Queen Sized

by Kane, Jessa

  Queen Sized

  Jessa Kane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  1

  Corbet

  “I’ll tell you this one last time, Connor. I do not want a wife.”

  My best friend and advisor gives an exaggerated sigh, throwing his arm wide to encompass the merriment taking place around us. Once every two years, the Joining takes place. A time for two neighboring kingdoms, Fallstrom and Lavere, to merge and celebrate their peace treaty. It is also considered a prime chance for matchmaking—in which I have no interest. “You’re a king now. You could have your pick and yet you choose to squander your good fortune.” His expression is one of disgust. “Luck is wasted on you.”

  “Is it?” I rap a fist off my chest. “Explain how I’ve survived a lifetime of battle.”

  “Pure stubbornness. You refuse to die.”

  I throw my head back and laugh, causing conversations to cease around me. “Don’t sound so disappointed. You’d be out of a job if I went to meet my maker. And quite a bit of coin, at that.”

  Connor waves me off. “I’d get to keep my sanity, though. You can’t put a price on that.”

  “Why should your sanity depend on whether or not I take a wife?”

  “Because without an heir, the kingdom lacks stability. We’ve talked about this many times, Corbet. Usually while you’re lopping off heads with your blade. Nonetheless, the matter has been a topic of discussion.”

  “Ah, lopping off heads. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.”

  “Forget what I said about marrying. I couldn’t be responsible for subjecting a gentle woman to your savagery.”

  With a snort, I snag a mug of ale off a passing tray, down every drop in a matter of seconds and toss the cup onto the ground over my shoulder. “If I were to a select a woman, she fucking well wouldn’t be gentle.”

  “Ahh.” Connor stops in his tracks, his mouth curving like a cat who caught the canary. “What would she be?”

  “Oh no, you sneaky bastard. I’m not going to start listing qualities so you can try hunting up a suitable wife. I’m not marrying—and that’s final.” I swipe a hand across my mouth to remove foam left behind by the ale. “Now a mistress? That I will accept. She can give me an heir as readily as any wife.”

  “You would deny your child legitimacy?”

  A burn starts at the top of my throat and burns downward into my chest. “I was a legitimate child and it didn’t mean a damn thing to my parents. Whether or not my child is legitimate, they will have my training and care. My throne. The son of an unmarried man and woman has the same rights as a child who is a product of a union. There is very little shame attached and it is easy to overcome.”

  We walk in silence for a stretch, combing through the moonlit valley, taking in the scene before us—and it is quite a scene. Revelers dance around a twenty-foot-high bonfire. Unattended children and dogs weave in and out of the groups of adults, their laughter carrying up to the stars. Young women make eyes at groups of eligible men, choosing who they will pursue over the course of the Joining. Many warriors will leave with a bride in tow. And many women will leave with life already growing in their bellies.

  It’s as if everyone is under some kind of idiot spell for two days.

  I’ve missed the last two Joinings because I’ve been locked in land battles and concentrating on rebuilding the deteriorating kingdom of Fallstrom, the throne of which was passed to me by my father upon his death. But truthfully, I don’t regret my lack of attendance. Not at all. The Joining is of little interest to me. I’d rather be caught dead than making moon eyes at a bunch of giggling maidens. Or gossiping about romantic matches like an old washer woman. A sensible man could choke on the desperation in the air.

  I wrap my fist around another mug of brew as the tray passes, foaming liquid spilling down over my scarred knuckles, making them sting and reminding me where I belong. Swinging a blade, fighting for territory and resources needed by my people. I’m not a man meant to be dressed up and I’ve refused to do so even this evening, despite Connor pleading with me to look the part of a king. When I throw back my ale and some droplets catch in my beard and drip onto my tunic, he is further distressed.

  “You are hopeless,” Connor sighs witheringly.

  “Am I? Everyone still rushes to get out of my way,” I remark, scowling until a band of drunk lute players scurry out of my path.

  “That is because you are the height of our castle wall.”

  Again, I pound a fist off my chest. “And twice as impenetrable.”

  I’m surprised when Connor pulls me to a stop. “Listen to me, Corbet. I know there are…good reasons you’ve been put off by the whole wife business…”

  Discomfort rapidly dims my good mood. Connor might be my best friend, but we rarely speak of personal matters. Nor do I speak about them with anybody else. That’s why they’re called personal. You keep them to yourself.

  I know damn well what he’s referring to. My youth. The…dysfunction between my parents—and me by default. At a young age, I received a valuable education about family dynamics and relationships between men and women. How torturous and painful they can be. Are those hard-won lessons precisely why I refuse to be a husband myself?

  More than likely.

