Round tables are spread throughout the room. Girls dance atop a stage to the fiddle music. More girls wearing significantly less than I am walking around or sit perched on men's laps. I walk past a couple tucked into a corner, the man sucking on the neck of the prostitute.
After a minute more, he grabs her by the hand and hauls her past me. To wherever the rooms are. Cards and dice seem to be the games of choice. I walk around the outskirts of the spacious room, trying to catch sight of Kassian. It takes me a moment to remember I'm not looking for a dark head of hair but a light one. A wig. And he won't have his shadows to aid me.
Devils, anything could happen to him in here.
At least all the firearms are checked at the doors. But it's hardly difficult to hide a knife under one's clothing. Even when wearing as little as I am.
A man suddenly runs up to me, and I panic before remembering I'm holding a tray of ale. He grabs a glass and peers at my exposed cleavage the entire time.
"Hm," he says, slapping my rump before turning back the way he came.
I freeze for a moment, battling with the noblewoman I am and the light-skirt I'm pretending to be tonight. No one touches me without permission. But being here. In this dress. That is permission. It's the job.
Oh, but my fingers itch for the ruby-handled knife strapped to my thigh. I could so easily drive it into his turned back.
"I don't recognize you," a voice thick with drink says, pulling me from my thoughts.
A man with a bloated belly from too many nights indulging in drink looks me up and down.
"I'm new," I manage to say while finding my feet to resume my trek around the room's edges.
"And fast. Get back here."
A tug on my skirts nearly has me dropping the tray. Checking my irritation, I spin and hold out the tray. "Drink?"
"No. I need someone to keep me company at my table. I've made it a point to sample every lady Madam Dawson has under her employ."
"I'm only a fill-in," I say around the disgust crawling up my throat.
"Come here," he says more forcefully.
Oh, gods.
"This one's already spoken for," a new voice says, and my shoulders sink with relief.
Kassian.
He has his eyes on the horrible man propositioning me.
"Shove off," the drunk man says. "I found her first."
In just a few steps, Kassian grabs the tray from my hands and thrusts it upon the other man. "You're welcome to fight me for her once you're sober, but I think you know better than to try now."
With one gloved hand clamped firmly along my bare arm, Kassian leads me to a table, weaving through men and girls as we go.
"Just give her back to me once you're done!" the other man shouts after us.
I gag.
"Easy now," Kallias says.
And before I can register anything else, Kassian is lowering himself into a chair, and I'm in his lap. Just the knowledge of this has my neck heating.
"Never did see a blushing light-skirt," a man on the other side of the table says. "Must be new on the job. Good on you, Remes. Your turn, by the way."
One hand slides against my abdomen while the other picks up a hand of cards. I'm unfamiliar with the game, but Kassian must know it. He throws some necos onto the growing pile on the table and sets down a card before the man next to him takes a turn. There's five of them at the table. I don't recognize any of them. I suspect none are nobles currently living at the palace.
I feel a warm breath against my ear as Kallias whispers, "Are you all right?"
I turn so I can look up at him, careful not to let my face get too close to his. "Yes."
He presses his lips to my ear, where my wig keeps his face from touching me skin to skin. To the men around the table, we must look like we're whispering flirtations. I try to hide the shiver that goes down my spine from the contact, but I'm certain Kassian can feel it.
"What happened to your gloves?" he asks.
"The madam said they weren't appropriate for my line of work."
"We'll have to be careful."
"I'm always careful."
"Good. Now laugh like I just said something naughty."
His words catch me off guard, but I let my eyes drift down to half-hooded before giving him a short laugh filled with promise. I slap his shoulder playfully for good measure.
"Remes, your turn again."
Kassian takes less than five seconds to look at his cards and throw down a new one.
"It's like you're not even trying," the man across the table says, before throwing down his own card. The other three people groan as he sweeps the pile of money toward himself.
"If it's the lady distracting you, then she has my deepest thanks."
"Just deal another hand," Kassian says. He lets the hand on my abdomen drift up to my side, before letting a gloved finger trail down my bare arm. I wonder if the men across the table can see the goose bumps rising on my flesh as clearly as I can.
For gods' sake, it's only his glove. I shouldn't be turning into a liquid heap.
But, as if he's found a new game he likes far better, Kassian doesn't glance at his cards. His gaze holds mine as he lets his fingers trail up the side of my neck, across my collarbone, a little lower. Watching my face for any reaction at all. As if he's asking a question and waiting for my expression to tell him the answer.
And damn him, but my breathing hitches, the muscles in my legs tightening. His answering smile is that of a predator, masculine pride at its finest.
Oh, but two can play at that game.
I sit a little higher up on his lap, let one hand travel up his chest from lower abdomen to his shoulder, letting my fingers reach under his waistcoat, so there's less fabric between our skin.
A low sound comes out of Kassian's throat. He tries to hide it behind a cough.
"Just take her upstairs and get a room already," another man at the table says.
