I am instantly ready for him, like a moth to a flame I am drawn to his heat and hunger. He hasn’t even truly touched me yet and I am already afire.
I moan softly when his tongue moves along my ear, his heavy breathing turning me on even more.
“I am addicted to you, my Queen. When you are not beside me, I am nothing and no one. You give me purpose and strength. Never leave me,” he groans and pushes my night gown over my hips in a fluid motion.
His hard cock is already in position, pressing against my entrance. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me into him and onto his cock. I cry out, the sudden movement a little painful. But the pain is quickly replaced with hunger and lust.
Charles pounds into me, whispering words of love and affection into my soul. He places his finger in my mouth and orders me to lick it. I do it willingly, glad to have something to do with my mouth. He groans, his thrusts growing more frantic.
He pulls his finger out and moves it between my legs, the spit coating my clit and intensifying the sensation a hundredfold.
“Charles,” I shout, reaching behind me and weaving my fingers in his hair.
“That’s it, my Queen, ride my cock. Use me in any way you need it. I belong to you,” he growls, urging me on with his words.
It doesn’t take long and I come undone in his arms, clamping my legs shut over his hand, riding the wave of my orgasm until the stars in front of my eyes subside. Charles keeps pounding into me, and I turn my head slightly to offer my mouth in a kiss.
His lips find mine, and I tense the muscles of my pussy, massaging his cock while he pumps into me. The effect is imminent: With a loud roar, he comes inside me.
His breathing slows down instantly, and I can feel him relaxing his hold. I want to get up and wash myself, but he keeps me in place.
“Don’t get up, stay with me,” he says sleepily.
I do not move, and in that quiet obedience, something in me learns to be silent.
Chapter 8
The next few weeks always follow the same pattern. Our nights are spent tangled up in the sheets, or me bent over the desk or pressed up against the wall. During the day, I rarely see Charles. Aileen was due to return to court today, but so far I haven’t seen her.
I wander the halls of the palace, I haven’t left my room much since we got here—King’s orders. I am to be entertained and taken care of at all times. I am bored with it. The hallways are lined with thick carpets, one of the few luxuries in the palace. I have come to understand that Charles is a simple man, not at all what I imagined him to be. He will dress up for appropriate occasions, but even then he is never lavish in his style. He prefers a simple set of trousers and a tunic to the thick velvet cloaks and satin shirts, and he’ll try and be barefoot any chance he gets.
The walls in the palace are decorated with oil paintings, large canvasses in ornate frames, depicting landscapes and far away parts of the kingdom. Whenever I get the chance, I steal out of my room and discover new paintings, imagining myself walking in the woods or standing on the steep cliffs. When I close my eyes, I can almost feel the breeze ruffling my hair or the soft crunch of fresh grass underneath my feet.
But while the paintings are a welcome distraction from my monotonous life, my excursions into the maze of the palace are more than just ways to kill time. The fact that I have been with Charles for nearly eight months now and have nothing to report back to my father stings. I suspect that things are not as bright as Charles tried to make me believe, but I have no proof to the contrary. And that isn’t even the worst part, because deep down, I suspect that I haven’t been paying attention because I don’twantto find anything amiss. I love Charles, and Charles loves me. How am I supposed to help my father take him down? And yet, here I am, putting together a detailed map of the palace with the hope that something will reveal itself to me. Something I can report back to my father without endangering me or my husband.
I round a corner and nearly trip over…nothing. The carpet has ended, I have walked too far, and have entered the servants’ quarters. The smell of soap and steam wafts across the hallway, and I can hear voices between swashes of water.
“Can you believe her? Yesterday she asked me to change the sheets again, apparently she spilled sauce all over them!” A familiar voice cackles. I don’t have to see her to know it’s Sara, one of my new maids, talking.
“Sauce? Is that what the fancy lords and ladies are calling it nowadays? We simply used to call itspunk,” someone else answers and the room erupts in laughter.
“You’d think she’d be able to stop it from hitting the sheets three times a day, isn’t she supposed to be his little spunk bucket?” Sara nearly screams, barely able to finish her sentence before her laugh takes over.
Shame slams into me, tears welling up in my eyes.
I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t cry.
I press my hand over my heart, willing it to calm down.
But it’s useless, the panic has already settled in my chest.
I feel like I might throw up, and yet my mouth is utterly dry.
It would be best to turn around, to quickly walk back to my room, and forget this ever happened. But I can’t move, I am frozen in place, listening to every awful thing they have to say about me.
“…Hilde was such a sweet soul. Lord, have mercy on her soul. How we went from a kind, intelligent and gentle Queen to the Queen of Harlots, only the devil knows,” another voice chimes in. It’s Rebekah, the maid who takes care of my hair.
I press my fingers into my ears and turn around to leave. But it is no use, their voices echo in my mind, a never-ending loop of shame and humiliation. I start running as fast as I can, maybe if I run quickly enough, my heart will finally split open. Maybe I will finally be able to bleed to death from the inside out and fall at Charles’s feet. His beautiful harlot Queen.
