9

Akemi Ravenscar.

I became afraid.

The moment he mentioned sending me away—giving me back to my brothers—I realized just how easily they could sell me again. If they could sell me to a werewolf, what’s stopping them from selling me to someone worse? Someone crueler than Drogo?

My eldest brother, Liam, isn’t present. They did this while he was gone. I can’t risk going back to them, not when I don’t even recognize them anymore. Not when I don’t know what kind of monsters they’d trade me to next. At least here, I know the fear of Drogo. I know what’s expected of me. And as terrifying as he is, he hasn’t given me a reason to believe he would truly hurt me.

But what was I thinking when I said I would learn to be intimate with him?

I turn over on the bed. This is my second night here. This is the same room where he slept last night. Why hasn’t he come in yet? Is he not coming?

I can’t sleep. I am exhausted but my mind is a rabbit hole, spiralling deeper and deeper.

I’m not a virgin.

If I had told Drogo I didn’t want to be his queen, he would have sent me back to my brothers. And then what?

I have to prepare myself. Nine days. No—eight now. The moment the sun rises, I’ll be eight days away from consummating a bond I never wanted. With a man as tall as the trees. A man whose hand was so heavy on my back while I choked on my food. He wasn’t even using strength then which means if he had wanted to, he could’ve snapped me like a twig.

I imagine both of his hands on my waist. The thought should terrify me but instead, something warm forms between my legs.

Why?

Why does thinking of his touch make my body react this way? I squeeze my thighs together, frustrated with myself. I’m scared of him. I know that. But my mind is wandering where it shouldn’t.

Not that it matters because Drogo looks at me like I’m nothing. If I know one thing, it’s that wolves are possessive. They don’t go outside their kind. They don’t claim humans.

Compared to the women of his realm, I am weak. Yet, I am his mate. I don’t understand it. The only conclusion I can draw is that he tolerates and claims me as his queen because I am bound to him. Or because he is in search for an heir.

But would I even survive something like that?

I have only had sex once in my life and it wasn’t pleasant. Elia started, and in a matter of minutes, just as I was beginning to adjust to the discomfort—he was done.

But I thought it would be better the next time. I told him to meet my brother, to ask for my hand. I begged him. But he said he needed to make money first, or they wouldn’t give me to him.

How can I even think so shamelessly about enjoying anything with the Alpha King? If he were to put his full weight on me, I would die. I wouldn’t last. And now, I’ve made it worse for myself by agreeing to prepare for consummation day.

I think about it over and over again until I finally fall asleep.

*****

I wake up with a gasp.

I sit up and glance to my left. The river-sized bed is empty. So, I can take a deep breath but then I see Drogo.

Standing by the window, shirtless, holding a glass of water.

The morning sun is pouring over his bronzed skin. It makes him glow, over the tattoos and scars tipped into his flesh. The ink of tattoo marks him in a language I cannot interpret. His muscles on his body are prominent like they belong to ten men—corded from his neck to his broad chest, down to abs so defined they ache to look at. His pants sit dangerously low on his hips.

So I swallow.

"As queen, you ought to wake up at seven every day." he says like a god of thunder.

I look at the golden clock, the one designed with werewolf symbols. It’s nine 9am.

"I’m sorry." I murmur, pushing the sheets aside but I don’t move from the bed.Top of FormBottom of Form

“You will get used to it… soon.” Drogo watches me as he pulls a rope attached to some kind of technology. A chime rings through the room, and within moments, omega wards enter while carrying clothes.

“Your Majesty.” Kie says but the way she looks at me makes me feel like I’ve committed a sin just by still being in bed. “You have to help the king dress for his morning meeting!”

I stare at the clothes they’ve brought. I have to dress him? Can he not dress himself? What kind of culture is this? Slowly, I rise from the bed, only to be reminded of how impossibly tall he is. How am I even supposed to reach him?

“Go on.”