"No!" the first one shouts back. "She's our ticket to winning everything in his wallet."
Kassian reaches for the new hand of cards, but I beat him to it, grabbing the deck and holding them up where he can also see. I let my head rest back in the space between his neck and shoulder, my wig protecting us from any contact.
But with my free hand, I grip the side of his thigh and squeeze.
He pitches forward slightly, his chest barreling into my back. But then I realize it was no doing of mine.
"Sorry!" a girl with a fresh tray of ale says. She rights herself from behind Kallias, only having spilt a little bit of the dark liquid down the sides of the cups before moving on.
She's wearing my rose in her hair, I note. I wonder when Kassian gave it to her. And how he convinced her to wear it. Now that she's in the room with us, Kallias tries to be subtle as he follows her every movement. Waiting to see if our contact —whomever he or she might be—will approach her.
I turn toward Kassian again. "Did you touch me?" I whisper, worried that the klutz pushed us too close together. For some reason, he doesn't seem worried. He holds a gloved finger under the table. I watch as a swirl of shadow appears around it.
"No," he says.
The fear receding, I breathe onto his neck as I say, "Oh, good."
And, as if that breath of air were too much, he scoots me down his lap a bit toward his knees.
"Are you going to go or what?" the irritated man to our left asks.
"I think I'm done," Kallias says, his voice deeper than it was a moment ago. With one arm slung around my waist, he stands and leads me toward the edge of the room. He steps past a partitioned-off area, where cushioned seats line against the wall. He gently sets me down before sitting beside me, our legs just touching.
"I'd hoped to blend into the room, but it's too hard to watch our girl," he says. "We have a better vantage point here."
"Well, we can't just sit here. We stand out too much. You don't take a whore to the cushions just to talk to her."
He reaches down, grabs my legs, and throws them over his lap. One hand goes under my skirts to trace against my calves.
"More convincing?" he asks.
I swallow. "Yes."
And as I sit there with my legs in the lap of the king, one thing becomes abundantly clear. I can't believe how much I want him to touch me. I want to rip off those cursed gloves and burn them in a fire, bury the ashes in a hole deeper than the one in which I dumped Jason.
I want to know what his lips feel like. I want to know what kind of kisser he is. What kind of lover. A selfish, pampered royal? Or a man willing to give pleasure as well as receive it?
Kassian grabs my knees and scoots me closer, my skirts rising up to show off my stockings. He brings his face within inches of mine. "I want to know what you're thinking about right now."
"You couldn't handle it."
His fingers tighten subtly, and his face draws even closer.
Were he any other man in the world, I would have closed that distance weeks ago. As the king, he has to be the one to decide to take this risk. It makes him so vulnerable.
My face retreats an inch, before I realize what I'm doing. I don't want him to be vulnerable. I—
"Careful," I manage.
Kassian lets out a breath of air as he leans himself back into the cushions, his hand under my skirts making more progress north.
What am I doing? Did I just retreat from him?
My mind is a tornado of thoughts, but I drop them all as we see a man approach our girl with the rose.
But it is a false alarm. He grabs a drink before moving on.
***
Torture.
Being in these cushioned seats is absolute torture.
Touching but not touching.
Kassian and I stay seated for about half an hour. Altering our positions. Trying to be convincing. But who in the world would take so long on the cushions with a whore without taking her upstairs?
I have my face turned into his neck, trying to look as though I'm nuzzling into him, playing with his ear.
My entire body is alive with heat. I don't know how much longer I can take it. The lavender-mint smell of him is everywhere. I can't believe I haven't grown used to it yet.
"Hey! You've had enough time to sample her. Either take my new girl upstairs or hand her over to someone else. I'm not running a charity here."
I crane my neck to find Madam Dawson with her hands on her hips.
"We were just on our way," Kassian says. He scoops me up and sets me on the floor as he stands.
"What now?" I ask as we make our way toward the exit.
"We—"
I lose my footing before I even realize what's happening.
My body makes painful contact with the floor, Kassian landing on top of me. Our heads bang together in a painful crash.
There's murmuring in the gaming room. Guests lean out of their chairs to investigate. So many people are surrounding us, the space suddenly feeling crowded.
Dampness reaches me. Dropped food or drink or something soaking into my skirts. And then Kallias's weight leaves me. Several people are helping me up, brushing food off my skirts.
"Are you all right?" another of Dawson's girls asks.
"Yes," I say.
I look around, trying to figure out who barreled into us, but several of Dawson's girls have gone to the floor to clean up the mess, including the little one from the kitchen, who appears to have shown up to clear off empty dishes from tables.
What the fucking shit?
Kassian practically pushes me toward the exit. We squeeze past more of Dawson's patrons before finally getting out into the empty hallway.
"Are you all right?" I ask, placing a hand over my
throbbing hip.
But Kassian is staring down at his gloved hands.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I can't call on my shadows."
FUCK.