"I gave you my name." I met his gaze. "I’ve done nothing wrong, my king."
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in. "Death should’ve awaited you for touching Excalibur. Or for trespassing on the most sacred ground in Camelot—a place forbidden to everyone but me."
The accusation burned. I crossed my arms. "I didn’t know the lake was off-limits."
"Everyone knows."
"Where is that written?"
He stepped back, clearly surprised by my defiance. The words had slipped from me like instinct—but now they hung between us like a challenge.
"Gratitude might serve you better," he said coolly. "I could have you dragged to the dungeons. Or worse." He paused. "And might I remind you—I still can."
He was right. I was playing a dangerous game, and it was one I could very easily lose.
I dropped my gaze. "I apologize, my king."
"Look at me."
I glanced up at him again and watched as he studied me, something shifting behind those storm-blue eyes.
"Your life depends entirely on my will."
The threat hung heavy between us—but beneath it, something darker stirred. That same heat, rising again. His face lingered close, breath warm against my cheek, eyes deadly.
"And there it is," he murmured, chuckling, moving his face even closer. "That look. The one that says you want me to slip my fingers inside you and decide, once and for all, if you are a maid."
"I—" A soft, shameful sound slipped from my lips as he leaned even closer, mouth just shy of mine. My eyes fluttered shut on instinct, body betraying me.
"Yes? You want me to touch you, don't you?"
I closed my eyes, hating myself for feeling this way. "Yes."
He chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound reverberating through his chest where it pressed against mine. The heat in his eyes intensified as he watched my face and leaned down, bunching the material of my kirtle as he lifted it. I could barely breathe; my heart was pounding so hard. The rough calluses on his palms scraped against my legs as he lifted the hem higher. Cool air kissed my exposed skin, making me shiver despite the fire coursing through me.
"Open for me." His hand moved with deliberate slowness, fingertips grazing along my thigh with a touch so light it might have been accidental—if not for the desire burning in his gaze.
The command sent a tremor through me that I couldn't suppress. My body responded before my mind could protest, opening my legs to grant him access. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the barely contained power in his touch as his fingers traced lazy patterns against my thigh.
I stepped to the side, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I felt his fingers move between my thighs, touching my most private of places. I threw my head back and moaned as the fabric of my kirtle bunched higher, exposing more of my trembling legs to his exploring touch. When his fingertips grazed the sensitive nub above my opening—a place only I had ever dared to touch—a sharp intake of breath escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The sensation was nothing like my own hesitant explorations in the privacy of darkness. His touch was confident, knowing, as if he could read the language of my body better than I could myself.
"Such a willing little liar." His voice was a velvet whisper that made my skin burn with something far more dangerous than embarrassment. "Let's see just how honest your body can be when your tongue continues to deceive, shall we?"
The moment he slipped one finger inside me, my entire world narrowed to that singular point of contact. My body betrayed me completely, arching against him with a violence that shocked me. A strangled gasp tore from my throat as every muscle in my frame went rigid with the overwhelming sensation of being filled, possessed, claimed.
The invasion was gentle yet undeniably commanding, his touch both tender and ruthlessly confident as he explored territory that had remained untouched by any hand but my ownin the darkness of my chambers. I reached out, and my fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders, nails digging into the fine fabric of his tunic as my body struggled to accommodate this foreign presence that somehow felt like it belonged there.
My hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of that exquisite pressure even as my mind reeled with the implications of what was happening. The wetness that had gathered between my thighs eased his passage as he pushed his finger even deeper, my body welcoming him with an eagerness that made my cheeks burn with mortification.
He pushed his finger deeper inside me and then stilled. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me, a smile curving his lips. "Then you weren't lying."
"No, sire," I managed.
-ARTHUR-
I was besotted.
