King's Virgin
Authors: Adriana Hunter
The
King’s Virgin
Adriana
Hunter
Copyright © 2012 Adriana Hunter
Published
by Sweet Dreams Publishing
Cordova jumped at
the loud, insistent knock at her door, nearly dropping the brush
she’d been running through her long curtain of black hair.
Setting it carefully on the vanity, she rose from her chair. She
thought briefly about taking a moment to tuck her hair underneath her
cap, but she knew that if it were her employer she would be scolded
for keeping her waiting so she dutifully rushed out.
Taking a deep
breath, she crossed the room and opened the door to see Lady Alice
Grey, lady-in-waiting to King Lyon and her employer, waiting, flanked
by two royal guards. Cordova’s eyes immediately jumped to the
envelope fisted in the Lady’s skeletally thin hand, and her
heart hammered against her chest.
“
How may I be
of service, my Lady?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice
steady. She started to bow, but her head snapped back as Lady Grey’s
free hand shot out, cracking against her face.
“
You stupid
wench,” she snapped, black eyes cold in contrast to the spots
of color in her bony cheeks. “Did you really think you could
get away with this?”
“
I-I-I don’t
know what you mean,” Cordova stammered, clutching her stinging
cheek even as her eyes darted back to the envelope. She knew very
well what the Lady meant, but that didn’t mean she was going to
give in right away. Even if she couldn’t see a way out of this
predicament.
Lady Grey ripped the
letter out of the envelope and waved it in front of her face. “One
of my secretaries intercepted this letter yesterday. In it you write
of unspeakable accusations against the King—outlandish tales of
high taxes, poverty, unfair justice systems.”
Cordova lifted her
chin. “They are not outlandish tales. The King overtaxes his
people, fattens the rich and starves the poor, and beheads or
imprisons anyone who dares to question his command. He is nothing
more than a barbarian and a tyrant.”
One of the guards
stepped up, a pair of heavy manacles hanging loosely in his hands.
“Such accusations are treasonous, Miss Thomas, and will not be
tolerated by King Lyon or the people of Margon. You’re going to
have to come with us.”
A tremor of fear
rippled through her, and she felt her legs suddenly weaken, barely
able to hold her up. “What are you going to do with me? Will
you behead me like the others?” she accused even as she allowed
the guard to secure the manacles around her wrists.
The guard met her
gaze steadily, and Cordova saw no mercy in his eyes. “That will
be for the King to decide.”
****
King Lyon tapped his
fingers restlessly on the arm of his throne as he watched his latest
subject be escorted from the throne room in heavy chains. His heart
had long been hardened against his people’s pleas for mercy.
They should know by now that he rarely had any to spare, and to stay
out of trouble. If they dared to step over the lines that had been
crossed for them, they knew the punishment he would swiftly mete out.
In truth, he
actually detested killing his own people, but he did not gain all
that he had by ruling from the teat. A heavy hand would teach the
people of Margon to refrain from questioning his rule. He had learned
from his father that a King is better feared, than loved.
“
Send in the
next accused,” he drawled, bored by the monotony. He understood
the necessity of holding these courts—those who stepped over
the line had to be punished, after all—but it was all so very
tedious. He would much rather be in the war room with his
strategists, or out in the fields engaging in sport.
Or
perhaps between the sheets with a willing woman. His
lips
curled at the thought. He desperately needed a new mistress. Someone
who could entertain him, and give him some much-needed relief. He
certainly had his share of women and even those who secretly opposed
being bedded would never dare to deny him. Perhaps he would choose
one this afternoon.
The guards brought
in a woman, and Lyon blinked, before sitting up straight to get a
better look at her. She wore a shapeless gray dress that draped
loosely on her thin frame, and her head hung forward so that her
curtain of black hair concealed her face. As she was brought before
the throne, Lyon noticed that her entire body was trembling, and
couldn’t quite hide a disgusted sneer. So, they had brought him
a mouse. Well, he would hear her crimes and then chew her up and spit
her out like all the others.
“
Your
Majesty,” his attendant greeted him, belly jiggling most
unbecomingly as he turned to face the King. “The accused is
Miss Cordova Thomas, companion to Lady Alice Grey. She comes before
you accused of high treason—a letter she wrote to her family
was intercepted, and contained slander and blasphemous things written
about your Majesty.”
