Danika knew all that, but hearing Baski say it squeezed her heart in her chest.
The older woman smiled sadly, wet her lips, and continued. “Do you know that sometimes, when he takes so much time to reply or give commands, I think it’s because he’s trying to hear the words above the ones in his head? His head is a war zone.”
“Madam Baski---” Danika began.
But she walked closer and took Danika’s hands again into her older ones. “So, please, be patient with him, okay? Don’t struggle. Don’t fight him. If any woman can reach him and draw him out of the abyss, it’s you. You have done it before. I have complete faith in you.”
Danika smiled nervously. The thought of the king hurting did not settle well with her. She nodded. “Alright, Baski.”
Stepping back, Baski severed the contact. “Go, now. And hurry. Keeping him waiting will only put him in a worse mood. Getting all worked up in that calm way of his. Not good for you.”
Danika nodded again and walked away towards the king’s quarters. With each step she took, the hammer in her chest beat louder and harder.
She reached his door and knocked on it so hesitantly, her heart pounding.
She waited for his command. The wait was killing her.
“Enter,” his deep voice came.
She shivered. She could feel the hardness and coldness of it even with a closed door between them.
Calm down, Danika. Calm down. At this rate, you’ll panic yourself to death right here before you even stand before him. She opened the door and entered, locking the door behind her. She took a step inside and stopped.
Baski was right. He was in a very black mood. The worst kind.
The man was seated behind the desk without sparing her a glance—whose entire attention was focused on the scroll in front of him—wasn’t the King Lucien that took her out for an evening walk and gave her the happy memories she’d never forget. The large, formidable figure that began rolling his well-written scrolls into a neat roll in front of her wasn’t the man that visited her sick bed and stood for hours watching her sleep. He wasn’t the man that held her in his arms and kissed her senseless and held her all night.
No. The man in front of her was her master. The man that hated her and dripped with his loathing for her father. The man that took her virginity.
He is my master, not my king.
He raised cold chilling eyes to her and uttered only one word.
“Strip.”
.
.
.
The word sent a chill down Danika’s spine, shredding her heart right out of her chest. This was not the man she had been with recently, and she didn’t know what happened. She didn’t know how to reach him—how to reach her king and not her master. Fear gripped her, but she was determined to try.
“My k--” she began, only to cut off suddenly when his cold eyes glared at her. Do not dare. Those eyes said the words his mouth didn’t.
“Strip,” he repeated, putting the scroll away.
Danika’s heart beat wildly as she raised her shaky hands and began undressing. What happened to him? What went wrong? During the wedding, he was cool and refined—his usual self lately. Something must have happened after the wedding to darken his mood. Or was it about the past?
Untying the strings of her chemise, Danika let it drop to the ground and stepped out of it. The sound of the king’s chair pushing back was unusually loud in the room as he stood.
He looked wild. Fierce. Animalistic. Angry.
Chilling blue eyes—eyes she had not seen in a long time—pinned her as he began striding towards her. She’d pulled off her garter and stepped out of it, too, left in her cotton underthings. He didn’t give her the time to pull them off. Instead, he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back, twisting her almost immediately until Danika was pressed face-first into the wall. She shot out her arms to either side of her to steady herself and prevent from colliding with the wall. He came up behind her almost immediately. She felt his breath in her ear.
“Please,” she gasped, trying to tap down her terror. “Please, calm down, Your Highness.”
A large hand circled her neck, and she froze, expecting him to choke her. Relief coursed through her when his hand lowered. But her relief was short-lived because he wasn’t dropping his hand. Instead, he circled the button of her collar.
She had never forgotten the cold metal around her neck that branded her as his slave. A shock from her collar in her condition would kill her. Terror closed Danika’s throat, and she shook her head vigorously. “Please, please, not the collar. Please, don’t press it!”
“I’m your master. I am not your king.” His voice was positively animalistic—so deep it was a growl.
King Lucien Danika knew lately was not there anymore. Tears filled her eyes. “Yes. Master.” The whispered words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
He caressed her collar button for a few more seconds, then dropped his hand to her waist. The relief made her tremble, but the fear remained. His body drawn taut felt like stone behind her back as he pressed close to her. Danika gasped when she felt his massive erection on her lower back, thick and hard poking her. But only for a second.
The next second, he pulled back a bit, and with one firm yank of his hand, he tore her underclothes from her body. Her breasts spilled out. Another yank of his hand tore the cotton trousers that covered her lower body, leaving her completely naked before him. The swift and rough way he handled her had her hyperventilating with panic. And, for the first time since she became a slave, she struggled to be free from him.
His muscular strength and powerful exertion scared her. If he touched her that way, he’d hurt her badly. Her mind registered that, and it only made her struggle more.
Oh, Creator! Whatever is wrong with him!?
But the more she struggled, the rougher he became. Caging her with his arms, a groan emitted from his throat when he had her easily confined.
“Please. Oh, please. I’m pregnant,” she whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. The words tore from her throat before she could hold them back. Her head no longer worked; she had not known the words she uttered. But whatever her words were, it didn’t seem to get to him. To stop him. Whatever it was she was saying wasn’t working at all.
The rustle of clothes registered distantly through the roaring in her ears. She tried to think through her fear. She needed to think. She felt like she was missing something important, but her mind was too clouded to think clearly—
His bare hardness pressed against her back, and she realized he wouldn’t be touching her intimately or preparing her body. She struggled more frantically.
“Please stop, you’ll hurt me! You’ll hurt our child! Please, I’m pregnant!” Her whimpers were louder as she tried to be free of him, but her strength was nothing compared to his.
He wasn’t hearing her. The more she tried, the rougher he became. It was as if he became more of an animal the more she tried to break free. As if he didn’t want to let her go.
He gripped her tight, like his life depended on holding her close to him. His leg kicked hers apart, his large hand gripped her thigh and lifted one of her legs, baring her open for him.
******