Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,35
dance, her black skirts swishing against the polished floor and arcing against her ankles, her hips moving to the pulse of the music, her eyes a lure of enticement matched by the curve of her lips.
Fulke finally releases my wrist to lean back, and I’m able to snatch my hand away as he gives his attention to Rissa’s performance. “Watch her,” he tells me, his mouth entirely too close to my ear for my liking. “This is a saddle who knows what she’s doing. You’d do well to learn from her on how to please a man.”
How to please a man. As if that should be a woman’s—saddle or otherwise—sole purpose for living. The edge of my lip curls with the hint of a sneer.
Rissa’s smile widens at his commendation, her eyes casting over me as if to gauge whether or not I’m jealous, but of course I’m not. I’m relieved. Whether she intended to or not, she gave me a much-needed reprieve from his attention. Like I tried to give her in the library.
No one else can probably see the slight swelling of her nose or the layer of makeup beneath her eye that’s more than likely covering a bruise, but I do, and the sight makes me inwardly cringe. I really didn’t mean to hurt her.
“Mmm, she is a rather good dancer, wouldn’t you say, pet?”
I nod obediently. He clearly has a thing for making her dance for him. Rissa, ever the professional, continues to sway seductively.
She’s beautiful. High apple cheekbones; large, round eyes; blonde hair nearly down to her waist; curves; and full pink lips. It’s no wonder why Fulke likes her so much. And it’s not just her beauty, either—all of Midas’s saddles are beautiful—but it’s her confidence, the way she can read a man and know how to seduce him. She can transform, from her walk to her words, into becoming what someone wants.
Fulke rests a hand on my hips, thick fingers digging above the bone, pressing into flesh with a clear indication of possession. Until he gets bored with this as well, and instead moves me to sit on the floor in front of his legs. I think he likes the visualization of Midas’s most prized favored sitting at his feet.
My legs are tucked beneath me, the only position I can be in to keep myself covered. Some of the nobles attending the party grow bolder, no doubt bolstered by the wine. They come closer to the dais, murmuring and staring at me, and I stare right back. I don’t lower my head. I don’t turn my gaze away.
Let them talk.
Let them look.
Fulke gets caught up in a discussion with Midas and a few other men as they discuss new trade routes to be established from Fourth Kingdom. About new investment opportunities with the Blackroot Mines. As if standing in a solid gold ballroom isn’t enough.
The longer I’m made to sit on the floor, the more my knees and calves begin to ache. I try to shift to relieve some of the pressure, allowing some of the blood to rush back into my sore, scrunched limbs.
I tense when Fulke’s hand comes down on my head. A master petting his dog. “Speaking of new commodities,” Fulke begins, his fingers stroking through my hair, eyes gleaming. “Just a dozen strands of her hair must be worth a month’s wages for a peasant.”
“Hmm,” Midas says noncommittally, even as his eyes watch the way Fulke touches me. There’s possessiveness in his gaze, but he doesn’t step in. He doesn’t stop this.
I can feel a sharp, wet crackle burn in my eyes like a spitting wick, some invisible flame flickering in the center of my irises as tears threaten to pool like liquid fire.
And there, in the corner of a ten-year-long foundation of reliance and trust, a break appears. Like a shallow, jagged chip knocked into glass, a tiny fissure like spider’s silk spreads up an inch.
Rissa stops dancing long enough to perch beside Fulke, her deft fingers kneading into his shoulders, her legs draped over the arm of the throne in a graceful stretch.
While he talks, she expertly continues her sensual touches, from shoulders to chest, down to his abdomen and the waist of his pants. She brushes against his hardening length with a teasing smirk, catching the eyes of other men across the room who watch with hunger. A show for more than just the benefit of the king beneath her.