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The King protects what’s his. So mark him. Claw his back. Leave lipstick on his cock. Let the others see you own him, too.

I blink. My lips part, surprised, but no sound comes out. It’s written in cursive–swooping, fast, confident. A woman’s hand. I read it again. It doesn’t change.

I reach for another.

Don’t be fooled by the silence afterward. That’s not shame, it’s worship. He’s just realizing you unmade him and he liked it.

The words are uncomfortably intimate, like I’m reading someone’s journal. That doesn’t stop me from unfolding the next and devouring the words.

After a bad day, feed him something salty, sit on his face while he recovers, then stroke him until he feels whole again.

My cheeks heat at the overt boldness. The sexiness. Addicted now, I dip my fingers in and reach for another slip of paper, this one folded twice, bigger than the others.

He’s going to be angry. Desperate. Challenged by forces outside of his control. It’ll make him hard. Maybe even cruel. He’ll take it out on you because you’re the only one close enough he can fully trust. Let him. Show him you can take it. Take him. That you’re the one thing in his life strong enough to break and still come back wanting more. That’s how you win a king.

I read it again, absorbing the words, mind racing trying to figure out who left this. Adeline? Regina? My mind shifts to the woman in the photo on the King’s dresser. His former wife?

I pull another note.

They need softness like they need air. Just don’t let them know you know.

That one hits hard. Different, and I let the short passage roll around in my head for a moment, inhaling the words of advice and support.

There will be a night when he breaks. Don’t panic. Stroke his hair. Swallow his tears. Ride him anyway.

Then:If he collapses after, don’t panic. That’s normal. You’ve just emptied a man who spends all day being God.

A few are sharp, dagger-pointed, and some oddly kind.

You are not a girl anymore. You are the thing he kneels for in private.

And then the ones I feel in my bones.

It’s frightening, isn’t it? To be the thing a powerful man loves most. Because love like his doesn’t end. It devours. He’ll carve your name into his future, and there will be no exit after that. But if you can stand it, if you don’t run, you’ll never be unprotected again. Or untouched. Or unloved. Not even in death.

I pause on that one. My fingers shake. For a second I think I might cry, but then the feeling skips sideways, and I just breathe through it.

I get to the last one.

He needs them as much as he needs you. Your job is to tie them together: body, mind, and soul. Use your mouth, your words, and yeah, your pussy, to make them stronger. Let them watch. Let them play. Let them fill you with all the anger, rage, love, and devotion they have. It’s the only way any of you can survive and ultimately, thrive.

Finished, I lay them out across the bed like little bones, pale and precise, reading them over and over again. It’s then that I notice some of the handwriting is different. One flows like poetry. Another is full of capital letters, rushed and chaotic. One is printed in blocky lowercase, no flourishes at all. I have no idea who wrote them, but it feels like they know me and what I’m about to go through.

I lay back on the bed, the notes spread beside me, jar clutched to my chest.

Tomorrow I will be the King’s bride.

Tonight, I am something else entirely.

A girl spoken to by women who understand. Or the ones who lived to tell the tale.

Whoever they are, I’m taking their words to heart.

It’s earlyin the morning when Regina shows up at my room. It feels like I’ve barely slept, Damon and I sneaking in a few hours before dawn. I’m stunned to see her, elegant and regal, standing in the middle of my room.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“I came to help you prepare for the ceremony.” A thin eyebrow raises as her gaze sweeps past the gown tossed over the chair by the fireplace, the hem torn and dirty. She steps into the bathroom and comes back out with a robe in her hands. “Put this on.”