Page 4 of The Bone King and the Starling
“I can see that.”
His gaze travels down over my clothing all the way to my feet. His hand falls with it, exposing my throat and landing on my shoulder, which he squeezes. “You will come with me,”
he says in an even deeper tone. “That I allow you to believe you have a choice in this is a gift that I now revoke. It has been decided. Come. You must be hungry.”
He takes my sticky fist in his, swallowing it whole in his palm and begins to pull me away from the wall. My feet are blocks of stone as they drag behind me, passing all of these people staring at me as if I’ve grown seven heads. The king retraces the path he took and pulls me to the front of the room, to the high table where only the favored sit, and then pulls me down onto his lap as he retakes his seat beside the Chief of Winterbren.
“Tell your females to be seated. I have made my selection,”
he grunts as he settles me on his lap, positioning my legs across both of his so that my outer right hip is pressed right against his abdomen and my rear uses his thick thigh for a seat cushion. He ignores Chief Olec and the other men and women seated at this table.
Rosalind, seated at Chief Olec’s other side, stares at me around the chief’s body with menace in her eyes. Torbun and his family sit on her other side and strain to see over the top of her immaculately arrayed hair to look at the king and me. Behind me sit a smattering of King Calai’s warriors. I cannot see their expressions to interpret them, but I can hear the easy way they continue to speak and laugh amongst one another, as if this is something to be celebrated. Then again, they know the king best. Perhaps, he does this type of thing all the time, at every village he passes through. Maybe, they are simply animated because they are used to it.
Chief Olec meets my gaze fleetingly before I tear my attentions to the heavily decorated table. King Calai stretches both arms around me to reach his plate, which is clear until he ladens it anew. He cuts a piece of turkey off of the bone and surprises my wits out of my temples when he does not eat it himself, but instead brings it to my bottom lip.
“Open,”
he says, voice easier than it was.
I obey and take the succulent turkey off of the tines with my teeth, noting that this is the same fork King Calai used and now, we are sharing it. He takes the next two bites and, as I finish chewing my first, has another piece of meat ready for me. This one, ox. I’ve prepared ox many times before, but I’ve never tasted it and I nearly moan with the pleasure that glides through me at the rich and fatty texture.
“You like ox?”
I nod and then in a trembling whisper, add, “It is my first time.”
I glance up at his face, hoping he understands what I’m trying to tell him. The fork in his hand dips, his brows furrow, he opens his mouth, but it’s Chief Olec who speaks.
“Your choice is surprising, my liege,”
Chief Olec offers with a loud laugh.
The king continues staring at my face, deep into my eyes like he’s trying to mine for some precious resource, but he should know, I don’t have anything. I break his gaze first and after another weighty silence, he resumes skewering pieces of meat from his plate and alternatingly eating a bite and feeding the next to me.
“I make no choices. I am merely led by the gods,”
the king says in a way that nearly sounds dismissive as he surrounds me with his body and his attention, sparing Chief Olec little. “Do you prefer wine or ale, little bird?”
he says to me.
His chest lines my shoulder and arm, his body cupping mine so intimately. His head is positioned high over mine and the fact that he didn’t seem to register what I was trying to tell him before makes me especially apprehensive. My mouth is dry and I am thirsty enough to try either wine or ale, whichever is offered.
“Wine, I think?”
I’ve only had a few sips of ale and found it unpleasant. I’ve never tried wine at all, but I’m hopeful it won’t taste worse than the ale I sampled.
The king hails both and they arrive in a large flagon and a pitcher just like the one I’d been carrying around the room. The irony is not lost on me as a thrall called Mikas pours ale into the king’s wooden cup now. I reach for the pitcher of wine to pour myself a cup, but the king bats my hand to the side.
Successfully scolded, I feel my cheeks warm. The king says gently, “Apologies, little bird. I did not mean to dismiss you, I just wanted to be the one to pour your wine.”
I watch him do just that, an act that I can see draws eyes from the warriors seated at the front tables closest to us. My blush is pronounced, I’m sure. “Do you forgive me?”
I sit up straight, as if stuck by a pin, and meet his gaze. He’s smiling at me softly and brings the wooden cup to my bottom lip. “O-of course, my king.”
