Queen Sized - Jessa Kane Page 0,3

game in the dead of winter. I’ve buried my parents. Life has been hard and I’ve come through it a practical woman. Not someone who is bowled over by flirtation. “I advise you to seek your satisfaction somewhere else…?” I leave my words dangling in the air, encouraging him to supply his name.

So I know who I’ll be avoiding for the rest of the Joining.

“Corbet.” He steps forward, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “King of Fallstrom.”

A chorus of gasps take wing around me.

Oh. Great.

Leave it to me to tell a king to drop dead.

My sisters are never going to stop laughing when I tell them.

If I’m still alive to tell the tale. Technically, he could have me beheaded for the insult.

And now that his identity has been revealed, I realize what an idiot I’ve been for not figuring it out. It is well known that King Corbet stands head and shoulders above the average man. That he is battle-scarred and intimidating. His nickname is Corbet the Fury.

But somehow I know he won’t penalize me for insulting him.

What does he want from me, then?

Why is he looking at me like I’m a feast to be devoured?

As keeper of the throne, he could take any female at the Joining to bed. Could make any of them his wife. Yet he is fixated on me?

Everyone is silent, expectant. Waiting to see if I’ll humble myself and beg forgiveness for being so bold with the king. Lord knows I should. But I’ve never backed down before and I’m not starting now. Besides, this man might be arrogant, but there’s intelligence in his eyes, as well. He’d see right through me if I apologized, because it wouldn’t be genuine. “If you’re expecting a curtsy, you’ll be waiting a while,” I say, brushing my sleeve.

More gasps.

One of the girls even starts crying.

Corbet stares at me hard for long moments, before a wolfish smile shapes his mouth. “Save the curtsy. Give me an hour of your time, instead.” He flicks a glance over my shoulder where the loch curves around the base of a mountain. “A walk, perhaps.”

I almost gasp at that.

When a man and woman go on a walk at the Joining, it is understood that something clandestine will be happening. Kissing is the mildest of possibilities. By day two, it will not be unusual to hear the sounds of rutting coming from that direction. If the king is asking me on a walk around the loch, he is expecting to know me in the biblical sense.

Which most certainly will not be happening.

I’m a virgin and I plan to stay that way until my wedding night.

Still, even I can’t deny the king a direct request. Even if he isn’t my king.

To do so would label me as disrespectful. A troublemaker.

No man will dare select me at the auction tomorrow evening if that happens—and I have no choice but to leave this Joining betrothed, if not married.

I sigh. “Well, Your Majesty, it appears you have me between a loch and a hard place.”

He barks a laugh. “Oh yes, she’ll do.” Stepping closer, he offers me his arm, wafting the scent of oranges and cloves in my direction. “My lady…?”

I swallow, sensing some sort of finality. Like there’s no going back. “Gwen.”

The heat in his expression intensifies. “Lady Gwen.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that the king’s friend appears stupefied.

With a sense of impending doom, I curl my hand around Corbet’s elbow and allow him to lead me toward the moonlit loch.

3

Corbet

Christ, she’s not only better than I’d hoped…she’s fucking extraordinary.

There is a pulse beating to the left of my jugular I wasn’t even aware I had. Meaning it doesn’t even race like this in battle. The girl only reaches my shoulder and I can’t seem to stop staring down at the part of her hair, memorizing the way the starlight bathes each of the midnight strands. My gaze tracks lower to the pale globes of her tits that wobble subtly with every step we take toward the loch. And if she only knew how my cock stretches the front of my trousers, she’d probably go running back in the other direction.

But my God, I am aching for her.

Gwen.

A woman who would stand up to a king, sass him without batting an eyelash.

Sharp of wit.

Proud.

I’m not so much of a barbarian that I don’t realize how quickly I’m moving. I should at least sit beside her at the bonfire, talk to her, share a couple