“That’s not what you said last night.” I beam at him. He can’t pull off this uncaring act anymore, not after the way he kissed me, or the deep dark hunger I’ve spied banked in his eyes every turn since.
Hart tilts his head like he’s trying to recall. “What about it? All I recall is you tucked into bed next to Theo after Nash bathed your unconscious ass like a babe.”
“Naked. Orgasms. Kisses,” I supply.
“Wrong. You were wearing boots.” Nash grins.
“That’s true. But I distinctly remember Hart’s words?—”
Hart snaps his gaze to me just as we pause at a set of huge wooden double doors. “That you look devastating when coming undone? Not a lie, Calamity. Now, if you don’t want to be treated as weak, I suggest you walk into the great hall on your own two feet.”
I hadn’t even noticed Malachi was still carrying me. I tap his arm, and he lets me down with a sigh, my booted feet hitting the stone floor with an audible click. These are flat boots, made of a soft hind that fit snuggly and don’t endanger my very existence. I don’t know where Theo found them, but they fit me perfectly.
I still have the cloak wrapped over my shoulders, concealing my calf-length blue cotton dress. It is not the fashion of princesses, but it is the fashion of a female who doesn’t negotiate excess material with ease. I have never seen the point of flouncyfluffy skirts, other than perhaps to protect your floof from floundering princely hands.
“Ready?” Theo asks as he and Hart flank my left, and Malachi and Nash do the same on my right.
“Yup. I don’t have any weapons or poison, so everyone is safe.”
“Don’t say that,” Hart grumbles. “You could find chaos in an empty room.”
“It’s a gift,” I agree with a grin. With a theatrical flourish, they swing open the grand doors, and we sweep into the great hall like characters bursting onto a stage, eager for an encore. Their father looms on his throne—a regal figure looking as if he were carved from stone.
While the long table is full of delicious-looking food, Arthur sits alone with an empty plate in front of him, looking unkempt and uninterested in the bounty before him. Perhaps even a king, despite his formidable stature, needs a moment to recover from nocturnal escapades with the fair maiden of the diurnal. I know I was starving at dawn, which I blame on the orgasms, but maybe that was just a fluke? Hmm. Perhaps I will have to try another night of orgasms to test my hypothesis. Then, if I’m still starving, I will know for sure.
Arthur leans forward, and I marvel at the fact his heavy crown doesn’t budge. Is it glued on? Spelled? Enquiring minds need to know. “What have I done to warrant my failed offspring visiting me?”
He doesn’t even see me, like I am invisible. This realm is incredibly sexist. Before now, I hadn’t considered that fairy tales primarily focus on males achieving their life goals, rather than the reverse. The females are there to fix them, like Belle; to prove their kiss is so superior it can break an eternal slumber spell (hello Aurora); and of course, my personal favorite, Prince Poopfloof with his never-ending quest for his Cinderella, shewith the foot size no one else possesses. He proclaims he will only marry her. No one else will suffice. It screams elitist, but we all know it’s a cover for the fact he’s the realm’s biggest mellow who sticks his sausage where it’s not wanted.
“No,” Nash snaps. “We are here to question our parentage.”
The few servants in the room doing Idols knows what, stop in their quest to rid the spotless room of imaginary dust to await the realm’s latest gossip.
“Everyone out,” Arthur snarls.
They scurry from the room, casting us curious glances before closing the doors and sealing us inside. Arthur’s eyes focus on me. “I said leave us. I have no use for maidens until sundown.”
“She is with us,” Hart says as he folds his arms.
Arthur tilts his head. “So she is your chosen damsel, Hart? You have not saved her, nor played the dragon.” It hurts my heart that he doesn’t even glance at Theo as he discusses the murder of one of his sons. If they are even his, which remains to be seen. I haven’t forgotten the torture inflicted on Hart at the hands of this man, and the wedge he tried to drive between them so he wouldn’t hesitate to slay Theo.
“No, she is with all of us,” Theo snarls. “No one is dying this diurnal.”
I’m sure lots of folks will die this diurnal. It’s a silly notion to declare they won’t, even if he is a terrifying dragon. Dragons don’t defeat death.
“All of you? So she’s taken to all of your beds, and now you squabble over a girl. Have I taught you nothing? Bind her, impregnate her, then move on. Once you have fulfilled your duties, you can take as many of them into your bed as you wish.”
Malachi sighs but doesn’t argue. You can’t explain to a man with the emotional awareness of a troll (not the sweet kind who want your fingernail clippings to cross the bridge, but thegrumpy ones who want your firstborn) that all of them have feelings for me, and I, in return, am falling for them.
“You are a disgrace to the narrative,” I mutter.
Arthur tilts his head. “Have we met?”
“Nope, unless you were that unknown man down at the pond last annus in Strongfair. It was midnight, and I couldn’t see him, but he sure talked shit like you.”
There was no man. It was a witch, and she was sad that her curses lasted less than a tempo, no matter how hard she tried. We brainstormed and ultimately decided she should change jobs and become a healer. I’m basically a life coach.
I scan the painted ceiling in an effort to not look Arthur in the eyes and trigger his memory. It’s a familiar scene; one of a dragon stalking toward a restrained damsel, and an armoured knight defending her.