His nostrils flare slightly as he offers me wine. Alarmed and uncomfortable as I am, I drink from his cup gluttonously. I drink nearly two cups of wine in between bites of meat, potatoes and other vegetables. I’m slowing, my stomach heavy with how much I’ve eaten. My back is more arched and I find myself, appallingly, leaning more and more of my weight against his chest.
He does not comment on it. Instead, he calls to the thrall that passes. “Sweet cake for my female.”
It’s Elena. She doesn’t look at the king as she follows through on his command. She doesn’t look at me either as she sets the flat braided loaf down on the table before the king and me, and I feel terribly alone. Elena is of a higher position in the village than I — most everyone is — but there’s no chance she has ever had an entire sweet cake to sample before. Guilt makes my stomach roll as Elena bustles off. Looking past her, I try to see Ebanora in the crowd, but she’s too far in the back of the room.
The sound of something falling pulls my attention to the table nearest the high table and the warriors seated along it. Tori catches my gaze first. He is seated right there at the end of the table, glaring at me and the king’s hand on my shoulder. The king doesn't notice, but continues kneading my upper back in a way that feels like trouble. All of his subtle ministrations are working together to make me feel more and more relaxed. So relaxed that I do the unthinkable. I place my cheek on the king’s shoulder and use his body and beard to block Tori from sight.
The king tenses beneath me, but only for a moment. “Are you tired?”
“No, my king,”
I whisper. And it’s true. My body may be relaxed, but my mind is racing, my heart is pattering. I am a bundle of nerves.
“Shall I serve you your sweet cake?”
the king prompts, but I shake my head. He picks my sticky hand up from my lap and smooths his thumb across my dirty palm. “You treasure it when it comes from your little friend, but not when it comes from your king?”
I feel like I’m being trapped, slowly cornered by a much larger predator. And I fear how he knows where I acquired my treat. Will he punish Ebanora? Was he watching her? No. I already know the answer to that. He was watching me.
I should just eat. It’s an enormous offering, one I likely won’t ever get again. But my stomach — irrespective of the guilt and the nerves — has been filled with more food than it ever has been before in one sitting. I can feel the bulge of my stomach below my belly button. It’s strange, and inside, the pressure borders on unpleasant.
Holding my stomach, I dare a trembling whisper, “I have never eaten so much, my king. I want to, but I don’t know how I could eat more without being sick.”
He makes a gruff sound, his arms shifting around my body even tighter. He holds me fast against his chest while my head spins and my body fights against this strange sensation… Ease. If I let myself, it would be so easy to imagine that this was real, that he was a male I could trust, that here in his arms, Tori could never touch me. That I’d never feel hunger or cold again. That I’d be safe. The sensation is so powerful it nearly brings tears to my eyes and I sniffle.
The king suddenly grabs my jaw and tilts my face up. He glares down into my eyes, his mouth severe, and he hisses, “Have I upset you, little bird?”
I shake my head, feeling caught and very much like I will cry. “No, my king.”
“Speak to me truthfully. I wish to make no mistakes with you. Some are inevitable, but where I can avoid them, I plan to.”
His arm on my back pulls me in tight and I do something terrifying — more terrifying than trying to make sense of what’s happening.
I give myself a small gift, a luxury unlike any I could have ever fathomed this morning. I…pretend. I pretend that I’m not a thrall and that this isn’t wrong and confusing, and I pretend that Tori can no longer bother me because I am safe here. I no longer dwell on the fact that I will likely, hopefully, be well compensated for whatever the king should choose to do to me tonight. I pretend that I’m not afraid of losing my virginity to such a large, virile male and pretend, for just this moment, that this is okay. I let myself feel all the warmth and contentment I’ve been too frightened to feel.
It’ll just be this once.
Just this once.
And then never again.
So, for now, I can allow myself this gift, one I’m gifting to myself. The ability to enjoy the king’s warmth and to enjoy this fullness and contentment.
I blink quickly and suck in a shaky breath and then I…smile very slightly. The king tenses, but I don’t think too much about that and say, “It is only that…I am not used to feeling like this, my king.”
“Like what, little bird?”