  Is that something I plan on addressing with Connor?

  Hell no. I barely acknowledge the past to myself, let alone another man.

  Is he fucked in the head for bringing it up?

  “Hold your tongue,” I warn him in a growl. “We grew up together and therefore you know things about me others do not, but those matters are not—and will never be—open for discussion. I have proven I will lay down my life for Fallstrom. I can rule without a simpering maiden by my side, constantly demanding attention and distracting me from my job. In my opinion, my lack of desire for a wife makes me more fit to rule the kingdom, because it proves I have half a brain. And what’s more…”

  The words quite simply dry up in my mouth.

  I’m not even sure what I was saying to Connor, although I’m sure it was important.

  Who is that woman?

  My features pull into a frown and I step around Connor to get a better look.

  “Who in the hell…”

  I’m already walking in her direction, vaguely aware of Connor calling after me in confusion. But I’m unable to stop. If I don’t get to her quickly, some other man is going to snatch her away—that I am sure about.

  She will do nicely for a mistress.

  Oh yes, there is no doubt in my mind.

  This one is mine.

  To say she stands out from the others would be an understatement. This young woman has a backbone. It’s the first thing I notice. There’s a fire in her eyes. Maybe even a little impatience with the lively discussion taking place among the other females. She’s not delicate like the rest of them. She’s shapely of hip and generous of bosom. A body built to withstand a hard ride on a cold night. And I plan to be the one doing the riding.

  Christ, the closer I get to the girl, the more my pulse starts to rattle.

  Black hair down to her waist, blue hues picked up by the moonlight.

  A full, red mouth.

  And those eyes. They promise midnight pleasure so great, a man would crawl on his hands and knees just to be welcomed under the covers beside her.

  There’s a tug in my subconscious, almost like the kind of warning I get on the battlefield, telling me this female is meant for better things than being the king’s permanent lay. But she
’s already got my cock at full mast in my breeches and he’s not exactly listening to reason down there. I’ll have my first relief in years between her legs, so help me God. I’ve waited a long time for a woman who can take me—and this is she. I’m never wrong.

  “Woman,” I call, crooking my finger at her. “I’ll have a word with you.”

  The females surrounding my future mistress wince as one.

  “Oh?” Her raven eyebrow arches. “Well I’ve got two words for you. Drop dead.”

  2

  Gwen

  Who exactly does this man think he is?

  Cock of the bloody walk, coming over here, interrupting my conversation—never mind that I wasn’t really listening—crooking his finger at me?

  I don’t think so.

  I’m at the Joining for serious business. I don’t have time for this arrogant giant and whatever he has to say. I have to make this gathering count. The happiness of my family depends on it.

  Unfortunately, when I tell him to drop dead, which is a particularly favorite term of mine, the giant does something I’m not expecting.

  He laughs.

  Long and loud. Appreciatively.

  He’s not even offended.

  And reluctantly…I like that.

  Men get their feelings hurt so easily. They’re like roosters, going around with big, puffed up chests, but as soon as they’re challenged, they turn into sputtering ducks, their tail feathers quivering over the dent in their ego. I work day and night to support my sisters, turning soil in the fields, harvesting crops and caring for the animals. A lot of people in our kingdom call it man’s work, but tell me one man who can do it better.

  My attitude hasn’t won me the favor of the local men, what with their tarnished pride over being second best and all. So I’ve come to the Joining to find a husband who I haven’t already angered in one way or another. Not because I’m terribly keen to have a man around or anything, but our farm had two bad harvests in a row. And now I’m desperate.

  If I don’t find a husband with some decent coin in his pocket, we’re going to lose everything. Our parents’ home and farm. Our respect in the village. Everything.

  The giant is still laughing.

  Another finely dressed man has appeared at his side and is studying me with open curiosity. Who is this odd pair? And why can’t I stop staring at the corded line of the giant’s throat. It ripples as he laughs. Huge thunderbolt laughs that draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He’s a warrior—there is no doubt of that. There are scars on every visible inch of his skin. His thighs are long, broad trunks of sinew, his arms swelling with muscle. If he enters any of the men’s competitions, he will win them easily, for he could probably carry a log ten miles without breaking a sweat.

  Yeah? So what.

  “If you’re done making a spectacle of yourself,” I call up to him, since he’s a damn foot and half taller than me, “we’d like to get back to our discussion.”

  He finally stops laughing, but the mirth has left his eyes twinkling and I’m alarmed to find out they’re my exact favorite color. A mixture of blue and gray, on the darker side. The sky right after a sunset on the coldest day of the year. Icy with hidden warmth.

