Page 95 of Kneel Before Me

“What do you mean?”

Her face had fallen; she looked upset. “Your neck,” she whispered.

It took him a moment to understand what she was referring to. She was seeing him from behind; the back of his neck would be visible to her.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Max,” she said quietly. “Let me see.”

He shook his head.

“Max,” Daphne said again, reaching for him. “Please.”

Wordlessly, he dipped his head forward.

“Kora…” Daphne whispered but trailed off.

He could only imagine what she was thinking. She would have seen plenty of scars in her lifetime—the villagers lived hard lives; surely there were always wounds to tend to. But the scars Daphne was familiar with would be jagged and rough—injuries that were a natural consequence of farm work and manual labor. The scars on Maximus were nothing like that. His were surgically precise: two on one side of his spine and one on the other, each of them exactly two inches long. It was no accidental injury.

A long, silent moment passed. Daphne placed her palms flat on his shoulder blades, and Maximus stayed perfectly still as her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to expose the entirety of the scars.

“Who did this to you?” Daphne whispered.

There was no point in hiding it. “My father.”

Her grip on his collar tightened. “Your father?”

“It’s called the Cutting. Every prince goes through it before they become king.”

She relinquished his collar with one hand, touching only the tip of her finger to the scar on the left. The feel of her skin against his was like a lightning strike down his spine. Daphne traced down it slowly, and all Maximus could picture was her tracing down his cock. He wanted to turn around, grab her face, and kiss her. He wanted to push her onto his bed and never let her leave.

“Why three cuts?”

“I am the third in my line.”

She dropped her hand. Maximus turned around slowly. They were standing mere inches apart. “Did it hurt?”

The memory of the Cutting was not something Maximus liked to think about. That day had been one of the worst of his life. There was no way to reduce it to words, so he simply said, “Yes.”

Daphne bit her lip. “Will you do it to Lilly?”

He shook his head again. “It is only for the men.”

She nodded. It seemed like she was thinking hard about something, and Maximus wondered what it was. Was this a way to soften her toward him? If she pitied him for the Cutting, it meant she cared. It was a start.

Without a word, Maximus turned, finished pouring her drink, and handed it to her. He poured himself a red wine, taking a long sip before crossing to the armchairs by the fire. After a moment, Daphne followed.

“We kissed tonight,” he said once they were both settled.

Daphne took a large sip of her wine. “I know. I was there.”

A pause. Then Maximus prompted her. “Well?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Well, what?”