Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Not just someone.
Nyssa.
She’s bent over, naked from the waist up. She holds her shirt to her chest, and Rhynda brings a flogger down on her with another sharp crack. Nyssa’s body jerks, but she doesn’t utter a sound.
Impressive. That had to hurt.
I walk over as Rhynda raises the flogger for a third hit, but she sees me and lowers it, assuming a position of attention with her hands clasped before her.
“Your Highness,” she says, and Nyssa’s head whips my way. Her chocolate-brown hair falls over one eye as she watches me warily.
Her back is crisscrossed with red streaks, and I ignore the surprising burn of anger deep in my gut, for I should have no care whatsoever about this inconsequential human’s pain.
I force neutrality into my tone. “I see the new servant is giving you trouble. What warranted the beating?”
“She broke a pot of flour, Your Highness.” Rhynda gives a smug smile as she lifts her chin, clearly proud of herself for keeping order in her kitchen.
“High crimes,” I muse as I note the shards of pottery and a pile of smeddum on the floor.
“It’s incredibly valuable, King Amell, as it must be imported from the First Dimension. I’m sure she won’t make the mistake again.”
I glance at the work table to my left, taking in various clay pots filled with what looks like more flour and some sugar, some smaller pots with spices… all of which are valuable imports.
Reaching out, I push one pot of sugar off the edge of the table. It falls to the floor and shatters, spilling the sweet white crystals everywhere.
My gaze locks onto Rhynda. “Do I deserve a beating?”
“Of course not.” She sounds highly offended. “You’re the king.”
“And that’s just some sugar and flour, easily salvageable. Go easier on my possessions, Rhynda.”
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she rushes to assure me. “I didn’t realize this one was important to you.”
“No more important than any of my other possessions. I don’t want any of them broken.”
“Understood,” she says, and then barks an order at Nyssa. “Put your shirt on and clean up this mess.”
“Actually, I have work for the human to do. She won’t be returning to the kitchens today.”
Rhynda doesn’t look put out and merely yells at another servant to sweep up the spilled flour and sugar.
Nyssa has fully straightened, clutching her shirt to her chest, still staring at me cautiously.
“Get dressed,” I order, refusing to turn around to give her privacy.
It doesn’t seem to bother her as she pulls the shirt away and arranges it so she can thread her arms through the sleeves. I shamelessly take in her beauty as I’m given a brief glance of perfect breasts with pebbled nipples.
It doesn’t hold my attention so much that I miss how she winces as she moves, although she doesn’t utter a sound to indicate she’s in pain.
When her shirt is wrapped and tied off, I jerk my head. “Follow me.”
I wind back through the hallways and up staircases that lead to my personal suite. It’s far more space than I need with a massive living area filled with black leather and chrome furniture and a massive onyx fireplace on one wall. The balcony that overlooks Otaxis is the focal point of the room, and I leave the doors open at all times. We don’t have foul weather here. The temperature is always comfortable, and we don’t have snow, rain, or storm events.
We don’t have sun either, but you can’t have everything.
Turning left, I lead Nyssa into my bedchamber. The bathing area in the corner holds a sunken tub the size of a small pool, and with a single thought as to what I want, it starts to fill with honeysuckle-scented hot water.
“Get in,” I order her. I rifle through a closet, pulling out a large towel and setting it on a bench.
“Why?” she asks, and I turn to see her standing in the doorway, refusing to come in farther.
It’s adorable that she thinks she can refuse me anything. I hold my hand out to her, not in invitation but as a conduit of my power, which forces her legs to move. She growls as she tries to fight the magical pull, but it only takes her a few steps to realize it’s futile.
She easily walks right into my grasp, my hand tightening on her throat as I pull her in closer. “Because you stink, and I have a job for you.”
It’s certainly not because I know she’s sore and it will make her feel better.
Releasing her, I nod toward the bath before stepping onto the dais that holds my massive king—no pun intended—size bed. Flaring my wings to get them out of the way, I sit on the edge and cross my arms over my chest. I watch her without comment as she turns away to discard her clothes.