Kie whispers and shrinks back as if she already knows something I don’t. Hesitantly, I take the shirt first and step toward him. The stature of his body swallows me whole but before I can lift the shirt, he takes it from my hands like I’ve done something wrong.

I glance at Kie but she’s already running out of the room—along with the omega wards. They drop the rest of his clothes and disappear.

“Get my pants.” He commands me.

I pick up the pants, turning just in time to realize he’s already taken off the ones he was wearing. I stop. I hadn’t realized he would do it that quickly.

He’s in his underwear but it might as well be nothing at all. I extend the pants toward him without looking, hoping to keep my gaze anywhere but on him.

“Since you have not been crowned in public before the whole of Basgiath, you cannot follow me to council as queen yet.” he takes the pants from me. I hear the fabric rustle as he puts them on. Then he exhales.

“As husband and wife, we are expected to dress each other before attending council meetings. It is tradition.”

What kind of tradition is this?

“But for now…” he fastens his pants. “I am the only one going.”

I nod, relieved.

“Dress me.” He says and I pulse.

“I—”

“Did I ask you to stutter? I have started teaching what you said you were willing to learn. I am bringing you into intimacy. You are mine. I am yours. You have a right to my body. You have the right to touch me.”

His words make my breath break. A right to his body? I wasn’t expecting words like this especially from a man I’ve been sold to.

“Human girl…” he murmurs, waiting. He says it like he has patience but I know he doesn’t.

My hands fidget as I search for the band of his pants.  

Don’t touch him. Don’t look. But how am I supposed to do this if I don’t?

The heft of his bulge is one that I cannot ignore—it is half the size of my hand but thicker. I don’t know. His pants strain, seams look like they are about to split where the rigid line of him juts forward. Thankfully, he has already moved the zipper up so all I have to do is button it.

I press the fabric but my knuckles touch his skin. He doesn’t react to that—at least, that’s what I think until I hear a snarl.

Did I make him angry?

“Have I made you angry—?”

“No. It is my wolf, letting you know it is possessive of you.”

Drogo’s words plant a sensation I don’t know how to name.

While looking up at him, I notice that his collar sits slightly uneven. I would never reach high enough to fix it. So, I spot a jewellery box. It isn’t a stool but it will have to do. I drag it closer while he watches with molten irises.

Carefully, I climb on top.

I straighten his collar while being very much aware of the heat in his gaze. For the first time, I am close enough to see every defensive detail of a face that shouldn’t be this beautiful.

His lips are full for a man so severe, a deep shade of pink lips are contrasts to his darkness. Drogo’s brows are thick, just like the braids in his hair. Is there anything hollower than his cheekbones and somehow, his nose is straight despite all the wars he has fought. I didn’t know he wore earrings but now, I see it at this closeness.

He is handsome.

The jewellery box wobbles under my feet but before I can fall, his hand locks around my waist. One hand. That’s all it takes. He lifts me like I’m nothing and my pulse riots as my feet dangles in the air.

On instinct, I sling my arms around his neck to hold on. Drogo doesn’t blink or break eye contact, he just holds me there, where I am suspended between his body and the abyss of his patience.

Then he carries me to the bed and drops me onto the furs before towering over me.

"This…” he begins. “Is the position I would take when we consummate."

My throat clicks around a swallow.

His hands are calloused as he grabs my thigh, hiking my nightgown and hooking my leg around his waist.

“Your hands will be on my shoulders. You will look at me as I thrust into you.”

As he says this, a kind of wet warmth unfurls in between my legs but he won’t know. Not if he doesn’t see or feel it.

I think I’m safe in my thoughts until he presses that layer of himself against me.

“Ah—” I moan and the moment it leaves my lips, I want to die because he hears it. He is soft in friction, like sun-warmed silk—

“There you go…warm, I’m already opening you up.” His lips barely brush my ear to tell me.

And then—he pulls away. Aligns himself and leaves.

Like I’m not left aching.

Like I’m not left wanting.