Page 12 of The King's Maiden
One of the Knights, Ben Devereaux, snorted in reply. “That was part of the appeal.”
Then, he honked an imaginary set of boobs on his chest. I didn’t even have to spare a glance to see him do it.
History and the pressure building behind my eyes relayed it for me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to release it. “And she’ll be eliminated in the second phase when she refuses to break a nail. Or worse, in the first, when she eats up six days of another Knight’s attention and gives into temptation.”
Glancing at the unamused Knight beside him named Tristan Léon, Ben smirked. “Yeah, but I’ll have plenty of fun with her in the meantime. Look at her makeup. I bet it bleeds down her face so pretty when she’s choking on?—”
“That’s enough.”
He fell silent at my command. I didn’t even have to raise my voice. I spoke; they obeyed.
“I’m aware of the presumed benefits during the first thirty days of The Quest, but don’t forget yourself,Sir Bedivere.”
I rarely used the Knights’ family names, but sometimes they needed the reminder.
This was bigger than our fraternity.
“The Quest is about more than getting your dick wet. You’re training a challenger, not a sex puppet. She needs to be disciplined, controlled inhernature. Not just by you in the bedroom.”
“Yes, sir,” they chimed in unison.
I didn’t even have to ask for a response. I acted; they reacted.
“We swear an oath and live by a code for a reason.” I picked up another pile, flipping through it and coming away unsatisfied again. “Now, go fetch me the pile you fools discarded on the first run through.”
“But most of those girls were…”
My expression no doubt informed him I didn’t need or want that sentence finished. The first pass usually ruled out anyone from outside our society. Definitely anyone poor. Not to mention the girls sporting natural makeup and their god-given tits, because most twenty-one-year-old guys born into privilege couldn’t see past the surface.
Her aspirations and academic record? Unimportant.
Her hobbies and interests? Insignificant.
But her favorite sexual position? Absolutelyvital.
Proclivities in the bedroom defined a person’s character, of course.
“I’ll go get them,” Tristan offered.
“No, I can do it,” Ben said begrudgingly.
My eyes would’ve rolled out of their sockets at the predictability, but I’d been taught to keep certain reactions off my face. I’d been groomed to wear other masks effortlessly.
All while constantly being told that it paid to be in my position—how good I had it being King.
How lucky I was to be aD’Arthur.
Yes, what a charmed life I led, ruling over a group of people playing pretend. I sat on a makeshift throne I’d done nothing to earn, living a life filled with everything but devoid of anything containing substance. I had nothing of my own—nothingreal.
I wanted to see the world through a kaleidoscope—not the cardboard tube of an empty roll of toilet paper. I wanted to experience my life in blinding technicolor—every piece vibrant and loud—not washed-out, muted shades of gray. I longed for authenticity and raw emotion, but instead, I felt nothing.
I showed nothing.
And I slowly died inside of boredom.
How fun.
