At least my plan is unfolding as I wanted it to. So long as I keep the king talking I don’t have to do anything physical with him. But more importantly, if the king sees me as more than just a pretty face with an attitude, I’ll have more leverage.

The king comes back in the room. “Grab your glass of wine,” he says, seizing his own glass and the wine bottle that sits next to it.

I glance at our half-eaten plates. “What about the food?”

“It’ll be here when we come back.”

I know he says that for my benefit. I doubt the king would eat a reheated meal. But he’s probably learned enough about me to know that I’d balk at wasting it.

He takes my hand and leads me to the door. I stare at our joined hands. The backside of his is tan, and I don’t know why that particular detail makes me wistful, but it does.

Ashamedly, I savor the warm press of his palm. I can tell that he’s used to being touched by the way his focus is on other things. And now, horror of horrors, it sinks in that I actually like skin contact with the king.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I respond too fast, and the king’s lips twitch. “Why do you ask?”

“You had a small smile on your face for a minute there. It was nice.”

I look away, mortified that the king caught me smiling while I was thinking about him. Scratch that, I was embarrassed that the king caused me to smile in the first place.

“And the lady shuts down yet again. I should add smiles and compliments to the growing list of things that make you uneasy,” King Lazuli says.

“You are what makes me uneasy,” I say.

His grip on my hand tightens. “I know.” He looks down at me, and I see the desire in his eyes.

I swallow. Tonight is going to be long.

I hold my towel tightly to myself when I leave the bathroom. It’s a good thing the alcohol is really starting to hit my system and lower my inhibitions. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have the courage to do what I’m doing now.

King Lazuli waits for me in the room that houses his pool, wearing a swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination. I suck in my cheeks. I’d expected the king to have thin, doughy arms and a shapeless stomach under all those suits of his. I hadn’t expected him to be toned like a soldier.

Our eyes meet across the room. “Are you going to take off your towel?” he asks.

“As soon as I get more wine.” I probably shouldn’t drink more. I’m already starting to feel a little queasy from the alcohol and overly rich food.