Kenric’s face hardens, his eyes flicking toward the King’s back. "He is desperate."
"He is broke," I correct. "But he shouldn't be. Centis is not a poor kingdom. Taxes are collected. Trade flows. Yet the palace rots, and the King is forced to borrow from his Dukes to pay his gambling debts."
I glance down the table at Duke Nelis Doerr. He does not look smug tonight. He looks like a man who knows he is wearing a collar, and Duke Jellema holds the leash. He is eating quietly, keeping his head down.
"Melina told me something interesting," I say, leaning close to Kenric so our shoulders touch. "Her cousin is married to a man named Gerhardt."
"I don't know him," Kenric says.
"You wouldn't. He is a clerk," I say. "He works for Duke Nelis. Specifically, he keeps the ledgers for Nelis's gambling operations."
Kenric pauses, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. He puts it down. "The gambling operations you now own half of?"
"The very same," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Melina says Gerhardt hates the job. He says the numbers 'scream' at him because they are lies. He claims the debts the King pays are inflated."
I look back at Goarreit Nidjam. The Exchequer is drinking heavily now, his hand shaking slightly as he lifts his cup.
"Since Nelis is under Jellema's thumb and desperately trying to stay out of the dungeon, he might be willing to help us clarify those ledgers," I muse. "Especially if we can pin the theft on Basten Pleiter."
"Basten is already in the dungeon," Kenric notes.
"Exactly," I smile, taking a bite of the roast pheasant. "He is the perfect scapegoat. If Gerhardt can prove that Basten and the Exchequer were inflating the King's debts and skimming the taxes, we kill two birds with one stone. We ensure Basten never leaves that cell, and we remove the sticky-fingered Exchequer."
"And the King?" Kenric asks
"If I can prove to Oskar that his poverty is a lie manufactured by the men he trusted, he will turn on them. And he will need us, specifically the Royal Fey Bank, to help him clean his house."
I signal Melina, who is standing against the wall with the other ladies-in-waiting. She approaches instantly.
"My Lady?"
"Melina," I say, keeping my voice pitched so only she and Kenric can hear. "You are going to visit your cousin tonight."
Melina's eyes widen slightly. "Tonight?"
"Immediately," I say. "Bring Gerhardt to the Old Mint. Tell him... tell him the Fey Bank is seeking a Royal Auditor. Tell him the pay is triple what Nelis gives him."
"He is terrified of Duke Nelis," Melina whispers.
"Nelis is on a short leash," I assure her. "And Nelis will be happy to help if it means he can throw more dirt on Basten Pleiter's grave. Tell Gerhardt I don't want him to steal the books. I just want him to read them to me. I want to know exactly how much gold Goarreit Nidjam has been skimming off the top."
Melina nods, curtsies, and slips away toward the servants' exit.
I turn back to my dinner, skewering a piece of parsnip with unnecessary force. Oskar turns in his seat, glaring at us, likely annoyed that we aren't looking sufficiently chastened.
I raise my glass to him, a mocking toast.
Enjoy your dinner, Your Majesty, I think. It might be the last one you eat in peace before I show you exactly who has been eating off your plate. We finish dinner and I tell Kenric to follow me back to our rooms.
You summoned me?” Kenric’s voice is a low rumble, laced with amusement as he steps into our rooms. He closes the distance between us, his gaze tracing the lines of my emerald gown, the way it clings to my hips like a lover’s promise. “What does the king’s threat have you plotting now?”
I smirk, my playful nature bubbling up despite the stakes. I step closer to Kenric. “Better than letting you sulk in the Exchequer’s office, brooding over berries we foraged in the forest like lovesick fools.”
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I’m teasing him, subtly invoking that lazy afternoon memory, the sweetness of stolen fruit mirroring the taste of his lips. There’s an unspoken challenge in my eyes, daring him to bridge the gap.
Kenric’s lips curve into a predatory smile. He’s always enjoyed my teasing, the way it ignites his possessive streak. The king’s words had stung; stripping his title would be inconvenient. He reaches out, his callused fingers brushing my wrist, pulling me gently against him. “Plotting can wait. I’ve been distracted by thoughts of you all day.”
His breath is warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Let me remind you why we fight for this.”
His seduction is deliberate, a slow unraveling. Kenric’s hand slides to the small of my back, pressing me flush against the hard planes of his body. I can feel the tension in his frame, the coiled desire from all of our interrupted mornings, and I lean into it, my own possessiveness flaring. I enjoy the chaos of near-misses, the interruptions that only heighten the ache, but now, in this almost-sanctuary, I don’t want anything to disrupt them.
“Bold words for a man whose title’s on the chopping block,” I murmur, my fingers trailing up his chest, toying with the laces of his doublet.
But my voice betrays me, husky with want. Kenric’s eyes darken, and he captures my hand, guiding it lower, to the growing bulge straining his breeches. “Feel that? That’s what your wildness does to me. Every tease, every glance. Gods! Víl?, you drive me mad.”
