for them—for the knowledge they hold—as he is by the lust for a woman’s body. “Not yet.”
I take a sip of my wine. “The court was all abuzz with your ruling today.”
He looks away from his books, surprised. “Were they? I did not think news would have traveled so quickly.”
“This is the French court, Your Majesty,” I tease.
“True.” His mouth twists into a grin that holds more pathos than humor.
“They say it was a most generous and noble decision,” I tell him gently. “And that your protection of those under your care is in keeping with your chivalrous nature.”
The crease between his brows disappears. “They say that, do they?”
“Well, some do.” I set my goblet down. “I do.”
“Many of my lords are displeased, fearing it calls into question their rights over their own daughters and sisters.”
“Do you have any intention of exercising such rights over them?”
He looks taken aback. “No.”
I smile. “Then their worries will prove unfounded.” I allow myself to grow more serious. “Your Majesty, it was a well-thought decision. You protected innocent lives as well as spared their liege any censure or embarrassment, granting them the honor of serving in your queen’s household. And,” I add, slipping off the bench so that I am kneeling in front of him, “you gave full support to your queen. If that is not both wise and chivalrous, I do not know what is.”
If I were to lean forward, I could press my body against his knees, but I do not wish to appear too brazen. Instead, I reach for his hand. “May I?”
He looks puzzled, before realizing I am asking permission. “Of course.”
I take his hand in mine. “Your Majesty, if I can ease the burdens you carry, even just for a handful of hours, and bring you joy—you who have the weight of so many others on your shoulders—I will count myself honored to be of some small value to you.”
His face shifts imperceptibly, and I can see that I have touched him.
Good. For I do not lie. He is a kind man and tries to be just and generous.
To my surprise, he gently pulls me back up so that I am half on the couch and half in his lap. “It is you who have honored me with the pleasure of your company. To be simply a man for an hour or two, albeit a very lucky one.” Without looking away, he draws closer, pressing his lips to mine.
His mouth is eager and warm and as soft as an overripe pear. His tongue thrusts too rapidly, like a maid with a butter churn. One hand leaves my shoulders to caress my arm, then moves to my rib cage and upward until he is cupping my breast. His fingers begin squeezing and kneading so forcefully that I am reminded of a farmer milking his cow.
He pulls away, his eyes heavy lidded with desire. “There is a more comfortable place to do this,” he murmurs. He stands and pulls me up alongside him, then leads me to the huge canopied bed. It is cooler here, away from the fire, and I shiver.
He smiles. “Do I make you shiver, dear Gen?”
He is so very hopeful that I must cast my eyes down. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Good.” With quick and practiced fingers, he unlaces my gown. When he slips it off my shoulders, he presses his lips to my collarbone, kissing a trail down to the swell of my breast. I wonder how he would best like me to act. He is moving so fast, there is not time to anticipate his needs or wants. As he tugs off my sleeves and bodice, exposing my breasts, I realize that I don’t need to react so much as simply be here. He is taking pleasure from doing things to me rather than with me.
He unties the laces at my waist and I step out of my skirts as they pool to the floor. The king steps back to gaze upon my nakedness, as pleased as a child with a new toy. “You are beautiful.” His voice is husky and reverent.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get a word out, he backs me up to the bed and gently pushes me onto it, my entire body exposed to his gaze.
He puts his hands on my knees and starts to coax them apart. I place a palm on his chest. “Will you not take off your clothes, as well, Your Majesty?”
“See the effect you have on me?” he whispers. “I forget even the most basic of niceties.” As he struggles to remove his doublet, I arch my back, but in such a way that he will not be aware that I have done so, making my breasts more prominent. He casts his clothing aside with a grunt of frustration. Then he is upon me, his hands going immediately to my hips to position them. Then he thrusts.
There is no art or finesse to it. He barely even looks at me.
It is a pity, because there are so many things I could do to make this more enjoyable for both of us. Instead, he simply expects me to lie beneath him like a rug while he spends himself. For all that he claims it was me he wanted—I could have been anyone.
Fortunately, it does not take long. There is a final flurry of thrusts, a shout, followed by a grimace. Then he collapses on top of me, his body damp with sweat.
?Chapter 93
Sybella
am waiting for them when they come.
For a brief moment, I consider enlisting Genevieve’s assistance, but I have not come face-to-face with her nor even had a chance to give her the crow feather yet.
Besides, this is not the convent’s business, but mine.
As I wait in the dark, I marvel that I have no qualms about killing these men. I do not know if Father Effram’s words soothed something inside me or if I simply no longer care as long as it keeps them from pursuing my sisters.