Rosanda was in another fit of crying when she heard a new knock on the door. Her brow furrowed. Didn't the investigators leave? Was this related to the weird sound she had heard earlier? She thought it was a gunshot, but she was in a large castle. Not every sound in every area of the place was crystal clear to her.
"Who's knocking?" She wiped her eyes and put her glasses back on.
The voice was heavy and commanding. "Your king."
Her face was so hot that she wouldn't have been surprised if steam shot out of her nose.
How dare he try to get some pussy while she was practically grieving!
Rosanda stomped over to the door and screamed at it, uncaring of the status of her target. "My brother was murdered! Fucking murdered, and whether it was by the current lord of the land or the former doesn't matter! Either way, he was murdered by someone that was supposed to protect him! I am not mentally stable enough to put my feet on your royal cock!"
She panted as she waited for his response.
"When I heard that you lost someone, I wanted to comfort you. I must apologize to you, though, if I led you to think that I wanted to take advantage of a grieving woman."
Something similar to nausea, but not quite, boiled in her belly. His voice had felt so sincere to her. Rosanda wanted to believe that he honestly wanted to comfort her.
"He was only five years old when he went missing." Her voice lacked the crossness from before. "For a child to suffer so needlessly, it's disgusting, and I don't know how I'm meant to go on with this knowledge."
"Would you rather have never known?"
The side of her head tilted up. She tried to analyze her feelings, but she couldn't find a good answer, other than a single, delicate statement. "I don't know."
"It's fine to not know. It's impossible to know everything. Don't ever feel dishonest or foolish simply because you don't know something, especially when the question has a complex implications. Inventing an answer simply to keep yourself from saying you don't know, that would be the incorrect path."
Rosanda stepped near a lit sconce on a wall. She looked down at a stubborn fleck of dry paint that seemed to have taken shelter under her index finger. As she nervously tried to dig it out, she said, "It seems that there is wisdom in the royal family."
Kutberth I said with a sober tone, "It's fine that you don't know what to think. You've experienced a tragedy, and as long as you aren't harming anyone, you are free to react as you please. I won't demand that you open this door. I'm going to wish you well and leave you here."
"Wait, please!"
Shit. Why did she say that? Why the fuck did she say that?
"What is it, Miss Lunai?"
She put her fingers against her lips for around four seconds. Each one of those seconds seemed to wrap around her brain, deepening the mortification as she realized she wanted him to embrace her.
"Your Majesty, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm an inconstant creature." There were a few gasps, and then she mentally scolded herself for not giving into her more innocent desires. If she didn't do something to appease her mind and body, she would fret over the unexplored possibilities in the future. "If you'd be so kind to this civilian, would you please ... would you please hold me for a moment?"
"Certainly."
And she went to the door. She pulled the simple latch keeping the door locked. She let the man in, and then she closed the door, putting the latch back into its place.
Then he was on her, his hands swiping all around. Her body was almost as well kneaded as dough, especially her back. It was like magic there, melting her body into him. He smelled wonderful, silk and cologne, warmth and masculinity. The cane hanging from a button of his waistcoat pressed into her, and she didn't care.
And even as her white skin flushed into a soft pink, even as her glasses fell off her head and bounced on the floor, even as her nipples tingled under her clothing, Kutberth I did nothing but hold and caress her, bending a little so he could put his lips to the top of her head.
She couldn't see very well, but she was crying so much that it didn't matter. She was a person who needed touch and she was shivering from that need. She was shivering as the need was met. She was shivering from her near despair. The cold couldn't be blamed, though. The cold didn't trouble her at all.
"It's over now." He actually tried to comfort her with words. "The boy isn't suffering anymore. There's only peace."
It was generally believed that whenever a child died, their soul went on to the happiest afterlife available. There was no proof for this, but many people still believed it.
Still, the thought of innocent little Toby, dancing around in a happy afterlife, his red hair glistening in the light of bliss, gave her a little bit of solace.
She wondered if the tears of a commoner could stain the king's lavish red coat. There was a pretty combination of black and gold embroidery on it, but she couldn't really tell what shapes the stitches were set in. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and she tried to focus on them. He was pretty close.
Ah, there they are! The pattern sort of resembled winter jasmine. The black parts were the stems and the gold parts were the flowers.
A shy version of regret crept into her heart, and she stiffened in the king's arms. She turned her head and tried to find something else to look at, but the world was blurry whenever she wasn't looking at something close to her.
"I need my glasses."
"Do you?"
Her face turned up to him. "What?"
Kutberth I's mouth was on hers, sinking deep, his voice vibrating into her throat.
"Hm!" Rosanda twisted in his arms, unsure if she felt betrayal or relief. The tip of his tongue slid and flicked against hers, sending buzzing pleasure through her body. She knew her pussy was flexing, wanting something thick deep inside.
One of his hands tugged and tangled into the bun at her nape, and he loosened it, pulling on the smooth, white locks. Rosanda was bent against him, held in place. Her fingers made irritating scratching sounds against his coat. The king didn't seem to care about it. He seemed to be claiming her mouth and enjoying the process.
The confounding, delicious moment went on for some time, and then he pulled back and murmured to her, "I couldn't help myself. You're such a treat."
"But ... but!"
But, didn't he say something about not wanting to take advantage of her? "I have an idea, Miss Lunai." He had a sinful smile, a demon's smile, and she secretly loved it. "If you're going to be miserable, then you should be miserable in luxury. Please, come with me. I'll open an apartment in Penthorn Palace, and you will be safely kept as a Royal Mistress." His fingers loosened in her hair, giving her more freedom.
Her jaw lowered as she looked down at his coat again. An official Royal Mistress?
Everyone who looked at her would immediately understand that her career was basically fucking the king. The difference between a mistress and a whore was the exclusivity. She didn't really think there was anything wrong with being a man's mistress or a whore, nothing wrong at all, but she really didn't want to walk down that path in the palace, specifically. It seemed dangerous to her, especially when one considered how petty and gossipy nobles and royals could be. The Royal Court wasn't a place she was accustomed to. She could easily be eaten alive.
Nervously, she licked her lips, and then she said with a feeble tone, "I'm fond of my career, and I'd rather not experiment with another ... and," she made a point to sniff loudly, hoping to gain some sympathy points, "I want people to think of me as an artist, nothing more."
Her hair was yanked again. Rosanda squealed, but she listened when he responded to her protest with a blasΓ© tone. "That's fine, we can have an arrangement similar to what your step-mother had before her ridiculous lies were revealed."
It was tempting, damn tempting. She could see the prince ... Alex ... again, if she became part of the Royal Court.
But ... she'd probably end up doing ... certain things with the king ...
It would be quite lucrative. From an economic and an artistic standpoint, this was an excellent idea. She'd be getting paid to paint, and at full price instead of the smaller portions she'd take when she was painting for Kosette.
But ... but ... no. She didn't want to be fought over.
"Your Majesty, I must refuse."
"What?!" His voice rose. Rosanda trembled under him. His brow was marred by anger and impatience, but then that changed. He seemed to soften, and his voice followed suit. "Is it because of your loss? Do you need more time?"
Hmm ... she was in something of a convoluted mental state. It wouldn't be good to pack up her belongings and move into a palace while she was concerned over her likely dead brother.
"Your Majesty," she said, hoping her eyes seemed pitiful, "you are a very astute ruler. It's true. I do need some time to cope."
She sighed when the man nodded and stepped back, removing his hands from her. She felt her hair slide down her neck and back.