The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,48
my king,” I said in a snappish manner that was not a’tall like me, “do not call me ‘little monkey.’”
“It does not please me,” he retorted instantly. “For you are my little monkey.”
“I am not,” I kept snapping.
“You are,” he returned.
“Am not!”
Faith, my voice was rising.
He gave me a gentle shake and a less gentle squeeze, reminding me I was pressed to him (not to mention, he was a king so perhaps I shouldn’t raise my voice at him) and that odd feeling hit my belly (and parts south).
“You are, piccolina, for you are adorable, as a monkey is adorable. So adorable, anyone who sees it forgets just how very clever it is.”
My eyes got wide again as I stared up at him.
“You think I’m clever?” I whispered.
“You don’t hold great affection for your father,” he stated.
I lifted my chin. “My father is a good man.”
He shook his head. “I admire your loyalty. It heartens me. But you do not truly believe this. You believe he is sly and grasping and is not a man who would thrust his body in front of an arrow to take that wound so his daughter would not. He would thrust his daughter in front of the arrow so he would not endure that wound.”
My eyes slid away.
“And you are right,” he declared.
I looked back to him and was again whispering when I said, “Please do not speak of my father that way.”
He dipped his face toward mine and my breath stuck in my throat.
My, but he was even more handsome that close.
And more daunting.
But what he said next was surprising.
And, it must be admitted, warming.
Not the first part.
The last.
“I will make him rich, my little monkey. Beyond his imaginings. And I will do this so he will leave his daughter to my protection and leave our daughters to my protection. For, Silence, make no mistake, I would thrust my body in front of an arrow to suffer that wound for my child.”
I stared into his eyes, unblinking.
But my heart was racing.
“And I will not have him interfering with you or using you for his own ends. I will make this clear to him. If he again comes to my realm to sit at my table, he will do it as your father and nothing else. Not a man who uses you as an instrument to further his own ends.”
I didn’t know how much time he’d spent with Father, I had not thought it was a lot.
But he sure had him pegged.
“My mother is lovely,” I said softly.
“She is a woman torn between two forces. And she veers the wrong way.”
I pressed my lips together again.
“Though, she will be welcome at my table at all times, piccolina,” he assured quietly.
That was nice.
I did not share I felt that.
I just nodded.
His gaze held mine before it fell to my lips and his mood shifted so abruptly, and strongly, that it felt the air in the entire room shifted with it.
“It is but mine to teach you how you will use that mouth,” he murmured like he was talking to himself, though his words (and the tone in which he stated them) made some things I didn’t understand happen inside me.
And those things made other things happen to me.
Primarily, my frame relaxing in his hold, into his body, doing this languorously.
And it didn’t seem I had the will to stop it.
“Mars,” I whispered.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“You ride at my side, Silence, and you sit at it tomorrow eve.”
It would appear I didn’t have any choice in that.
Therefore, I nodded again.
“And you do not run from me, my bride, not ever again.”
And no choice in that, either.
I nodded yet again.
Caught in the trance of his mood, I gave a small jump when his big hand swathed my jaw and I froze when the pad of his thumb swept my lower lip as his eyes watched.
All right.
That did something to my insides too.
They felt…
Melty.
“But mine,” he said softly, as if mesmerized by his own movement—or my lips. “Only mine.”
I then swayed when he let me go abruptly and stepped away.
“To your bed, Silence,” he ordered. “Tomorrow is an important day and I’ll not have you drooping during the Nadirii’s performance, for if tales are true of Queen Ophelia, it is sure to be something.”
And with that, he pivoted and prowled from the room, the panels of his chocolate-brown silk pants flapping against his long legs.
I stood where he left me, breathing deeply, and thinking I’d gone mad.