Page 11 of The Bone King and the Starling

“A whip.”

“Made of what?”

“Wire.”

His fingertips trace some of the marks. They should be fairly pale — I haven’t been struck in a while — but I also haven’t taken the time to look at them in a long time, either.

“I’m sorry if they offend you, my king.”

He hisses and then I jump when his body suddenly comes up behind me. Right behind me. So close, his heat is pressed against me from neck to heel. He brackets my feet with his boots and I know that if he were to make a misstep in his shoes, he’d likely break my now bare toes. Everything about this feels so dangerous for me. Pretending not to be frightened takes more work as I inhale shallowly.

“You do not apologize to me, little bird. Least of all for this. You do not apologize to me even when you do something wrong.” He pulls on my hair, tilting my head back until I can see his eyes looming over me. “Do you understand?”

Tears come to my eyes at the pressure, the overwhelmed way I feel. Truthfully this time, I shake my head. “No, my king.”

He reaches around my body and cups my left breast. I gasp when he pinches my nipple. “It is alright.” He kisses my forehead. “You will soon.”

His hands move over my body, touching me everywhere, starting at my breasts and chest before moving down my stomach to the flare of my hips. As he removes his hands from my body, I hear the unmistakable sound of the clasps on his leathers being unbuckled and I shudder. I know I should offer to help him, but my hands shake too badly.

“You are,” his low voice rumbles, and I worry about what he will say next. How could his assessment of my nudity be favorable when he is used to bedding highborn women? Women afforded baths every week, if not every day, those who don’t bear dirt smudges on their forearms, fading bruises on their legs, filth caked beneath their fingernails because they don’t do and have never done manual labor.

“Exquisite,” he exhales deeply, his entire chest rising and falling against my back.

His bare chest.

I open my mouth to thank him, but no words come out.

I see leather pieces fall to the floor. His vambraces, his chest pieces, his remaining furs. When his arms wrap around me next, I see that they are fully exposed. And when he presses his body against mine again, I can feel his beastliness outlined in every ridge of his pectorals, every hard line of his abdomen, his massive rounded shoulders, his impossibly hard, thick thighs when he finally unlaces his boots and trousers and steps out of them.

I gasp as his erection presses against my back and he moans. I shudder, shivering in earnest now. “Shh,” he says in my ear. “I know you are nervous.”

His assurance does nothing for me. I continue to quiver, proud of myself that I manage to remain upright at all as he rubs his length slowly along my back, bending his knees considerably to lower his erection to my buttocks and sliding the rock-hard, yet deliriously smooth appendage in between the crease.

“Have you seen a man bare before?” he says, his voice thicker than it was.

I nod. Of course I’ve seen men bare before down at the river. It’s where the thrall’s wash.

He makes a ticking sound in the back of his throat and grabs mine, offering it a squeeze. “Who?”

I can’t speak and am ashamed of my reaction. Females are bedded by males all the time. This is not a Davral ritual. I am not to be flayed alive. And if I leave here injured, I can and will survive. “Just the um…the…” I can’t speak, can’t think, not with the way he spreads my ass cheeks apart with his hand and prods the head of his cock at my other entrance. Does he plan to…rutme there? I wasn’t even aware that was something males did to females.

“I grant you leniency because I know that you are afraid, that you are a thrall, that I have done this all wrong, but when your king asks you a question, little bird, I expect an answer.”

He is reprimanding me and I shudder as his cock withdraws and one of his fingers moves between my ass cheeks and presses at my tight, tight entrance. I suck in a hard breath as he breaches my tight opening, sparking tears in my eyes. It feels…so strange. His other hand drops from my neck between my breasts, over my belly, moving around my front to cup my mound and when he burrows his fingertips into my curls, he finds a section of very, very soft skin and so, so gently, strokes it.

I make a terrible, embarrassing sound as my skin — all of my skin — alights in sensation. My knees don’t want to hold me up anymore and I all but wail, “Just other servants, my king. We bathe in the river together.” My voice is hitching and unstable.

“Good girl.” Abruptly he kicks my feet apart while his mouth comes down to my shoulder. He bites me hard enough to make me cry out. “I will bathe you…” He grunts between kisses strung between my shoulder blades. He’s rubbing his whole body up against mine like a beast in rut, meanwhile I can scarcely catch my breath. “After.”

And then his hands are everywhere — roaming across my breasts, squeezing them hard, passing over my stomach, roughly cupping my buttocks. And then I feel him working at something. His huge arm wraps beneath my stomach and he lifts my feet clear off of the floor in order to notch the head of his penis at the entrance of my vagina.

“My king,” I gasp, shocked at how quickly he’s accelerated things, and I brace, terrified, my fingers clutching the pole, my legs dangling uselessly beneath me. He starts to shove against my body, but I’m not able to take him. I’m a little damp, butthe friction is painful as his erection drags against my lower lips, probing at my mound. It hurts and I release a desperate wail.

He surprises me when he withdraws and pants into my ear. He places my feet back on the floor and his meaty fingers delve between my folds to find my center. His other hand spans the width of my stomach and I can feel his fingertips digging into my skin as I wince again and clutch the pole, holding onto it as if it were my sanity.

His finger delves past my mound, spreading my lips wide to find the heat of my body. He slides a single finger into my core. I tense. I can feel my legs shaking and wish he would let me fall. I wish he would let me go, but I think we’re past that.

His large digit swirls inside of me, pressing deep into my core, touching places that no fingers have ever reached. And then he stills with one finger inside of my body, the other now in my hair. He gives it a slight tug and I realize he wants me to look back at him.

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