Page 19 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

When he ignored her, she turned to me. "My first time was in a barn with a boy who had no idea what he was doing.

He kept trying to put it in, and I kept stopping him in a panic.

The first time, I ran away. When we tried again later, I did the very same thing.

I shoved him off the very moment I felt pain.

We tried it so many times, that by the time I got the nerve to go ahead with it, it just went right in—no pain, no fuss. I didn't even bleed."

Anetta looked at Raitha in wonder. "Are you saying you've still got your maidenhead, Raith? You've just...what...stretched it out?"

Raitha laughed, leaning forward, holding her stomach. "I don't know. I've always wondered that."

"That doesn't seem possible," Barrett said. "Anatomically speaking, I mean."

"You have to let us check," Anetta said.

"Not a chance! It's not like you'll be able to tell now anyway!" Raitha started backing away, waving her hands, but she was laughing as well.

As the three of them debated the status of Raitha's maidenhead, Igraine took me to Anetta's closet, opening the wide double doors to reveal yards and yards of colorful gowns. "Now then," she said, reaching for one with a sheer black lace overlay. "Let's prepare the virgin for her true sacrifice.”

As she handed me the least virginal dress I had ever seen in my life, I wondered again about what had made her face go so wistful and sad.

It wasn't until I remembered how passionately supportive Igraine was of forming a Courtesan's Guild in Windemere, that I put the two ideas together in my mind.

A guild, like the one the stonemasons had, protected the rights of the workers and gave them a voice in the kingdom.

Igraine wanted the guild to protect children from being forced into the sex trade, because she had been one of them herself.

Even in my alcohol-infused brain, the horror I felt at what my friend had likely gone through, turned into fierce, gravitating resolve. I would change this kingdom, no matter what, and people like Igraine would help me do it.

By the time I stood outside the Mouse's Ear, in the chilly evening air, wearing an exquisitely detailed, flesh-colored gown with a sheer black lace overlay, I was plastered. Swaying on my feet, fuzzy-headed plastered.

The unfamiliar sensation of the corset with its barely-there sheer cups and incredibly tiny, lacy underpants caused chills to run across my skin everywhere the thin dress raked against my newly bare flesh.

A carriage rolled up and my heart leapt into my throat. I surged forward, on the point of opening the door to hop inside when it opened by itself. A startled man appeared, his dark, wavy hair swept to the side rakishly over vivid green eyes.

"Oops, wrong people," I said, backing away.

The man's face lit with a staggering grin as he ducked out of the carriage and surveyed me. "I am happy to escort you inside so that perhaps we can locate the correct people," he said airily, his grin shifting to a lopsided one.

"Oh...uh, no, thank you," I said, returning the smile and sketching a small, ridiculous bow. I nearly pitched forward under the weight of my own thick head.

The man's hand shot out to catch me, encircling my upper arm. He smiled as he pulled me to his side. "Let me help you," he said quietly, holding me close as he turned back to the carriage.

"No, you're not my person," I said, scoffing. Words seemed quite difficult to manage all of a sudden.

"Yes, of course I am," he said. "This is your carriage."

With startling clarity, I realized what he was doing. He was trying to trick me into getting into his carriage. He believed I was much more intoxicated than I was. He believed I was helpless.

I would show him just how helpless I was. I yanked my arm free.

When he moved to reach for me again, I made a fist and popped him in the nose. My knuckles impacted with a satisfying crunch that sent him reeling backwards, his stylish waves coming unstuck from where they had been plastered onto his head.

He grunted, reaching up to hold his nose. Blood was already leaking around his fingers. "Bitch," he ground out, and then he surprised me by swinging his arm out at me angrily. "Fucking bitch," he cursed, the words muffled behind the hand over his nose.

I moved back and the man followed, bringing his arm up to strike at me again. Something caught that arm in midair, though. A look of shock crossed his features as a very large fae man appeared at my side.

Io slammed him into the side of the carriage.

I heard the man's breath leave him in a swift oof, and then Io was hauling him forward again, holding the man's arm up by the wrist. I heard another crash and a whimper that turned into a scream, and I realized that Io was.

..holy shit! He was bending his arm backward over the carriage roof, breaking the bones in the wrong direction.

