Page 45 of The Lost Prince
Look away. You need to look away.
The queen lounged in front of me on a velvet chaise, completely nude.Her skin was so smooth and white. Was it supposed to look like that? Clover was much younger than the queen, but she wasn’t free of blemishes or marks. Clover had stretch marks across her belly and thighs, scars on her arms and back, and bumps in her rounded backside.
The queen had … none of those things. Her breasts were shapely underneath her hair. Nothing was scarred or bumped or blemished. Her waist nipped in at her flat stomach, only for her hips to flare out to full thighs. She was unreal. She was perfect. Was it magick?
Stop staring.
“Are you going to do anything? Or just sit there and soil my rug?”
Her voice was the only thing not perfect about her: spoiled and smug, mighty and slightly nasal. The cruelty in it jolted me back to my senses, but she had me off balance while inflaming my desires.
It enraged me how much I hated her and how much I wanted her.
“Why? Do you want me to … what did you say?Dosomething?” I didn’t realize I’d spoken until she arched one silver eyebrow at me, those cupid lips parting slightly at me with surprise.
“And have you leave stains everywhere?” She sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning forward.
She knew it pushed her breasts forward, the hair falling just so and parting so I could glimpse one rosy nipple.…
I moved on my own volition until there was only a short distance between us. This close I could smell her: pergainsa berries and fire, ash and incense and death and–
Sharply, I inhaled, taking half a step back.
Magick.
It was thick and cloying like smoke, but sickly sweet like decay and death. I wanted more of it even though I knew it was dangerous.
“Mud Stain, I am waiting for someone who is most certainly notyou. Leave, and I will forget this intrusion.”
She wanted me to leave. That meant I wasn’t going anywhere. My decision must have shown in the tilt of my chin or the set of my shoulders, because the queen’s eyes narrowed.
A knock sounded on the door.
The queen smirked. “And now someone I actually wish to see is—”
“Z? Are you here? I–”
I bit back a curse as Clover poked her little blonde head through the door, going white as a sheet when she saw the queen’s naked form. She tried to back out in panic, but five other girls pressed in from behind her, eager to look.
The queen tilted her head to the side and smiled, stretching and arranging herself even more proactively over the sofa.
“Girls, come in,” she cooed at them, fingers outstretched and curling inwards.
A redhead pushed forward past the weak, elbows flying and eyes wide.
“The queen! What–”
Clover screeched as the others rushed forward at the red head’s proclamation. Clover fell to the ground and the other girls trampled her. Something cracked and Clover screamed.
The queen laughed. “Yes, girls. Come. First one here gets a fortune worthy of a princess.”
Six girls ignored their fallen friend, the same one who had led them here. They clawed at each other, pulled hair, tripped, and eventually fell into a pile of fists and screams.
The queen laughed uproariously as they bloodied and bruised each other.
It was disgusting and chaotic; it was everything the queen represented.
“Z, I–”
