Then the woman glanced at King Lucien and faked a smile. “I knew you’d be
needing me. That’s why I’m here.”
The woman walked past Danika and went to the table that Danika had just come
from. She pulled her skirts up, and the king unbuckled himself, pulled his phallus out,
and entered the woman.
“You’re welcomed to watch,” the woman drawled, giving Danika a smile filled
with loathing.
Danika shook her head. Done dressing, with her head up, she walked out of the
chambers. Once outside of the room, she leaned against the wall, her breath erratic.
Her emotions were so jumbled, they confused her.
He helped her, and yet he didn’t want her thanks. He’d have sex with her, but he
wouldn’t finish.
The king preferred to finish with his mistress, but not with Danika? Then why did
he take her body at all? Was it just to hurt her or was there another reason?
Not giving herself time to dwell on it, Danika went to her room, wincing with each
step.
Suddenly, she was so tired. Tired both physically and emotionally. She had gone
through so much in one day.
She laid down on the bed and fell asleep.
Vetta was breathing hard, sweat pouring from her body. She tingled in places, and
she hurt in places, too. Sweet, sweet pain. She laid languidly on the table and watched
Lucien arrange himself.
You’d think they hadn’t just had mind-blowing sex. He didn’t look like a man who
just used her body in every dirty way possible.
Vetta may have felt tired from the marathon, but she was furious. She’d heard of
the incident in the royal court.
“Why didn’t you let her get introduced?” She asked what had been vexing her
mind, making her restless.
“She wasn’t ready,” he stated, going to his work chair to take a seat on it.
“What!? None of us were ready when we were introduced! None of us!” She did
her best to keep her anger in check.
Lucien just stared at her with an arched brow. “Are you saying something, Vetta?”
Vetta bit her lips hard. “No, my king.” She felt like pulling her hair out in
frustration. Talking to him was like moving a brick wall. She took her time arranging
her clothes. What got to her the most was the way he announced her as “his” to the
royal court. He had never made such an announcement about her!
“You can’t think of her as human if you want to get revenge on her, my king. Her
father never thought of us as that!” she let out.
Lucien opened the drawer of the table and withdrew new scrolls, then spread them
out.
“I-I’m just thinking that you’re being too soft on her,” Vetta pushed on.
“She was overwhelmed. You weren’t there; you didn’t see her.” He didn’t spare
her a glance.
“You should be happy about that! Celebrate a victory when she’s in that state!
That’s what revenge is all about. Am I wrong?”
He finally looked at her. “I was her age when I was enslaved. I know what it feels
like to feel overwhelmed by such a crowd and forced to do such a deed.”
“I also know what’s like to”
“You have no idea what it’s like, Vetta,” he snapped. “You were born a slave; you
grew up knowing slavery, and you knew no other life. It’s easier for you because
you’ve been a lowborn since birth.”
Vetta felt like he’d slapped her with that blunt statement. But that’s Lucien. He
didn’t talk much, and he never pulled punches with his words, either.
He continued. “She was royalty. She didn’t know a life like this until a week ago,
and she wasn’t a pure-bred whore. I took her virginity on this bed last night. So, it was
overwhelming, and she wasn’t ready.”
His eyes dismissed her, and he palmed his writing feather and inked it.
A virgin? Danika was royalty, and she, Vetta, was born a slave!?
Vetta took deep breaths to keep her anger in check and swallow the words she
wanted to scream at him.
“She isn’t ready now. Does that mean you’ll agree to introduce her again another
time? You know the kings will demand it.”
Lucien shrugged and started writing.
She needed vocal answers, dammit! “My king”
“Get out, Vetta.” Softly spoken command, but deadly when delayed.
Vetta started out for the door, practically spitting fire. Then she stopped and
turned.
“Don’t forget, my king. Don’t forget what you went through. What your people
went through. What we went through. Don’t forget the death of your parents. Your
pregnant little sister. Don’t forget Declan, my king. Don’t forget the things they made
us do. Don’t forget Chad. Don’t forget little Remeta or Baski.” She opened the door.
“Don’t forget who the enemy is. Who the daughter of the enemy is, like you were the
son of your father. You didn’t deserve what they did to you, and so it’s fair.” She
paused. “The day you put yourself in her shoes before you do anything else is the day
you fail yourself and your revenge.”
Vetta waited for Lucien to support her words and express his anger.
“You won’t say anything!?” she fumed.
He raised cold and angry eyes at her. “Get. Out.” He didn’t shout. He never needed
to.
She marched out in anger and rage. Vetta decided it was time to get her own
revenge.
Someone wants to see you, Your Highness,” Chad announced, entering Lucien’s
room.
Lucian was tying up the imperial letters he had finished writing. He looked up to
Chad. “Who is it?”
Chad shifted uncomfortably. “She refused to leave. We’ve tried everything
possible to get the girl to go, but she refused, saying she must see the king. She’s
adamant and very persistent.”
“Hmm” Lucien rubbed his jaw in thought and frowned. Then he got up and took
strides towards the door. “Let me see who this girl is.”
Chad followed him, and together, they walked through the cavernous halls of the
royal palace towards the entrance of it. Servants and maids bowed to Lucien as he
passed, and some gave greetings respectfully.
Once Lucien entered the hallway that led to the entrance, he heard the commotion.
The guards were forcing a girl to leave, but she refused and put up a fight while
pleading desperately that she must see the king.
“Leave her be,” Lucien ordered as he got closer.
The guard let go of the girl immediately, and she dropped to the ground. “Good
day, my king. Oh, thank you so much for giving a peasant like me a bit of your time.
Thank you so much, my lord.”
Lucien stared at the girl. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She looked
to be about twenty or twenty-one, give or take. “Who are you? Why do you request an
audience with me?” he asked.
The girl looked nervous, but she bravely lowered her head again. “My name is S-
Sally, Your Majesty. I used to be a personal m-maid to the f-former princess,
Danika.”