Page 13 of The Rook

Almost.

Stars, she loved physical activity—how it suited her soul and made her feel in control of herself. But it wasn’t helping like it normally did. Tempest snarled and violently shot an arrow. It hit the target and shattered on impact. She heaved in a breath, sweat dripping down her neck. That might have been a tad aggressive.

“Careful, Tempest,” Madrid said sternly from his position overlooking the training grounds. “That’s your third one this week. Surely, you do not want to ask the king for more arrows.”

She stiffened at his tone. Uneasy, Tempest shifted, and her fingers tightened around her bow. What exactly did Madrid know about her arrangement with king? Anything? He had to know something. He wasthe Madrid—the King’s Sword.

Heat rushed into her cheeks in embarrassment at the king’s suggestion from the night before. She still did not understand why he had ordered her to doanything necessaryon her next mission. His insinuation had been obvious, but if he was as personally interested in Tempest as he had previously let on, then why would he want her sleeping with the Talagan rebels? Perhaps it was all a show to make sure the other members of the war council knew that he was in control of her.

That soured her mood further.

Instead of verbally answering Madrid’s question, Tempest nodded. He pursed his lips in a rare show of emotion. Clearly, she’d needled him. He turned from Tempest to oversee another group of archers who were gawking at her.

Time for Tempest to move on to something else. The sword.

She moved over to the circular arena preserved for close-combat fighting. There was nobody else there. Thank Dotae. Her mood was as black as the Jester’s heart. Carefully, sheleaned her quiver and bow against the post and pulled her sword from her scabbard before clambering over the ropes to begin swinging the sword in practiced movements. No one approached. A humorless smile touched her mouth. It seemed as if nobody would dare to spar with her in hercurrent mood.

So, instead of sparring, she satisfied herself with moving through different stances and combat patterns until her temper was quelled somewhat and her transitions from one move to the next were as fluid as water. Losing herself in such movements brought peace and centered her. The world ceased to exist.

Sweat pooled beneath her corset, her arms ached, and yet, she carried on. Tempest swung but halted abruptly as she caught sight of a visitor who’d snuck up on her. A visitor that had the attention of the entire barracks.

She moaned softly. Why did he have to intrude on her peace now? She tried to catch her breath, chest heaving, and considered ignoring the observer entirely. But it wasn’t possible. There were consequences to ignoring a king. Tempest sheathed her sword, all the while staring at the ground. Time to face the devil.

Lifting her gaze, she impassively eyed the intimidating figure of King Destin. Disturbing, really. He was splendid, even in a plain white shirt, high-waisted black trousers, and knee-high boots. She was struck by how much younger than his years he looked in such casual clothes. Even in simple garb, he commanded attention.

Destin ran a hand through his auburn hair and beckoned for her to come closer. That rankled her. He called her like she was a blowsy wench. Tempest pressed her lips together and forced herself forward, knowing she couldn’t refuse. She paused justout of reach, a respectable distance. No need to give the gossips of the barracks anything more to blather about. Then there was the fact that, deep down, she was scared Destin would somehow smell betrayal on her.

The king smiled. “Why so far away?” he asked, the picture of politeness. But there was a glint in his eye that told Tempest he thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of putting her on the spot.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing slightly. “I thought you would not enjoy the smell of me. Right now, I am soaked in sweat; it is not pleasant.” She’d thrown down the gauntlet. No man enjoyed a smelly woman.

The king threw his head back and laughed, his tan throat exposed. He dropped his head, his golden eyes twinkling with mirth. “Humor me. Come closer, Tempest.”

Rot it. Nothing to be done but obey—to openly defy him would be inadvisable at best—and so she slowly closed the distance between herself and Destin and climbed over the fence. No sooner had her feet touched ground, when he pushed her against a rough wooden post. He brushed a lock of sweat-drenched hair from Tempest’s face.

Destin licked his plush lips. “I’d rather be the one to help you work up a sweat, all things considered,” he said, voice low.

The dirty knave.

On purpose, Tempest misunderstood him. “That could be dangerous for your health, Your Majesty. I’m quite deadly with a blade, as you well know.” She smiled as if she had genuinely misinterpreted the king’s comment, but her ruse was no use. Tempest watched King Destin’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed, a small smile playing about his lips.

“I am aware,” he murmured. “I like a little risk.”

Her eyes widened as she understood what he intended to do a mere moment before he did it.

The king kissed her.

She wanted nothing more than to recoil, but with the post behind her and everyone’s eyes on them, she had no choice but to put up with the king’s assault. Her stomach twisted, and she focused on the way the wood dug into her spine and pressed into the back of her skull. Her pulse picked up when he pressed his mouth harder against hers and swiped his tongue against her closed lips, evidently wanting her to open to him.

Like hell. Instead, she bit his lower lip.Hard.

Destin jerked and broke the kiss. Her chest brushed his as she tried to catch her breath. A small bit of blood dotted his lip, and bile burned the back of her throat. She’d marked the king. Others had died for such a trespass.

He flicked his tongue against his busted lip, and a slow smile crossed his face, his eyes heating further. Horror churned in her belly. If anything, he looked at her with even more lust than before. What kind of deviant was he? His amber eyes dragged themselves up and down her heaving chest and shaking legs—her weakness was fully on display. Did he enjoy being the one in control? His personality certainly suggested so. She supposed she should not be that surprised, given how many mistresses King Destin was known to have had. His sexual proclivities were not likely to be all that plain.

Not knowing what else to do, Tempest ducked under King Destin’s arms, mumbling, “I have to go.”

She knew the king’s eyes were on her, so Tempest made sure not to run. She kept her steps slow and deliberate, leaving her back uncomfortably exposed. She had barely made it five feetfrom the man before he called out, “Don’t have too much fun with the rebels.”

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