If he meant to arrest me, he’d have already summoned the guards. If he meant to kill me, I’d already be dead. Yet here I was—pressed against him. Pressed against the King of Camelot, my enemy—his blade at my throat and my nipples stiff.
What was wrong with me?
“Please, sire."
“Please... what?”
“Please… allow me to return to the castle. The matron will wonder why I’ve been gone so long.”
Arthur laughed—sharp, humorless. “Do you think I give a fuck about the matron?” He closed the space between us in an instant, breath hot against my face, voice low and dangerous.“Do you know what happens to those who meddle with royal artifacts?”
I shook my head. He dropped the dagger so his hand could slide from my cheek to my collarbone, fingers splayed across my bare skin like they were laying claim. His calluses scraped against me—rough, intimate, electric.
This was madness. I was here to spy on him, to find his weaknesses, to help Merlin eventually defeat him. I was here to avenge my parents, not relish the feel of his fingers against my bare skin.
“N-no,” I stammered.
“They end up in my dungeons.”
He was too close, too warm, too powerful. The heat radiating from his muscled frame seemed to wrap around me like a living thing, making the cool night air feel distant. His body contradicted every threat he uttered—leaning in when he should have stepped back, eyes dark with something more dangerous than mere anger, breath hitching in a way that spoke of barely leashed desire rather than fury.
When he reached out with deliberate slowness to secure a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingered on my cheek.
“Gods, you are lovely.” His gaze traveled down my face and lower still, until they rested on my nipples, which were now poking through the thin fabric of my shift.
He reached down and ran his finger over one of my pebbled nipples, causing my breath to catch.
“But beauty doesn’t excuse trespass.”
“N—no, sire.”
He leaned in again, lips nearly touching my ear. “Do you want to end up in my dungeons, little temptress?”
“No, sire.” Though my eyes were downcast, mimicking submission, my mind was scrambling for a way out of this. Hecontinued to rub my nipple between his thumb and index finger, and I fought not to moan.
"Good girl." His voice dropped to a dangerous register. Finally, he pulled his hand away from my breast, the loss of contact making me bite back a whimper of protest that I desperately hoped he hadn't noticed. His fingers moved upward, threading through the loose strands of my hair with a strange sort of possessiveness.
"Unusual." He studied the pale locks between his fingers, frowning. "White as fresh snow." His brow furrowed slightly, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind—the calculating look of a king who had survived this long by questioning everything that seemed out of place.
Before I could formulate any response, his hand moved with sudden decisiveness, wrapping a generous fistful of my hair tight at the nape of my neck. The grip was firm enough to command but not quite painful—a display of control that forced my chin up and made me meet those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through me. The position left me completely vulnerable, unable to look away from his gaze.
"I don't want you in my dungeons."
"Thank you, sire." My throat was tight, and the words came out more breathless than I intended, betraying just how affected I was by his proximity, his touch, his complete dominance.
"Don't thank me," he snapped suddenly, his voice turning sharp as steel, the warmth draining from his expression so quickly it left me reeling. The transformation was jarring—one moment he'd been almost tender, the next cold as the grave. "Perhaps I plan to kill you instead."
The words hung in the air between us. Yet even as the threat left his lips, something shifted in his touch. His hold on my hair gentled almost imperceptibly, his thumb moving to brush along the line of my jaw with an almost reverent softness thatcompletely contradicted the harshness of the words he'd just said.
"But that would be such a waste of the most beautiful face I've ever seen." He ran his thumb across my cheek and down to my lips, then pushed down slightly on my bottom lip, forcing my mouth open.
I could feel myself panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as my heart hammered. The air seemed to have grown thinner in the space between us, each breath a struggle. My voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and something else I refused to acknowledge. "What… what do you intend to do with me?"
The question hung in the air as I searched his face desperately for any hint of his intentions, but his expression remained unreadable—a masterwork of controlled power that revealed nothing while promising everything.
"What if I told you I intended to fuck you?"
I swallowed hard. "I—"