I lurched forward and reached for Io's arm, but he didn't react. I yanked, but he was immovable. I ducked under his arm and came up between him and the man, putting my hands on his chest and shoving as hard as I could.

He finally looked down at me. His eyes were dark, distant, wild.

"Stop it," I demanded. "You'll kill him."

I shoved again, and Io moved back, breathing harshly as he continued staring down at me. His eyes were an unreadable void that should have terrified me.

The man groaned as Io released his arm. I heard the sound of boots sliding through gravel and another pitiful whimper.

"He deserves to die," Io said, his hands coming to rest lightly on my shoulders.

"You don't decide that," I insisted as he gently coaxed me to the side, putting himself between me and the man, as though the sniveling, crying heap lying in the dirt might still pose some threat to me.

The man had the carriage door open and was struggling to climb in. When he finally managed to drag himself up, the driver snapped the reigns, and the carriage began to move before the door was even shut.

Io watched it roll away down the circular drive with his fists balled at his sides. A muscle in his jaw was twitching, and his perfect nostrils were flared.

When the carriage had disappeared down Antevemer Street, he turned to me again. His eyes were back to their normal darkness. Gone was the murderous rage, and in its place was wry amusement. "You're drunk, Sera."

I shrugged. "A little," I admitted, returning the grin that had begun to curve his beautiful lips.

"A lot," he pressed.

I shrugged again. "Maybe a lot."

He was so calm after nearly murdering a man—so seemingly casual after breaking his bones like they were matchsticks.

"Come on," he said, holding his hand out for mine.

The moment they met, I felt a shock, like a static crackle between us, but pleasant.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my heart racing with excitement as he led me to another waiting carriage. When I ducked inside and took my seat, he climbed in after me and sat opposite.

Well, that was disappointing, I thought, wishing he'd sat next to me.

"What was disappointing, Sera?"

I laughed as I realized I'd said the words out loud. The clarity I'd gained from the excitement seemed to be gone, leaving me feeling quite drunk again.

When I didn't answer his question, he continued, "That man could have taken you anywhere—taken advantage of you."

My mouth felt suddenly dry as I watched his face shift back a little into that angry mask he'd worn.

"Is that what you're doing? Taking me somewhere to take advantage of me?" I teased. I wanted to take his thoughts away from the man and that fury I thought was only a hair's breadth away from killing him.

"That's not amusing."

"It's not?" I asked, leaning back in my seat and watching him.

"Tell me where you live so I can take you home, Sera."

"Oh, I can't go home."

"Of course you can't," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

I laughed at his expression, but then I caught him watching my fingers.

I realized I had been toying with the edge of the lace on the bodice of my gown.

I let them trail suggestively across my skin, moving slowly, dipping below the edge of the lace, trying to look oblivious to what my fingers were doing.

"Fates, Sera. Stop that."

"Stop what?" I asked innocently, taking my bottom lip between my teeth and biting it as Barrett had coached me to do.

He closed his eyes and groaned.

My heart did a somersault.

"Where are you taking me, Io?" I asked again.

"Dinner, apparently. But you need to stop looking at me like that," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk, Sera."

"I'm not that drunk, Io." I ran my hand down and across the embroidered overlay of my bodice and rested it in my lap, letting my fingertips push into the material of the skirt where it dipped between my thighs.

"You're drunk enough to make it completely inappropriate for me to look at you the way I'm looking at you."

"Well then why are you?" I asked as my hand fisted in the material of my skirt, tightly.

I noticed his fingertips drumming against his outer thigh, but he abruptly stopped at my look, and clenched his fist until his knuckles popped.

"I find it rather difficult to take my eyes off of you in that fucking dress," he said, his gaze running down over the yards of black lace.

That delicious heat rolled through me. He had never seen me in a dress before. The fact that the form-fitted, lacy gown had the exact effect that Igraine had promised when she pulled it out of the wardrobe and offered it to me, was gratifying.

"Then don't," I breathed. "Don't take your eyes off me."

He didn't. His dark, heated gaze moved from my lips to my eyes and back.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and a few words were exchanged outside. I heard the creak and clatter of a gate, and I couldn't stop myself from sliding to the end of the bench seat and looking outside as the carriage continued again.