Page 58 of Coronation
The men with cameras aren’t in view as I push open the door and stand, scanning the street as casually as possible. I can sense eyes on us as I turn back to offer a hand to Zelda. There’s the briefest flicker of hesitation in her beautiful face before she recovers, reaching out to take it, and allows me to help her out onto the cobblestone sidewalk.
I let go the moment I can, knotting my hands together behind my back before I’m tempted to reach for her again.
“Is this it?” she asks casually, tilting her head to the side to examine the gold lettering on the storefront window.
“Yes. Let’s go in.” My shoulders are stiff as I lead the way, unable to shake the knowledge that someone is watching.
A bell above the door tinkles as we move inside, entering a space which looks somewhere between a jewelry shop and apothecary, its air thick with so many scents I couldn’t begin to separate one from another. Rich, wood-paneled walls are inset with mirrored shelves, laden with thousands of bottles and vials. At the center of it all, a worktable of sorts is set up on one side, and there are two deep-green velvet chairs facing the front of the shop and its large window.
Our stage for the afternoon.
“Welcome.” An old man in an apron has appeared, color high on his cheeks.
I clear my throat, careful to keep a respectful distance from Zelda. “I believe we have a reservation.”
He sweeps his hand toward the worktable in the center of it all. “Of course! Yes, of course we were expecting you, Your Royal Highness.” Another bob of his head in Zelda’s direction. “And you, Miss Flowers. Welcome. My name is Robert Stowe. Percy and Stowe has been in my family for four generations now, and we consider ourselves experts in the creation of custom fragrences. My staff and I are most honored to have you visit us.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Robert,” Zelda tells him kindly as she follows me over to the velvet chairs. “What an incredible legacy. It’s such an honor to take part in it.”
The man appears positively beside himself at her praise, and doesn’t hesitate to set us to work, selecting a base for the fragrance from a line of paper swatches laid out on a silver tray. As he hurries to the back to retrieve something, a camera lens catches the sunlight from behind the line of cars parked across the street.
Zelda nudges me with her elbow. “We’re supposed to look like we’re having a good time,” she reminds me, and my heart stalls as she leans in, lifting one of the paper swatches to my nose. “What do you think?”
I inhale deeply, staring at the delicate bones in her wrist, so much smaller than my own. “It’s pleasant.”
Her lips curve as she sets it back down. “Pleasant?”
“I like it.”
“Surelyyou can do better than that, Benedict.”
Despite my best judgement, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “My full name?” I ask weakly. “Am I in trouble already?”
Robert, the shop owner, is returning, bearing another silver tray, and Zelda leans into me, one hand settling on my chest. When she speaks again, it’s in a quiet plea, her warm breath brushing my ear. “Touch me.”
The shop swims around me as Zelda settles back in her chair, falling into easy conversation with Robert about the pros and cons of the different bases. She couldn’t seemless affected, but those two words from her have made me inexcusably, agonizingly hard.
Touch me.
It’s too easy to imagine her spread out beneath me, pupils wide and lips swollen, begging—Enough.
Swallowing my nerves, I lean forward on the pretense of selecting another sample, and as I do, I drape my arm over the back of Zelda’s chair. She settles back, offering me a glowing smile as she lifts another swatch for me to smell. “What about this one? I think I like it better. It reminds me of you.”
I can’t place the scent, but it’s something rich and earthy, and somehow seductive, too. Swallowing, I shift in my seat, attempting to relieve some pressure from my cock, which is straining against my trousers. “That one, then,” I tell her. “If you like it.”
“I do.”
There is no more discussion on the matter.
The entire ordeal takes much longer than I would have thought. Robert appears to be putting on something of a show for us—or Zelda, at least—bringing out all the rare, lesser-known scents and explaining the history behind each. She leans into my side, nodding along with each of his little lectures, apparently absorbed in the activity.
A few other staffers in white coats come and go, but no other customers enter the shop, and if I don’t look out the front window, it’s easy to forget we are most certainly being watched.
Zelda doesn’t let me get away with staying silent. She draws me into conversation at every possible opportunity and asks my opinion on everything we add to the custom fragrance.
It’s dangerously easy to forget it’s all fake.
King Benedict steps out of his ice palace with American it-girl.
