He didn’t know that woman at all. He only knew Cone’s daughter. The former
Princess Danika. The present Slave Danika. He didn’t know this woman. Who was
she?
For the first time, new questions came to his mind. Can I draw strength from her?
Can I keep her close? Let her in? Can she help me like she helped Remeta? Does she
have the power to face my demons? The questions were so unbidden. So forbidden.
But they were there.
She is the daughter of a monster. The thought filled his mind. The notion came
with pain and bitterness. Resentment he had nurtured for years.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She got up like he instructed. Standing upright, she stood close to him. The way he
watched her, she didn’t know what he was thinking. He looked mighty angry; his
brows showed he was deep in thought. The anger made her nervous, and she resisted
the urge to take a step back from him.
Suddenly, his expression dissolved. He snaked his arm around her and urged her
forward with one push of his hand. Now she stood at the foot of the bed, so close to
him that his head was almost touching her midriff. Then he wrapped his arms around
her and placed his head on her belly in an embrace.
She stood frozen. Stunned.
He was touching her all by himself. He was putting his hands on her. Not to turn
her over on the table and shove himself into her body. Not to position her and take his
pleasure from her.
His head on her belly was a welcome weight. He raised his head and stared at her
again. “Who are you?” he let out; his tone filled with exhaustion.
She shook her head, not knowing what to say to that. “I’m your slave, Master.”
He lowered his head again, placing it on her belly. He closed his eyes. “Tell me
about your mother.”
The shock wore off and her body relaxed against his. A great feeling of euphoria
washed over her, but she hid it well.
She jerked at the question. She never expected it. “She d-died when I was five. My
nanny, Mrs. Marry, the woman that raised me, told me s-stories about her. She was
the loveliest of women, that was what Mrs. Marry said. She also said that my mother
really enjoyed helping people and hated when slaves were mistreated. Mrs. Marry
said that Queen Auroria was—-”
His head snapped up. “Queen Auroria was your mother?”
She nodded her head. “Yes.” Then she hesitated.”Did you know her?”
He rested his head back on her belly again. “I’ve heard of her. Good queen. Didn’t
know she was the queen that married Cone.”That was all he said as he closed his eyes
again.
Danika wanted the king to tell her what he knew about her mother, but she didn’t
press. The urge to hold his head to her was overwhelming, but she curled her hand
into a fist to resist it. She didn’t want to ruin this moment with him-whatever this
moment was.
Danika welcomed the silence that followed his embrace. She stood there; breathing
softly while the silence washed over them, and time dragged by. She hurt for him. He
was carrying too many burdens. Too many responsibilities. Too many demons
tormented him.
His shoulders were wide, but not wide enough to take all those burdens. No one
had shoulders that could carry the world on it. She wished there was a way to take it
all from him-even for a moment.
Finally, she could not resist it anymore. Danika raised her hands and wrapped them
around his head, holding him to her. His curls were so soft, and she buried her fingers
in them.
She expected him to pull away from her. He didn’t.
And when she started stroking his head in rhythmical soft strokes, he gave in to
exhaustion and tuned out the pain from his leg.
His breath evened out in sleep.
As the king slept in her arms, Danika stood there, still caressing his head. She
wouldn’t mind standing there for hours if it would make him sleep well. He was a
man who never slept.
Time dragged by; his labored breaths filled the air. His arms loosenedaround her,
but never fell away.
She wanted to keep running her hands through his soft hair. She didn’t realize
she’d started humming until a new soft sound joined his breathing in the air. She
wished there was a way to erase the past fifteen years of his life. Of all their lives. But
then again, wishes have never been horses or beggars would have ridden them, too.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mistress Vetta walked into the king’s
chambers. She stopped short at the sight in front of her, her lips gaping apart in shock.
Danika lowered her head in a bow of greeting, but she didn’t stop stroking the
king’s hair or humming to him.
Vetta couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The king had his arm wrapped loosely
around Danika while she patted his head and hummed him a song.
He was sleeping. The king was sleeping, even in a sitting position.
The scene hurt Vetta too much; it overrode her mind with so much anger and rage,
she almost doubled over. The jealousy she felt was overwhelming.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She did her best to keep her whispered voice
neutral, even as her insides were burning.
“The king is sleeping, Mistress. I am stroking his head and singing to him to help
him have a better sleep.”
Vetta knew she should be happy that the king could finally rest his head in sleep,
but the happiness was nowhere to be found. Other feelings overrode it. She glared at
the woman in a slave uniformwith the bearing of a princess. Even after standing for so
long, she must have been uncomfortable, the woman lookedelegant as she caressed
the king’s hair like a pianist would lovingly stroke the keys.