Page 30 of Sold to Three Alpha Kings

My lady?

That sounds weird.

“It is I, Brianna.”

She’s the younger one of the two servants who washed me yesterday.

I clear my throat. “Come in. It’s open.”

The door creaks and makes way, revealing her in her black-and-white outfit. She walks inside, her flats silent against the floor.

“I apologize for waking you up, my lady.” She halts at a distance from me, her head slightly bowed.

I rise to my feet, feeling uncomfortable by the way she can’t look me in the eyes. It’s like I’m some kind of goddess over her, and I don’t like it.

“It’s fine. You didn’t wake me,” I say to her.

A pause.

“The Kings expect your presence at the dining room,” she says. “They’d like you to have breakfast with them.”

My heart stops.

She walks over to the bed, and that’s when she reveals the dress that’s been behind her back this whole time. It’s a beautiful crimson gown with pearls around the neckline. She carefully drapes the dress over the mattress and straightens it.

“I’ll be here to help you change.” She stands beside the bed.

“You’re not going to bathe me again, are you?” I ask her.

“If you want me to, I will.”

“No, I do not.” I head straight toward the bathroom.

Once I’m done, Brianna styles my red hair into a neat bun on top of my head. She paints my lips red and brushes powder against my face. She stands behind me and pulls up the zipper of my gown, her eyes meeting mine in the full-length mirror before us.

The mirror is clearer than any one I’d ever seen, and I can’t help marveling at my own reflection. The soft fabric hugs me in all the right places, highlighting my curves and contours.

I can barely recognize the woman staring back at me in that mirror.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, my lady,” Brianna murmurs.

My cheeks flush. “Thank you.”

She leads the way, and I follow. The shoes on my feet fit perfectly, the soft clicking sounds bouncing off the walls. I’m led into a large room with a long table dominating the center.

All three Kings are already seated.

The mean one who ordered my execution looks up at me with the cold eyes of his. His white-blond hair is combed back, spine straight, a plate in front of him he hasn’t touched.

He glances at me once, brief, assessing, then looks away.

Wayne looks like he just rolled out of bed and doesn’t much care who knows it. Black hair mussed, sprawled in his chair, one boot propped against the table leg. He grins the second he spots me. “Ahh, look who finally decided to join us. Come. Sit.”

Briana takes a bow and disappears without a word.

I don’t sit right away. I look between them, and the deliberate distance they keep clicks something into place.

Their chairs are angled just slightly apart, and none of them hold the others’ eyes for more than a second.