Page 32 of The Horned King

Even in her sleep, my touch brings her pleasure. The mouthwatering, deliciously hard peaks of her breasts and quiet sighs as I gently caress her frame are evidence enough of that.

But when her mind is in charge, she is nowhere near ready to accept how she craves me.

As the sun's light begins to peek through the window, she moves, freezing me into place. Blindly, she reaches for the sheets at her knees, thinking her goosebumps are from the cold early morning air.

I dare not even breathe as she nestles herself back into the pillow, wrapped in the bedding. Only once she's perfectly still do I begin to back away. Watching her the whole way in case she should wake, I ease back through the door, closing it behind me. I lean against the hidden entrance, blowing out a sigh of relief before exiting to my own sleeping room.

"And where have you been?" Raya's mischievous voice travels from the couch in front of my fireplace.

I groan. "Please, don't start."

"She is lovely, I'll admit," she starts, directly ignoring my order not to. She turns, head leaning on her folded arms over the back of the couch. "But I never took you as the type to be so... creepy about it. You could just... talk to her? I mean, you're-"

Fucking Hells. "Raya, I mean it. That's enough."

She cackles, standing. "Alright, alright. Your Majesty." She mock-bows, another show of disrespect I'll ignore. "I just came to drop off your clothing for today, then I planned to pop into her dressing room and leave hers. They match."

"What?"

"Your clothes. And hers. They match."

I scoff out a laugh, running my palm down my face. "And why would you do that?"

She shrugs, grinning as she walks toward the door. "For fun."

She waves a hand behind her, not sparing me another glance.

I don't need to warn her not to mention this to Elva. She has a much longer leash than most of my other staff, but Raya still couldn't say anything to her even if she wanted to.

Finally pouring myself into bed for a couple blissful hours, I silently vow to keep my distance from the gorgeous creature in the next room. Whether innocently or not, she's making me foolish, and that's the one thing I cannot afford to be.

Ten

Elva

"Good morning, Miss Aistin." Raya's voice makes my head spin when she storms into my room. The air around me smells faintly of lavender, and all I want is to bury my head into my pillow for a few more hours of unconsciousness among the calming scent.

But that's not an option. Not with energetic, already perfectly made-up Raya springing into my room. With little more than a groan, I roll over and peek through one eye at her.

"How did you… sleep?" she asks, eyes slowly taking in the maelstrom of pillows and blankets I created last night. As her eyes dart around at the carnage, she drapes another impossibly beautiful dress across the foot of my bed. From what I can tell, when the room stops spinning, it's the same barely-there fabric as everything they've given me so far. It's the deepest shade of red, this time with tiny scarlet beads dotted along the bodice and a deeply inappropriate neckline.

It's stunning and terrifying and everything I've come to feel about this castle and its inhabitants already.

"Oh, I slept fine," I finally reply, though I feel as if I've been run over by a cart. Several carts.

She blinks a few times, still staring at the mess I've made. It didn't occur to me as I was doing this that someone else would have to come and clean it up in the morning. I've never had a maid or nanny. I always took care of these things myself. As such, self-sabotage has always been a safe way to express my anger. But now, looking at Raya, all I can feel is guilt.

"I'm sorry about the mess," I mutter. "I was just…"

After a moment, her expression brightens. "Oh, don't you worry. I bet it just got super hot in here last night. No need to be sorry that you kicked off all the blankets in your sleep."

We both know she knows better, but thankfully, she's showing me the mercy of not asking why pillows are only inches from the fireplace or why there's a pile of books on the floor when only last night they were very carefully arranged on the little bedside table.

"I really am sorry," I say again. "I'm going to clean it all up."

She waves a hand at me. "Nonsense. This is my job."

While I know that's true, that doesn't mean it's right for me to leave it all to her, so I ignore the pounding in my head and roll off the blissful softness to help. Thankfully, she allows it, responding only with an empathetic smile. Neither one of us needs to point out the obvious awkwardness.

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