Page 40 of Untouched Queen by Royal Command

Another event, another debrief afterwards. That was the routine Sera and Augustus fell into over the weeks that followed. Sometimes they talked in his office and sometimes they used a small parlour in the west wing that he favoured, and sometimes, if he’d been held up after the event, he came to her quarters and sat within her sofa circle, always requesting a strategy session. Sera didn’t mind it. She took quiet satisfaction in her ability to be of use to him, and if he kept his hands and his kisses carefully to himself while in her presence, so be it.

She didn’t want to think about her growing need for his attention. The way her body craved his touch and her mind constantly circled back to him and what he was doing, how he was feeling. Whether he’d ever touch her again with the sole purpose of giving and taking pleasure.

She didn’t want to admit she might be falling for him.

Nothing good had ever come of a courtesan falling for a king.

Tonight, Augustus’s behaviour was different in that he stood staring at the request wheel at his feet for a good long while before turning to look at her. She’d been expecting him—maybe—and had changed out of her workwear into casual trousers and her customary tunic top. Nothing too sheer or revealing. No jewellery or make-up embellishment. The only concession she’d made to vanity was to let her hair down after she’d showered and not put it back up before opening her door to him. She liked the way he looked at it. The way he jammed his hands in his pockets as if to stop himself from reaching out to touch it.

The sexual attraction between them hadn’t gone away, for all their business-based interactions. It simmered between them, thick and syrupy. Every glance, every pause, a study in denial.

For both of them.

‘You know what I really want tonight?’ he asked, and her brain helpfully supplied the perfect answer.

Me! You want me! Please take me!

‘A toasted cheese sandwich.’

Or—or she could feed him. He wasn’t even looking at her. ‘That can be arranged,’ she offered hospitably. ‘Anything else?’

Me! Pick me!

‘I wouldn’t mind if it came with a glass of wine and some background music that I don’t have to listen to as if it’s the finest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘You didn’t like the music gala this evening?’

‘I liked it well enough but I was tired. Maintaining the fiction that I wanted to be there took more effort than usual.’

An honest response that painted him in a less than perfect light. A rare occurrence for this man who’d been trained from childhood to never show weakness or reveal any thoughts that could be used against him.

‘Sit. Please.’ She had music, food, and an excellent cellar full of wine on hand. ‘I can feed you.’ Cross off another scene on the pleasure wheel as done. It wasn’t the sex scene she craved, granted, but it was progress.

‘We can call for food,’ he said.

‘No!’ Just…no. ‘Does it matter who prepares it? I have a fully stocked kitchen. Why not let me put supper together?’

‘You don’t have to. That’s not your role.’

‘Always so hung up on roles.’ He had no idea how much it pleased her when she was able to put her training to use and serve him. It wasn’t a hardship. It was her pleasure. ‘Many people take great pride and pleasure in being able to put food on the table and invite others to share it. It happens I’m one of them. Sit. Please.’

Please.

Sera didn’t wait to see if he did her bidding, but when she returned he was sitting on the sofa in a different place to usual and the picture at his feet was that of people sharing a meal.

The wine she returned with was the best in the cellar and she knelt at his feet to pour it, faltering only when she went to hand it to him and found him watching her with hooded eyes that burned with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

But he took it from her with a quiet, ‘Thank you,’ and if his fingertips touched hers, well, he’d said he was tired and it wasn’t exactly light in here tonight with the moon behind a sky full of clouds. It wasn’t warm in here either, beneath the glass dome, but he didn’t seem to notice. Sera wanted to pretend that the tremble in her fingers as she released the wine was because of the cold, but self-deception had never been her friend. She’d shivered at the merest touch of his hand.

He said nothing more as she rose and turned some music on, soft and soothing.

He had his eyes closed and his head resting against the back of the sofa when she returned with the food. She’d brought extra: a small plate of honeyed pastries and a bowl of nuts. Sliced melon. Not a lot. Not a feast to make a person groan at the thought of eating it all.

‘I hope some of that’s for you too,’ he murmured.

‘It is.’

‘Don’t kneel at my feet, Sera. It might be what the picture shows and your courtesan training demands but I couldn’t stand it.’

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