he watched
the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. Not for death, but for him—his
touch, his mouth, his shaft as it pumped deep inside of her. “I
admire your spirit, woman. Not many men have dared to challenge me in
this way, and certainly never a woman.”
He turned to his
advisor. “Leave us. I want everyone from this room gone except
for my personal guard.”
The advisor frowned.
“Your majesty?”
“ Did you not
hear me?” Lyon arched a brow.
The man blanched.
“Yes, your Majesty…as you wish.” He scrambled down
from the dais and ushered the nobles from the room, leaving
reluctantly, a flurry of whispers exchanged behind the hands raised
to their mouths. Let
them speculate ,
Lyon thought.
His lips curved as
Cordova watched him warily. “Don’t think I will not
punish you, Miss Thomas,” he warned, and she stiffened. “You
will serve me in repentance for your crimes— in
my bed .”
“ I beg your
pardon?” Cordova whispered, faintly.
Lyon’s grin
widened at her distress. “Don’t sound so upset, Ms.
Thomas. Being a King’s mistress is considered an honor. Be
grateful.”
****
Be grateful!
Cordova fumed,
pacing back and forth in the drawing room as she had done for the
past four hours, waiting for him. The guards had taken her to a
private suite of rooms connected to the King’s quarters by a
secret tunnel and told her that she had free reign of the space, and
could do anything she wished as long as she didn’t leave. Since
the only way out was through the tunnel and a twenty-four hour guard
had been posted there, escape was highly unlikely. There wasn’t
even a single window for her to look out of. She felt suffocated,
closed in.
She couldn’t
believe this was happening. Why, oh why hadn’t she just kept
her thoughts to herself? How could she have been so stupid as to
think her letters wouldn’t be intercepted? She was not of royal
blood, after all, and the King was always on the lookout for spies.
You’re
lucky you weren’t tortured and beheaded, like he’d
suggested would be appropriate for your behavior.
Sighing, she lowered
herself onto the settee, pushing aside the pale pink cushions so she
could stretch out and think. He was right to tell her that she should
be grateful—at least for sparing her life. But she was still
furious. Even though he was enshrouding her in secrecy, that no one
aside from a select number of guards would know about what she would
be forced to do, she would still know on the inside that she was
ruined. Once she returned home, she would never be able to marry a
man, for she could not deceive one, and who would want to marry a
King’s mistress, spoiled and used? It didn’t matter that
she would spread her legs between silk sheets instead of a crumbling
doorway. She would still be nothing more than a whore.
Her eyes drifted
closed, then opened as she heard the faint sounds of a man’s
footfalls against soft carpet. Turning her head, she watched King
Lyon enter the drawing room, still dressed in the same clothing he’d
worn at her ‘trial’. He caught sight of her and paused,
standing in the middle of the room, dominating it with his powerful,
imposing frame. She swallowed hard, her heart thumping loudly in her
ears. Why did he make her blood heat so? He was a pompous, arrogant
tyrant.
Frowning, his eyes
raked her form. “You did not choose one of the dresses in the
wardrobe provided for you?”
Cordova’s
cheeks colored as she rose. “I see no need to subject myself to
the garish fashions of court any moment sooner than I have to. Unlike
the ladies of your court who think nothing of baring their bosoms to
get what they want, I am a modest woman.”
King Lyon laughed.
“You are provided with a King’s ransom of clothing that
the women of my court would swoon over, and you call them garish?”
Cordova bit her
lower lip, unsure if she had upset him or not. “I don’t
mean to sound ungrateful, your Majesty,” she amended, trying
for a less
the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. Not for death, but for him—his
touch, his mouth, his shaft as it pumped deep inside of her. “I
admire your spirit, woman. Not many men have dared to challenge me in
this way, and certainly never a woman.”
He turned to his
advisor. “Leave us. I want everyone from this room gone except
for my personal guard.”
The advisor frowned.
“Your majesty?”
“ Did you not
hear me?” Lyon arched a brow.
The man blanched.
“Yes, your Majesty…as you wish.” He scrambled down
from the dais and ushered the nobles from the room, leaving
reluctantly, a flurry of whispers exchanged behind the hands raised
to their mouths. Let
them speculate ,
Lyon thought.
His lips curved as
Cordova watched him warily. “Don’t think I will not
punish you, Miss Thomas,” he warned, and she stiffened. “You
will serve me in repentance for your crimes— in
my bed .”
“ I beg your
pardon?” Cordova whispered, faintly.
Lyon’s grin
widened at her distress. “Don’t sound so upset, Ms.
Thomas. Being a King’s mistress is considered an honor. Be
grateful.”
****
Be grateful!
Cordova fumed,
pacing back and forth in the drawing room as she had done for the
past four hours, waiting for him. The guards had taken her to a
private suite of rooms connected to the King’s quarters by a
secret tunnel and told her that she had free reign of the space, and
could do anything she wished as long as she didn’t leave. Since
the only way out was through the tunnel and a twenty-four hour guard
had been posted there, escape was highly unlikely. There wasn’t
even a single window for her to look out of. She felt suffocated,
closed in.
She couldn’t
believe this was happening. Why, oh why hadn’t she just kept
her thoughts to herself? How could she have been so stupid as to
think her letters wouldn’t be intercepted? She was not of royal
blood, after all, and the King was always on the lookout for spies.
You’re
lucky you weren’t tortured and beheaded, like he’d
suggested would be appropriate for your behavior.
Sighing, she lowered
herself onto the settee, pushing aside the pale pink cushions so she
could stretch out and think. He was right to tell her that she should
be grateful—at least for sparing her life. But she was still
furious. Even though he was enshrouding her in secrecy, that no one
aside from a select number of guards would know about what she would
be forced to do, she would still know on the inside that she was
ruined. Once she returned home, she would never be able to marry a
man, for she could not deceive one, and who would want to marry a
King’s mistress, spoiled and used? It didn’t matter that
she would spread her legs between silk sheets instead of a crumbling
doorway. She would still be nothing more than a whore.
Her eyes drifted
closed, then opened as she heard the faint sounds of a man’s
footfalls against soft carpet. Turning her head, she watched King
Lyon enter the drawing room, still dressed in the same clothing he’d
worn at her ‘trial’. He caught sight of her and paused,
standing in the middle of the room, dominating it with his powerful,
imposing frame. She swallowed hard, her heart thumping loudly in her
ears. Why did he make her blood heat so? He was a pompous, arrogant
tyrant.
Frowning, his eyes
raked her form. “You did not choose one of the dresses in the
wardrobe provided for you?”
Cordova’s
cheeks colored as she rose. “I see no need to subject myself to
the garish fashions of court any moment sooner than I have to. Unlike
the ladies of your court who think nothing of baring their bosoms to
get what they want, I am a modest woman.”
King Lyon laughed.
“You are provided with a King’s ransom of clothing that
the women of my court would swoon over, and you call them garish?”
Cordova bit her
lower lip, unsure if she had upset him or not. “I don’t
mean to sound ungrateful, your Majesty,” she amended, trying
for a less
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