He sits up straighter, forcing me to lean back to see his face. His huge arm braces my spine and his hand comes up to support the back of my head.
“Sheltered.”
The king shudders visibly from his head to his toes. He emits a low growl in the back of his throat, tilts his face up towards the ceiling and whispers words under his breath too quietly for me to catch before abruptly returning to me. He swoops down, arching his back so that he can press his forehead to mine directly. I gasp. We are so close, nearly nose to nose. His eyes are closed and his lips are slack and smell like the rich spices from the wine.
He tips his mouth down and it suddenly occurs to me that he’s seeking…asking…for a kiss from me. He…wants to kiss me. I don’t know why that comes as such a shock — it is, after all, the reason he wanted a female for the night — to rut. A surge of nerves pass through me and I clench my knees together tight, clench my skirts in a fist and inhale. Pretend. I pretend that I’ve done this before, many times. I don’t want to displease him. But the truth is that I’ve never kissed a male before in my life…
I tilt my face up, hoping he’ll take control and show me what to do, but the moment his dry lips alight on mine, he abruptly jerks. The king pulls back and looks over his shoulder and I sit, stewing in the butterflies that have overwhelmed me as I watch Chief Olec clap the king on the back again. The king does not look pleased and I don’t miss the grunted laughter from the king’s warriors seated at the table behind me. Embarrassment washes over me.
“I was just talking to Torbun here about the power females hold over us. Remarkable, isn’t it? That the lesser sex could turn the heads of even kings!”
Chief Olec brings his ale to his mouth and spills half of it down his chest and beard.
“You’ve made a fine choice, my liege,”
Torbun says, leaning past the chief and his wife to be seen by King Calai. “My wife has always said that with a bit of cleaning up, this young thrall would make any man a fine companion.”
A fine companion. Not a wife. I drop my gaze to my knees as pretending becomes a little more difficult.
“Hm,”
the king says and it is the only answer he gives. I don’t expect him to defend me, but to be discussed like this still hurts. I may be a thrall, but I still have some pride.
“She certainly holds a draw for the boys,”
Rosalind says, her voice cool. I glance up and watch as, seated on Chief Olec’s other side, she cuts into a large flank of meat. She glances up at the king, gaze not landing on mine. “I’m sure you don’t see many like her in Ithanuir, my liege.”
Her voice carries hints of a question.
One he responds to in brief. “In Ithanuir, we see all kinds, Lady Rosalind.”
Rosalind gives me a look that I don’t like. I look at the king’s hand resting possessively across my knees. “You may need to clean her before you use her, my liege. She is unwashed.”
I tense, stung.
“Is it common for you to instruct males of your village on how to occupy themselves with their females, or do you make exception for me?”
Behind me, I hear a lady warrior snicker while the males buck with laughter. All his warriors, it would seem, are listening.
Rosalind gives the king a stare that frightens me, so diffident and defiant and cold. Chief Olec, seated between them, makes no move to intervene. He merely continues eating, glancing between his wife and the king as if confused by what’s going on. I’m not sure how much he’s had to drink, but he does not seem coherent. It is not uncommon for him.
“Apologies, my liege,”
she says slowly. “I meant only to inform you as she is our ward.”
“A ward you keep unwashed?”
Rosalind bristles, “It is not our priority to keep all orphans and thralls washed. And she is of little utility to the village. It is a gift that we allow her to remain here at all. I hope it is not too presumptuous for me to assume that we will be compensated, as her keepers, for the time you choose to spend with her tonight. She is ours, after all, my Liege.”
“I thought you just said she is of little utility? Should she not then, be free for my use?”
Rosalind is much smarter than her husband. She is, from what I’ve seen, the smartest person in our village. But the king, this big brute of a male, seems to so easily entrap her. She flounders in ways I have never seen before. “She will be of greater use when you have claimed her honor and shown her the ways of pleasure. Then she can tend more fruitfully to the other males who have requested her. We will have no more reason to keep them at bay anymore, my king.”
“And yet, if I am increasing her value to the community by having her for the evening, I wonder why I should then be expected to compensate you for her time.”
Rosalind doesn’t respond. She merely purses her lips.
