“He told me so. I do not want to test it.”
“Today, the king said he would protect you,” Briar offers. “You don’t have to tell him. You can show him.”
“Again, so I can exchange one pair of grabbing hands for another? Tie my safety up in sex? I’ve already kissed the kissing king, and look what good that did.” We say nothing. Kassandra sighs. “Briar, can you get some broth from the kitchens? And ice. My jaw hurts.”
My supervisor departs without a word.
“Change into your Reign outfit,” Kassandra says. “Then return to me.”
I do what she asks. When I return, the bowl of broth remains untouched by her bedside, and Briar is finished helping her into her nightgown. Kassandra drops into bed once more, Briar pulling up the covers. Kassandra then dismisses her, so that it is just us two.
“Oil, Avery,” my mistress says. “The silver-topped yellow bottle.”
I survey the dozens of pigments and glass bottles on her vanity and collect a pale gold one with a silver cap.
Pulling out the dropper, I guide it toward her, but she says, “You put it on.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I drop the oil onto my collarbone. It smells of vanilla and jasmine, musky but gentle, before finishing off with a twinge of something sweeter.
“Rub.”
I spread the oil across the hollow of my throat. She watches it drip between my breasts as I massage my chest. My skin gleams in the fireplace light.
She gestures to my exposed midriff above the gold pants.What the planes is going on?The king isn’t visiting tonight. What game is she playing now?
Kassandra parts her mouth, her eyes widening.
“Are you making fun of me?” I blurt.
“Yes,” she rasps. “Waist.”
Suppressing a grunt of frustration, I rub my midriff with the oil, the scent heady but a touch sweet, an intoxicating aroma I can’t identify. It’s…sensual.
I will never admit this. I should never even feel this. But a small part of me relishes in the thrill of her instructions and my deliverance. As if it’s a private show, a meal, a secret. In the way she wets her lips, eyes trailing along my exposed skin, as if we explore my body together. Even in her weakness, I feel her demands.
“Done,” she says, waving me off.
I stop, hands slick with oil. My face flares with heat and suddenly I want to wash, to change, to pretend it never happened. I feel empty now that she has taken her fill.
I recap the bottle and return it to her vanity. I force myself to stand in front of her once more, feeling cumbersome and dirty, like a greased pig.
Kassandra just surveys me, her expression unreadable.
“Was this truly necessary?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Peach. For Dominik, tonight.”
My blood turns to ice.
For Dominik.
