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CHAPTER THREE
HERMOUTHWASa revelation, and on some level, he must have always known that it would be. No matter how he denied it. Told himself it would be a base, treacherous act, he had known. For he had been fascinated by that mouth and the many moods that she could convey with a twitch of the corner of those lips. Amusement, disdain, irritation. He had learned to read that mouth, and now he was tasting it.
Feasting upon it.
Livia.
Livia, the one woman who had ever...
It brought his mind back. To that night.
Just before she had become his assistant. Still, then, she had been nothing more than a mere palace employee. And certainly he found excuses for their paths to cross, because he quite enjoyed speaking to the bright little creature, but they had not seen each other daily.
Until then.
He was in pain. Ferocious pain. He had never felt such pain. It was like knives being buried beneath his skin. And it didn’t take long for him to realize that he was dreaming, to begin to try and push himself up into consciousness, from beneath the rolling waves of his subconscious.
Pain was all in his head. He knew that.
Unfortunately, the doctor that he had spoken to about the subject also made it very clear that pain—even when there was not a clear physical cause for it—was real because it always originated in the mind, and the body responded however it was instructed to.
And he felt it, keenly, when he had these episodes. A return to the torture that his father had subjected him to as a boy.
And when he awoke, he could feel a presence in the room. And he did not think. He did not bother to figure out the identity of the person in the room. No. He simply did what a warrior must do.
He attacked.
He launched himself from the bed, stark naked, as he always slept, and pushed forward to grab hold of the enemy. The enemy was soft and pale and small. The enemy did not break beneath his hands, but rather stood rigid, not running, not crying out, not begging for his life.
And then, it became clear that the enemy...was a woman.
“Your Majesty.”
He knew that voice. He knew that voice well. Soft and measured, and no different than if he had asked her to report on the state of the palace.
“Livia.”
“Your Majesty, I heard your distress. I was wandering the halls because I couldn’t sleep and I...” Her breath pitched sharply. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you remove your hand from my throat?”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding her thus. He released his hold on her and took a stumbling step backward, his chest heaving. “You do not have permission to enter my chamber.”
“I know. And I apologize. It’s only that I was cleaning. I know there’s a big event tomorrow, and I didn’t think that... There were things that I thought could be amended. And so I set out to do so. I was on my way to my room when I heard you. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth. For the effects of the pain lingered. Psychosomatic though it might be, it burned.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Coffee,” he said. He could send her away, but why? She had asked if he needed anything. And he would take her service. He was the King, after all, and he was in pain.
“Of course.”
She scurried from the room, and he half expected her not to return. But she did. She was wearing her palace uniform, as if it was still the middle of the day, and not gone one thirty in the morning.
She turned the light on in the room. He was sitting with a sheet covering his lap, but he saw her eyes widen fractionally. She took two steps forward.
She was not trembling. Rather she met his gaze full on. But she did stop short of the bed.
“I will not harm you.”