The king shakes his head slowly and clicks his tongue against the backs of his teeth. “You certainly do have an unusual way of doing things here in Winterbren.”
And then Rosalind’s voice grows dark. She snaps, “My king, this thrall is a virgin. She is not going to be able to satisfy a male of your appetite. I suggest you choose another female — or two or three — to occupy yourself with tonight and return her to the barns where she belongs.”
My shame is a raw wound that Rosalind picks at with each sharp word from her tongue. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her speaking of me like this. She’s never spoken to me like this before, so hatefully…
I wedge my palms in between my clenched thighs. The king, meanwhile, palms my low spine, rubbing circles through my dress that may intend to provide reassurance, but do nothing to reassure me. His hand spans the full breadth of my waist. It makes me nervous when he squeezes, as if demonstrating his size compared to mine and making sure I am also aware of it.
And then he ducks his head and whispers into my ear directly, too quietly for Rosalind to hear. “Does she tell truths? Are you a virgin?”
I nod. I had already tried to tell him as much. And even if I did not want him to know, there would be no point in lying. He would find out soon enough — as soon as he tried again to kiss me — and even if he still wanted me after that, Rosalind would skin me alive for trying to lie to their honored guest.
His palm splays over my knee. He soothes his thumb over my thigh. “Shh,”
he says to me softly. And then to Rosalind, he says in a voice that’s louder than need be, “I think you may be right, Lady Rosalind.”
I tense. “My little bird could use a bath before I claim her. Why don’t you draw her one?”
I dare a glance up when she does not respond to the king. And for a moment, I fear for her, until I remember that she is the chief’s wife and that affords her security. Then, I fear for myself. She is displeased and since he is the king and that affords him security, I do not doubt that she will turn her displeasure towards me.
“Certainly,”
she finally says, elongating the word. “Elena,”
she calls, but King Calai interrupts her.
“No, Lady Rosalind. Not Elena. You.”
Lady Rosalind doesn’t move. I feel the tension. I hear the chuckling from his warriors at the other end of the table. Lady Rosalind’s lips pull together in a tight scowl and her left eye twitches. Torbun pretends to be deep in discussion with his wife on his other side. She has not looked up as Rosalind spoke. I don’t dare look at Rosalind, either. I know that I will be punished for this severely as soon as the king sees fit to release me. The manner of my punishment, I do not as of yet know.
Quiet hangs over my head like an axe. My feet don’t touch the ground and my dirty slippers start to slide off of my feet. I don’t make any move to keep them on. The axe is falling.
“Rosalind, my love, did you not hear the man?”
Chief Olec slurs loudly. He claps the king on the arm, making me jump. The king holds me closer. “Go on, draw a bath for the king and his pretty thrall.”
Chief Olec slaps his palm down towards my knee and I brace, but the king catches Chief Olec’s wrist. He squeezes it and Chief Olec’s blurry red eyes round. He makes a face and looks at the king with incredulity before returning his attentions back to the flagon of ale. It’s empty now. He hails another while his wife begrudgingly gathers her skirts and gets up from the table.
“Are you alright?”
the king whispers in my ear.
I nod, even though it’s a lie. The king’s hand freezes on the place where my prayer hands are wedged between my thighs. I suck in a startled breath when he pulls on my wrists to extract them, and then slips his hand into the place mine just were, in between my legs, high on my inner thighs. His fingers curl into my skin and I feel my whole body flush. I look up at his face. His mouth is relaxed, as if to spite the tension, and he gazes down at me with eyes half lidded.
I open my mouth to tell him something, to warn him about my inexperience, to beg him to apologize to Rosalind and the chief so that I may be spared a later punishment, but I don’t say any of that. Instead, I gasp. His fingers crawl higher, towards the juncture of my thighs and when he pulls me tighter to his chest, higher onto his lap and grunts…I can no longer ignore the bulge between his legs. My weight settles further over the hard length pressing at my bottom from below. I feel myself swoon slightly forward.
“Rosalind spoke truths, my king. I don’t know about any of this.”
I cling to the straps covering his chest and he bites his bottom lip.
He makes a sound, a deep coo in the back of his throat. “That you are a virgin does not displease me.”
“But I may displease you, my king.”
“It is not possible,”