“
I see.”
Lyon turned his attention to the woman, curious rather than
infuriated, as he ought to be. “And what say you to these
accusations, Miss Thomas?”
The woman tossed her
hair out of her face, raising a pointed chin so she could glare
daggers at him with her garnet eyes. “If speaking the truth…if
warning my family not to come here in order to spare them your
tyranny, is considered to be high treason, then yes, I am guilty.”
Lyon arched a brow,
sucking in a sharp breath as the exquisite beauty of her features hit
him, full force. Her heart-shaped face was pale but for the spots of
color on her cheeks, her black eyebrows were drawn tightly over
piercing eyes that sparkled with fury, and her lips, the color of
ripe strawberries, were compressed into a tight, thin line. She
looked like a war goddess, or perhaps a Valkyrie, ready to rise up
and strike him down with a vengeance should she be given the chance.
He knew instinctively that the body beneath that gown would be just
as exquisite, and was struck by an overwhelming desire to whip the
offending cloth away so he could see for himself.
Cordova stood her
ground, holding her head high as she proudly defied the King, but
inside she was confused in a wash of unyielding emotion. Rather than
flying into a rage and ordering her immediate beheading as she’d
rather expected, he simply stared, his eyes roving over her face, his
blue eyes scalding her with a hunger she didn’t understand. Her
body reacted, chills running down her spine, nipples stiffening,
which only confused her more. She couldn’t help but notice that
he was an attractive man—his powerfully built body shown off by
the embroidered doublet and hose he wore over his linen shirt. His
reddish-blond hair curled thickly atop his head, his handsome face
framed with a square jaw dusted with a day’s growth of beard.
His lips were firm, sensual, and curved into… a smile? She
shivered. What sort of hideous punishment could he be thinking of for
him to smile like that?
“
How dare you
speak to the King that way!” the advisor sputtered after a long
silence in which his beady eyes darted back and forth between the
two. “You should show more respect to the King who so
graciously allows you to live at his court!”
Cordova sneered at
him, recklessly bold—there was no going back after all; she was
doomed regardless of whether or not she remained silent. “Don’t
patronize me. I doubt the good King even knew I existed before you
brought me to his attention.”
“
You have an
unusually sharp tongue,” the King remarked before his clearly
affronted advisor could respond. “You do know that with every
traitorous word you speak, I can add to your punishment? That rather
than order a simple beheading, I could have you tortured for days,
weeks, months? That I could have you begging for your life…or
perhaps, your death?”
Cordova felt the
blood leech from her face at the thought of prolonged torture. Still,
she refused to back down. “I won’t beg you for anything,”
she vowed, nearly spitting out the words.
His eyes gleamed,
the challenge accepted. “Oh, I think you will,” he said
silkily—oh, did he want her to beg, he thought as he watched
the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. Not for death, but for him—his
touch, his mouth, his shaft as it pumped deep inside of her. “I
admire your spirit, woman. Not many men have dared to challenge me in
this way, and certainly never a woman.”
He turned to his
advisor. “Leave us. I want everyone from this room gone except
for my personal guard.”
The advisor frowned.
“Your majesty?”
“
Did you not
hear me?” Lyon arched a brow.
The man blanched.
“Yes, your Majesty…as you wish.” He scrambled down
from the dais and ushered the nobles from the room, leaving
reluctantly, a flurry of whispers exchanged behind the hands raised
to their mouths.
Let
them speculate
,
Lyon thought.
His lips curved as
Cordova watched him warily. “Don’t think I will not
punish you, Miss Thomas,” he warned, and she stiffened. “You
will serve me in repentance for your crimes—
in
my bed
.”
“
I beg your
pardon?” Cordova whispered, faintly.
Lyon’s grin
widened at her distress. “Don’t sound so upset, Ms.
Thomas. Being a King’s mistress is considered an honor. Be
grateful.”
****
Be grateful!
Cordova fumed,
pacing back and forth in the drawing room as she had done for the
past four hours, waiting for him. The guards had taken her to a
private suite of rooms connected to the King’s quarters by a
secret tunnel and told her that she had free reign of the space, and
could do anything she wished as long as she didn’t leave. Since
the only way out was through the tunnel and a twenty-four hour guard
had been posted there, escape was highly unlikely. There wasn’t
even a single window for her to look out of. She felt suffocated,
closed in.