I jump out of the path of the priceless shower, gold and silver and jewels landing all around me. He grabs a few objects and then stands, holding them triumphantly above his head. One of the objects appears to be a crown.
He clambers in another direction, and I lose sight of him for a few moments, then hear him shout in triumph, again. Then, after more sounds of clattering metal, Zogar reappears, coming from the far side of his hoard, a massive grin on his face. And he’s no longer holding the things he was so happy to discover.
He stops several feet away. “Come.” He formally bows his head toward me. “Let us sit.” Turning, he heads back in the direction he came from.
I follow, careful not to step on any jewels, every one of which is more beautiful than any I’ve seen before. The only time I’ve touched real jewels was the night of my betrothal, and I barely had the opportunity to see that necklace before Dresser fastened it around my throat. That night, both Dresser and Nurse made it clear that the necklace wasn’t mine. That it belonged to my late mother and would eventually belong to one of my brothers’ wives.
I can’t believe that all the riches here belong to Zogar. He is a king. This must be the hoard ofallof his people. But even then, it’s so much. More gold than I imagined existed in the entire world.
Around the side of the pile, sits a small living area. A few chairs, a settee—and a bed. Several torches glow behind the furniture, and it bathes everything in soft light almost as if we’re in a home and not an underground cave.
All day, certainly since he shifted forms and failed to clothe himself, I’ve been admiring my husband’s form, and the sight of the bed is welcome. Not that he and I have often used a bed.
The other places he’s drilled me flash through my mind, and my cheeks heat, as if my thoughts are actual flames, singeing me from the inside.
Zogar gestures toward the settee. “Please, sit, my queen.” He stands somewhat stiffly and looks quite dignified despite his nudity.
As I pass him, I shoot him a mischievous smile, wondering what he’s up to. He’s standing formally, but at the same time he’s so pleased he’s nearly giddy, almost boyish, and those aren’t words I thought I’d ever associate with Zogar.
Matching his formal tone and posture, I sit at the edge of the settee and cross my ankles. Folding my hands on my lap, I straighten my back and raise my chin, taking the sitting position I was taught as a child.
I nod to acknowledge him, as if he were my subject and not my husband—certainly not my equal.
He chuckles, as he strides toward me, but instead of sitting next to me, he goes behind the furniture for a moment. When he returns to my sight, his hands are clasped behind his back, and his rod has firmed. It’s not fully hard, but it has grown in both length and girth and is bouncing more stiffly.
Desire pools between my legs, and I fight the urge to stare at it, or toward the bed.
Revealing what’s behind his back, Zogar sets a large golden box on the ground, and then goes down on one knee before me.
“Rosomon,” he says, “my cherished queen, my wife.” He opens the lid of the box and retrieves a ring. “On the day we wed, I had no token to offer you. Please accept this small object, along with my deepest apologies for that slight.”
No longer able to maintain my formal façade, I smile as I lean toward him. “Husband, it was no slight. None at all.”
Grinning, he reaches toward me, and I set my hand gently on his offered palm. His chest expands at the contact, as if he felt it deeply, and we maintain eye contact as he slides the ring onto my finger. Holding my fingertips gently, he raises my hand to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles. His kisses are soft, but their effect lands hard between my legs.
“This ring very much becomes you.” He looks into my eyes. “I hope you like it. If you do not, there are many others.” He gestures toward his hoard. “But this one was worn by my mother.”
I pull in a ragged breath. He’s never mentioned his mother. He’s never told me much about himself at all. My chest swells and my eyes fill with tears as I look into his eyes and then down to the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. Formed in pure gold, two ornately shaped dragon heads rise from either side of my finger, and their opened mouths meet around a flashing ruby surrounded by small yellow citrines. The band is inlaid with dozens of diamonds that sparkle in the torch light.
Gratitude floods through me to join my already present desire. “It is truly the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.” I look back into his eyes, and he rises to press a kiss against my lips, one that is gentle and firm, and ends far too quickly.
“I have another gift for you.” Smiling he turns back to the box and lifts out a necklace. The gems glint in the light and my breath catches at the jewels’ abject beauty.
The collar is formed from dozens and dozens of segments, each containing at least one diamond, and in its center sits an emerald that’s a finger width across and twice as long. The green jewel’s facets glint in the light, as if the stone is illuminated from within. The emerald is set in even more diamonds, and a fine chain of gold and diamonds drop from there, supporting three rubies that fall, like drops of blood.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s far too much.”
Zogar’s smile widens. He’s so pleased that he found his hoard, pleased with his gifts, pleased with himself. Perhaps even pleased with me.
“Rosomon.” Rising, he stands beside me, holding the necklace as if he means to fasten it around my neck. “Nothing I give you could possibly be too much. As my queen, everything you see here—” he gestures toward the massive pile of riches “—everythingthat is mine is also yours, per our vows.”
I continue shaking my head, now more in wonder than disagreement. I can’t believe his words. I can’t believe anything I’m seeing. I can’t fathom this kind of wealth.
“As my wife, what’s mine is yours,” he repeats. “But this—” he holds up the necklace “—and this—” he touches the ring “—theseare gifts. Gifts for my wife, for my queen. They are now, and will always be, yours and yours alone.”
My heart races. I was born a princess, but I’ve never seen, never mindowned, anything like these jewels. Yes, I had fine gowns, most of which I hated wearing, and I never went hungry, or went a night without a warm bed. My life was one of great privilege, but I rarely received gifts, and certainly nothing like these jewels that Zogar is offering.
I’m stunned into silence. The settee dips slightly beside me, and resting one knee on the furniture, Zogar reaches around my throat and drapes the necklace.
