“I can do other things besides play dead,” I venture, then glance to Maxian, remembering the official laws that contradict the private behavior of fae and faeries alike. No pledging to the same sex, no public displays, no asking, no telling.
He shrugs, fighting a smirk. “It’s not illegal to play with each other. Only to marry.”
Male desire is so predictable.
“Besides, you’re the king,” I say. “You can play however you want. Even as a spectator.”
His gaze narrows.
“What do you mean?” the fae asks, her expression wary. Maybe they want someone to messy them so that they can indulge without claiming responsibility.
“Come to me,” the king commands.
“Ladies first,” I reply. “Then, if you’ll still have me, I will.”
A small rumble in the room, yet from the flash in the king’s eye, I know he likes the pushback. It riles him, makes him feel stronger when he’ll get me to submit. Like thinking me a scrappy opponent in the ring, the Ruthless daughter. But here is what hegets wrong: Just because I serve him does not mean I submit. After everything the king has done and allowed, I will never submit. Not to him. He has not earned it.
“I don’t want you to touch me, if that’s what you’re saying,” the fae says.
“You don’t?” I rise forward onto my knees once more.
She jerks back. “What are you doing?”
“Do I have your permission?”
The plane rumbles again. The fae won’t look away from me.
“For what?” she demands.
“To ruin you.”
Her cheeks deepen in color.
“No,” she sputters.
“A lie,” the king says.
“That’s okay,” I answer. “You can look, if you prefer. But if you want to feel, you say so. And if you want to stop feeling at any point, you can say a word.”
She watches me. “Even after we’ve started?”
Again, my heart twists for the fae in front of me, for the oppressed oppressor.
“Especially after we’ve started. It is all up to you.”
The room groans with the vibrating of the plane, a mingle of all our magics, the flicker of a thousand candles. The king’s ire spikes my own, but his is not a true anger. It’s a desire to be acknowledged. So I look at him, and he isbrimming. Brimming with frustration, with tension, with hatred and lust.
“See those drapes behind you?” I say. “Tie your hands in them.”
One side of his mouth tugs up. “No.”
“Fine. As long as all you do is watch until I decide you can join.”
He gets everything he wants, he gets to win every time, everywhere, outside this chamber. But not in his own bed. Not anymore.
The fae surveys me. “You cannot speak of this to anyone.”
“I am blood-bound. The king will confirm.”
