Page 93 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“Right. Thank you, Solange, for all your help. And your faith in me.”

She hesitates. “As you said to the council, Your Highness, I hope you never give me reason to regret it.”

25

Atticus

It is well into the night when my ears catch soft whispers in the hallway outside my dungeon cell. I stiffen in my cot—a welcome but unexpected addition when I returned from my palace visit—and listen intently for steel sliding against scabbard.

Is this how King Cheral delivers my death?

While I sleep soundly in a bed for the last time?

A slight, feminine figure rounds the corner, the lantern in her grasp reflecting off her white nightgown as she fumbles with the key to my cell. Satoria. The king’s wife.

Where are the guards and why would they allow this?

I watch with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as she slips in and sets the lantern down in the corner.

“If you’re here to kill me, I feel I should warn you that the element of surprise is gone,” I drawl, my voice laden with sleep.

“I am not an assassin, Atticus.” My name hangs off her whisper as she reaches up to her shoulders and unfastens the clasps there. Her gown tumbles to the floor.

“And yet you will surely get me killed for this.” I admire her naked curves as she crosses the cell, tendrils of flaxen hair loose around her shoulders. How many of those thirty-two offspring has this delightful body carried for the king? I look for hints of childbirth—silver stretch marks, wider hips—but can’t find any.

“What if I told you His Highness sent me?” She climbs onto the cot, straddling my hips with her muscular thighs.

“I would say that the wife of a Kierish king once told my father the exact same thing, and it turned out to be a terrible lie.” Well played, Cheral. An effective reminder of past betrayals.

She rolls her hips in answer. The swell of her breasts and pert nipples are highlighted in the lantern light, begging to be touched.

I groan. Thank the fates they allowed me to keep these clothes. If I were still in those scraps, I would be in grave trouble. Still, if she keeps this up, the ache in my shoulder and thoughts of Gracen might not serve as effective wards.

I grimace from pain as I pull myself up to a sitting position, bringing us to eye level with each other. That delicious mixture of jasmine and lemongrass is faint now, and it does nothing to mask a muskier scent. Even if King Cheral sent his wife here to seduce me, she is a willing participant.

I collect her face in my palms and study her parted lips, wondering if I have gone mad. “You are beautiful, Satoria, and I am surely a fool for declining, but I must.”

Something unreadable dances in her gaze. “Who is she?”

I smirk. “You assume that is the only reason I am turning you away?”

She looks down at her naked form and then back up at me. “That is the only logical reason I can deduce.” Her eyebrow arches. “Unless you prefer my husband over me.”

“I assure you, that is not the case,” I say with a chuckle, my hands drifting from her cheeks, down over her bare shoulders and arms.

Her smile is soft. “Is it the female you beheaded that lord for? The mortal servant?”

I hesitate, but find myself admitting, “Yes.”

“What is her name?”

“That is of no concern to Kier.”

“You think I am here as a spy for His Highness.”

“I think you played servant earlier to learn what you could about my current standing with my people. Now that I know who you really are, I think you are here to give your husband a reason to kill me and be done with it.” I pause. “That, or you have mistaken which king’s lap you belong in.”

“You are a king no more. And I assure you, I can tell the difference.” There is a nervous energy flowing through this one’s veins. Adrenaline. “Do you plan to wed the mortal?”

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