“Too much?” he asks, lifting the hourglass as if to tuck it away. “Shall we return to option one?”
“No!” I blurt. “I don’t want to hang here all night!”
“Then you will need to be a good princess and take your prescribed punishment.” His voice is almost gentle. A healer informing a patient about why they must swallow down a foul-tasting syrup. But his face remains colder than last night’s bath water. “We cannot have another outburst asking me to stop. Otherwise, I will reset the glass and start again.”
Which would mean the original time… I realize. Plus, however long it takes to refill.
“Do you understand, princess?”
His tone is casual. Almost bored.
But the threat pulses in the air between us, and the shadows twist tighter around my breasts, squeezing almost to pain.
Will it hurt? Yes. But perhaps not in the way you expect.
A cold realization crawls up my spine.
“Do you understand?” he repeats.
Tears sting my eyes—but I refuse to cry. Iwill notcry in front of this kinghole.
I turn my head to the side, away from him, and give a small nod.
“Eyes on me, princess.”
He waits until I drag my reluctant gaze back to his dimmed red one.
“I will need to hear your acquiescence out loud,” he says, pitiless. “So there is no confusion. You can cry. You can plead. You can beg. But any word that causes me to stop will reset the glass. Do you understand?”
“I…” I swallow, choking on the words. “I understand.”
His lips curl again. Then he picks the twisted glass device back up.
“Fortunate timing. It’s ready for you to try again.”
He flips it over.
And I clamp my lips shut, silently vowing not to open them again as the shadows haul me back into the air.
They once again slither around my breasts—circling, squeezing, teasing the tips until my nipples harden under their touch.
And something pulses between my legs.
Liquid. Shameful.
More shadows rush toward it—while the others continue to plump and stroke my chest.
Suddenly, they’re between my legs, peeling me open. Like they’retattlingon me.
I twist in the air, turning my face into my shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut.
But I can still feel his red-eyed stare, heavy on my bare, trembling sex.
And of course, Veyrion is too much of a kinghole to let me hide.
“You’re sensitive, princess. Already wet—just from shadows playing with your breasts.”
Ihatethat the little nub between my legs swells at his words. That I feel myself getting wetter. Even though I’m nowhere near that time in my cycle, when I sometimes touch myself in the bath just to take the edge off.
