King of Me (The King Trilogy #3)(25)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

She couldn’t be serious. “Don’t you mean undressed?”

The young woman looked like she was about to faint from a nervous attack.

I tilted my head. “All this fuss because I refuse to show my br**sts to a bunch of horny men?”

“I do not know this word ‘horny,’ but your body is a gift from the gods. There is no shame in showing it to anyone. And this is the way we have performed the ceremony for generations.” She pointed to a large painted vase standing in the corner, depicting several topless women holding wine jugs.

Ugh. Dammit. I knew my modesty was a product of my times, but…“Are you sure everyone is going to be na**d from the waist up?”

She nodded.

“Fine. Give me the dress.”

~~~

After I took the world’s fastest sponge bath and Mela did my hair, we were out the door and speed-walking our way through a labyrinth of temples and lush gardens toward the opposite side of the compound. Yes, I wore the dress, but I’d strategically wrapped a festive-looking piece of red and orange fabric I’d found in King’s room around my shoulders like a shawl. Mela, too happy to have me wearing the dress and attending at all, said nothing.

When we arrived to a football-field-sized, overly crowded plaza situated in front of an elevated temple—about twenty feet up—I spotted King almost immediately. He sat on a stone carved throne at the top of the steps, underneath a red and orange sail.

I glanced down at my shawl. Great. I’m wearing his backup sunshade. I could only hope no one noticed.

Mela ushered me over to a long line of bare-chested women amidst the crowd, holding everything from baskets of grapes to stacks of flatbread. No one seemed to give a hoot about their state of dress.

“What do I do?” I asked Mela.

She shoved a basket of mixed grains into my hands. “It is simple. When it is your turn, you raise your basket to the sky, wait for the king’s nod to confirm the gods have seen your offering, and then you lay it at the foot of the temple.”

I tried to see through the crowd, but the bodies were dense with men of every age, even children.

Okay, Mia. This is not a  p**n  festival. No big deal. I nodded politely and took my place in line. The crowd, almost exclusively men—with long black hair tied back, deep brown skin, and brightly colored fabric around their waists—watched each “donation” with a seriousness that indicated the importance of this ritual. They really, truly believed that the offerings would bring them good luck the following year.

After almost half an hour, I was one body away from making my very innocent, topless offering to the gods.

The woman ahead of me offered a pastry of sorts, raised her arms, got the nod from King, and laid it on the giant, growing heap of food.

When I stepped up, I was sure my face matched the red in my “shawl,” and I froze up.

“Well?” King said. “What are you waiting for, Seer?” His face held a hint of a wicked smile I recognized to mean he enjoyed watching me squirm.

All eyes were on me, and the silence in the air was palpable as King and I stared at each other. I tried not to react to the strange feeling in my stomach and much lower down, but it was impossible. The thought of showing him my br**sts combined with the lustful, hungry look in his eyes triggered an unexpected arousal. He wanted to see me, and I wanted to show him.

Oh Lord, what’s wrong with me? But even as I thought those words, my mind couldn’t help focusing on those hypnotic, fierce blue eyes sinfully drilling into me. Then there were those wide, strong shoulders, his chiseled tan chest, and a set of abs so perfectly defined that I could easily count eight little squares even from my distance. The man was just as sinfully tempting now as he he’d ever been. Even without the fine Italian suits or expensive cars. Even without radiating that seductive, supernatural power that seemed to ooze from his every pore.

Get a hold of yourself, Mia. Seriously.

I was about to get on with it and bare myself when a man to my side—older, hairy, with a bitter scowl—reached for my shawl. “Make your offering properly, bitch. Before you bring down the wrath of the gods upon our heads.”

Instinctively, I tugged back my shawl. “Get your hands off me.”

The man slapped me hard.

I blinked away the pain, and before I could react, King marched down the steps of his temple, sword unsheathed. The crowd drew a breath, and the man instantly fell to his knees.

“You strike my guest?” King growled, raising his sword into the air.

I reached up and gripped his arm, knowing that I would not and could not watch this man lose his head. Yes, he deserved an ass whooping, but losing his head?

“Please, King.” I begged with my eyes. “It’s okay.” No it wasn’t, but we had much bigger issues to deal with, versus some ass**le chauvinist from 1500 BC.

King’s eyes drifted down to my chest. Yes, I’d let go of the shawl. A look of brazen lust washed over his face.

“Get a good look? ’Cause it’s your last,” I whispered.

King dipped his head, amusement flickering in his wickedly handsome face. “We shall see.”

He lowered his sword and bent down to retrieve my “shawl.” He inspected it for a moment with a confused face—Yes, it’s your sunshade, I thought before wrapping it around me.

He turned and marched up the steps of his temple with defiant, confident strides. At the top, he turned and sheathed his sword while looking out across the shocked, silent crowd. “This woman,” he pointed to me, “is my guest. She is not from our lands, yet she has decided to make an offering to our gods today. I consider this a very great honor, as do they. If anyone should lay a hand on her, anyone, the gods would surely see it as an insult, one that I will be forced to address.”

The nervous crowd dropped to their hands and knees, the looks on their faces telling me they feared him as much as they trusted him.

It nearly took my breath away. I had never seen that sort of power before—one that came from deep inside a person’s soul, from sheer conviction, but it was more hypnotic than anything I’d ever witnessed.

He took his seat, turned his vivid blue eyes back to me, and then gave me a nod and a smile. I stood there for a moment in awe before Mela appeared and poked me in the arm. “Mistress, put the basket down.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I did my part and quickly turned to hightail it out of there before I provoked any more incidents. Almost to the furthest edge of the plaza, I flashed a glance over my shoulder at King. His fierce gaze was still on me, and my body instantly reacted—weak knees, sensual heat and tingles—the whole sinful nine yards. I felt more in danger with this King than I ever had with the other. This man had the power to get inside my heart.