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He leaves my head and starts peeling an apple. “All subjects in the kingdom answer to the king, and if the king is so inclined, he can and will order them to do anything that he finds to be advantageous for the kingdom. This includes breeding arrangements. However”—he levels a stare at the terrified Spring queen—“if my commander is unsuitable, I can offer you someone else. Someone I’m certain you’ll find not just suitable, but irresistible.”
“No,” I say. I know who he’s thinking of, and there’s no way I’d allow that male near this queen.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the king says, smirking.
“I don’t care.”
“We must protect the Spring queen, D’Artaron.”
“I agree.”
“The easiest way to do that is to breed her. Unless you have a better idea?”
“She will remain a virgin.”
“Forever?” the queen asks.
“Forever and ever,” I confirm.
She shakes her head. “That’s not…what I want.”
“What you want must align with what is best for the kingdom,” I tell her.
“But King Et’enne said queens can do whatever they want.”
My king smiles, softening all his hard features, appealing to females in that way only he can. The evidence of his appeal drifts into my nose as the scent of the queen’s arousal bursts into the room.
“I did say that.” He bites down on his apple and leans back, chewing. “So, what do you want?”
Her eyes find mine, and then she looks away, whispering. “I don’t know yet.”
“Sure you do,” the king says. “And there’s no need to tell either of us, because we already know.”
“Quit it,” I warn under my breath, ready to punch him again. He’s a difficult male, hard and blunt. I have no idea how he got the sweetest mate in the world, but fates work in mysterious ways.
“My commander will restore your court and do whatever it takes to keep you on the throne. If that means breeding you, he will consider it his duty, and despite his protests, D’Artaron always delivers on his duty. The question is, what are you willing to do to keep the throne?”
She clears her throat. “I don’t wish for the throne.”
“Do you wish to live?” he asks.
She nods.
“Your life is tied to the throne. You can be a live Spring queen or a dead nobody. Choose now. Which will it be?”
“Don’t threaten her,” I growl.
“I’m not.” The king slaps his palm on the table. “I’m giving her a throne. A throne, D’Artaron.”
“A queen,” she whispers. “I wish to be a queen.”
“Louder,” he presses. “Tell me who you are.”
“Don’t press her,” I say.
“The Spring queen.”
“Louder!” he roars at her.
