Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1)(9)
When the women see me come in, both of them shoot me irritated glares and then pointedly ignore me. They don’t like me much. Not only because I’m the king’s favored, but because I’m also Fulke’s favorite thing to covet when he comes to visit.
To them, I suppose I’m just competition. Everyone knows what happens to royal saddles who become obsolete. They get tossed aside for newer, firmer, prettier saddles.
Although, I’m convinced that if they actually spent any length of time with me, they’d really enjoy me. I’m ridiculously fun. You kind of have to be when the only person you hang out with is you. I wouldn’t want to bore myself.
Maybe I’ll wait until Midas is in a good mood and then ask if some of the girls can come up to hang out with me one night. I could really use company that doesn’t include silent, stalwart Digby.
Speaking of Digby, he and five other of the king’s guards are standing at attention alongside the back wall, and they don’t even blink at the display of the erotic breakfast. So professional.
The other men dining at the table with the kings are their advisors, and there are two more saddles standing by, one of them massaging the shoulders of one of Fulke’s men, while the other keeps shooting flirtatious looks down the table.
“Ah, Precious,” King Midas purrs from his seat when he notices me approach. “You’ve joined us for breakfast.”
Of course I have, because you ordered me to.
Instead of saying that aloud, I smile demurely with a nod and then take a seat at the pillowed stool that’s placed in front of my harp. I start plucking the strings gently, because I know it’s what my king wants. I’m here to put on a show.
It’s always the same thing. Whenever foreign representatives from other kingdoms come here, King Midas likes to flaunt me. I sit in the breakfast room, safe inside my cage, where the visitors can ogle me and be amazed at the extent of Midas’s power while they eat their eggs and fruit tarts.
“Mmm,” King Fulke says from around the bite he’s chewing as he looks over at me. “I do enjoy looking upon your gold-touched whore.”
I bristle at the term, but I keep my spine straight. You know what’s way worse than being called a saddle? Being called a whore. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. It makes me want to lash out at him with my ribbons and hit him in the dangles. Instead, I change up the tune on the harp and play one of my personal favorites, “Cock Him in the Cuckoo.” I think it’s the perfect song for my current mood.
King Midas chuckles after taking a bite of fruit. “I’m aware.”
Fulke eyes me thoughtfully. “You sure you won’t change your mind and gold-touch one of my saddles for me?” he asks, even as he kneads Polly’s ass where she sits atop his thigh.
Midas shakes his head. “No. That honor is only bestowed on my Auren,” he replies smoothly. “I like setting her apart.”
Fulke makes a grunt of disappointed amusement, while I bite my lip in pleasure at Midas claiming me. Polly and Rissa both share a look of clear displeasure and start fondling each other at the table, like they want to draw attention back to themselves. “I can see why you chose her,” Fulke says, ignoring Rissa when her hand runs over his crotch. “Her beauty is unparalleled.”
My skin prickles with his roving gaze and with the daggers that Rissa’s and Polly’s eyes are throwing at me. But based on the gleam in Midas’s eyes, I can see how pleased he is. He gets great satisfaction when people envy what he has.
“Of course she’s beautiful,” my king says smugly. “She’s mine.”
My face heats, his possessive tone making my insides go warm. I steal a glance at him through the strings of the harp, my fingers plucking the tune out like an offering.
Fulke turns his gaze over to Midas. “One night, Midas. I’ll pay you handsomely for one night with her.”
My fingers slip on the strings. A sour note clangs through the air, ruining my favorite crescendo. My gold eyes shoot over to my king. Midas will say no of course, but holy Divine, I can’t believe Fulke dared. Is Midas about to smite King Fulke for saying such a thing? Right here at the dining table?
My stomach twists as the room goes completely silent. Once, one of Midas’s financial ambassadors said something very similar, and my king had all of his toes and fingers cut off one by one before he threw them in a vat of melted gold and hung them on the man’s door. Harsh? Definitely. But it was a message to everyone who leered a little too long, who became a little too bold.
The guards and saddles go tense and alert, all of us waiting with bated breath. The kings’ advisors look between the monarchs anxiously, and my fingers stay paused on the strings, the silence a different kind of song.
King Midas carefully sets down his fork and then looks up at Fulke steadily. A long pause stretches through the air. My heart thumps in my chest as I wait to see how he’ll reprimand Fulke, how he’ll dress him down.
Midas braces an elbow on the arm of his chair, setting his face into his hand as he regards the other king, and now my stomach churns for an entirely new reason. Because there’s a gleam in my king’s eye, an inkling of contemplation.
Oh Divine, is he actually considering it?
Chapter Four
No. No way.
I refuse to believe that my king is considering giving me to another man to use. Midas would never let anyone have me. He’s far too possessive of me, loves me, prizes me. He has ever since he rode in and rescued me.