I gasp softly as he cups my rear, kneading the flesh through my gown with assertive confidence. Kenric is loving in his dominance, always has been, from the glade encounters when he’d pinned me against ancient moss to the heated nights at court. He leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that starts tender but deepens into something feral, his tongue sweeping against mine as if claiming territory. I melt into it, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.
Kenric breaks the kiss, his breath ragged. “I need you naked. Now.”
His voice is a command wrapped in plea, and my pulse races. I flick my wrist, and our clothes are gone. My nipples are hardening in the cool air. Kenric’s gaze rakes over me, possessive hunger evident in the way his jaw tightens. “Gods, you’re a vision. Come here.” I saunter forward, my hips swaying in deliberate seduction, but Kenric meets me halfway, his hands roaming my bare skin, tracing every curve until I arch into him with a soft moan.
“You think you can tease me and walk away unscathed?” he growls, nipping at my neck. “I’ve wanted to bury myself in you since Ina ruined our morning.”
I laugh, a throaty sound that vibrates against his chest. I enjoy his intensity, the way he dominates yet cherishes my chaos. “Then take what’s yours, Kenric. Before the king’s spies interrupt us again.” I stroke him slowly, my grip firm, watching his eyes flutter shut in pleasure.
He groans, the sound raw and primal. “On your knees, love. Let me show you how much I’ve missed this.”
I comply and take him in my mouth, tongue working. Kenric’s hand tangles in my hair, guiding my rhythm, not forceful, but insistent, his hips bucking gently as I hollow my cheeks.
He groans again, “Gods! So hot! So perfect.”
He praises me between gritted teeth. I tease him mercilessly, my eyes meeting his with wicked intent.
Kenric’s control frays, and he pulls me up, spinning me to face the wall.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, voice thick with lust.
Kenric drops to his knees behind me, his breath hot against my thighs. “You’re dripping for me already. Such a needy little thing.”
This man, who is calm and steady, even when a sword is swinging at his head, and I drive him wild. I make him lose control. That alone is intoxicating.
His tongue dives in without preamble. I am trembling as pleasure sparks through me. Kenric’s gripping my hips as he feasts. As I’m screaming his name, Kenric stands, leaning into me, pinning me to the wall. Skin to skin, the heat between us is electric. “
Tell me you want it,” he murmurs, nipping my earlobe.
Seduction drips from every word, every touch. He is relentless, drawing out my surrender.
“Yes!” I cry out.
I am impaled. We both groan. The sensations are overwhelming.
Kenric sets a rhythm, “You’re mine, Víl?. No king, no threat will take this from us.”
I can hear his ragged breathing.
“Come for me, love. Let me feel you shatter.” His words are my undoing; pleasure crests, crashing over me in waves.
Kenric follows moments later. He holds me through the aftershocks before turning me to face him. He kisses my forehead, then my lips. Tender and almost reverent in the afterglow. “We’ll face this king together. Your maneuvers saved me once. They’ll do it again.”
I am scooped up and carried to the bed. Kenric tucks me in before getting in himself. He pulls me to him and spoons me before we drift off.
The sun rises on a bitterly cold morning, the kind that turns breath to mist and makes the stone of the palace feel like ice against the skin.
I do not stand on the steps today. After last night’s threats against Kenric, a public speech would be too provocative. It would give Oskar a chance to order his men to refuse the gift before they know what they are refusing.
Instead, I stand on the balcony of our newly renovated rooms, wrapped in my own furs, watching through the glass. Beside me, Iwan Nalis leans against the stone frame, his Shadow Cloak rendering him nearly invisible in the morning gloom.
Down in the courtyard, the scene is quiet but efficient. Melina is there, flanked by Inaba and the rest of my honor guard. The wagons are parked near the barracks entrance, not the main gate. There is no fanfare. No heralds. Just the quiet, efficient movement of bundles passing from hand to hand.
“You are being subtle,” Iwan murmurs. “That is unlike you.”
“Oskar is looking for a reason to arrest Kenric,” I reply, my eyes fixed on the courtyard. “If I make a scene, he has an excuse. If I simply… fix a problem… he looks like a tyrant for complaining.”
I watch as the Captain of the Guard walks out. He looks exhausted and cold, his current cloak threadbare and gray. He stops Melina. I can see them speaking. Melina gestures to the wagons. She hands him a bundle.
He hesitates. He looks up at the King’s windows, which are tightly shuttered against the light of my streetlamps. Then, he looks at his shivering men.
He takes the bundle. He unfolds it. The deep Royal Blue wool spills out, thick and heavy. He runs a hand over the rabbit fur lining. He puts it on.
It is done.
He waves his hand, and the line of soldiers moves forward. My honor guard works quickly, handing out the cloaks like rations to starving men. The soldiers do not cheer, I gave strict orders for them not to. They simply take the warmth, wrap themselves in it, and sigh with relief.
“Look,” I whisper.
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