  “Is that so, woman?” The giant crosses his arms over his chest and settles into a patient stance. “If you’re so eager to return to the conversation, do tell me what you were discussing.”

  Damn.

  I can’t remember a single word spoken over the last hour.

  I’m surrounded by women from my village and they’ve been talking about the eligible men in attendance at the Joining. Like me, they’re also planning on finding a husband over the next two days. However, they’re going to accomplish the task by batting their eyelashes and swishing their skirts. I don’t have those skills.

  My talents are valuable, though. Aren’t they? There must be a man somewhere at this Joining who values a woman who can hunt. Repair a roof. Toil from sunrise to sunset.

  If he’s here, I’m going to find him.

  Or, rather, he’s going to find me.

  Tomorrow evening, there is a wife auction. It’s the final event of the Joining.

  I’ve entered myself in the hopes that one of the men in attendance values a hard-working woman. It’s not going to be this man. That I know.

  He might have surprised me by laughing and not getting his big boy feelings hurt when I brushed him off, but he’s not the humble farmer I’m looking for. He’s an arrogant asshole if I’ve ever seen one in my life. Funny, though, he hasn’t even glanced at the other women. Those blue-gray eyes are pinned on me as if they don’t intend to move any time soon.

  And he’s waiting for my answer. What were these women yammering on about?

  “They were talking about, eh…” I try to read the expression of the redheaded girl beside me, but she lifts her chin and remains impassible. “Dresses?”

  The redhead’s shoulders slump.

  I barely resist throwing up my arms in victory.

  “There.” I smirk at the giant. “Satisfied?”

  His gaze meanders down the bodice of my crimson gowns. “Satisfied? Not by a long shot.” Those eyes lock back on mine. “Not yet.”

  Heat suffuses my cheeks, shocking me. I’m not the blushing type.

  But this man’s suggestive drawl has me drowning in a hot pool of sensation.

  He tucks his tongue into the corner of his mouth and my nipples perk into little points.

  What in the devil is happening here?

  “I beg your pardon?” I say, far less sassily than I planned. In fact, I sound like I can’t catch my breath. Unacceptable. I’m twenty-one years of age. I’ve watched animals give birth. Hunted for game in the dead of winter. I’ve buried my parents. Life has been hard and I’ve come through it a practical woman. Not someone who is bowled over by flirtation. “I advise you to seek your satisfaction somewhere else…?” I leave my words dangling in the air, encouraging him to supply his name.

  So I know who I’ll be avoiding for the rest of the Joining.

  “Corbet.” He steps forward, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “King of Fallstrom.”

  A chorus of gasps take wing around me.

  Oh. Great.

  Leave it to me to tell a king to drop dead.

  My sisters are never going to stop laughing when I tell them.

  If I’m still alive to tell the tale. Technically, he could have me beheaded for the insult.

  And now that his identity has been revealed, I realize what an idiot I’ve been for not figuring it out. It is well known that King Corbet stands head and shoulders above the average man. That he is battle-scarred and intimidating. His nickname is Corbet the Fury.

  But somehow I know he won’t penalize me for insulting him.

  What does he want from me, then?

  Why is he looking at me like I’m a feast to be devoured?

  As keeper of the throne, he could take any female at the Joining to bed. Could make any of them his wife. Yet he is fixated on me?

  Everyone is silent, expectant. Waiting to see if I’ll humble myself and beg forgiveness for being so bold with the king. Lord knows I should. But I’ve never backed down before and I’m not starting now. Besides, this man might be arrogant, but there’s intelligence in his eyes, as well. He’d see right through me if I apologized, because it wouldn’t be genuine. “If you’re expecting a curtsy, you’ll be waiting a while,” I say, brushing my sleeve.

  More gasps.

  One of the girls even starts crying.

  Corbet stares at me hard for long moments, before a wolfish smile shapes his mouth. “Save the curtsy. Give me an hour of your time, instead.” He flicks a glance over my shoulder where the loch curves around the base of a mountain. “A walk, perhaps.”

  I almost gasp at that.

  When a man and woman go on a walk at the Joining, it is understood that something clandestine will be happening. Kissing is the mildest of possibilities. By
day two, it will not be unusual to hear the sounds of rutting coming from that direction. If the king is asking me on a walk around the loch, he is expecting to know me in the biblical sense.

  Which most certainly will not be happening.

  I’m a virgin and I plan to stay that way until my wedding night.

  Still, even I can’t deny the king a direct request. Even if he isn’t my king.

  To do so would label me as disrespectful. A troublemaker.

  No man will dare select me at the auction tomorrow evening if that happens—and I have no choice but to leave this Joining betrothed, if not married.

  I sigh. “Well, Your Majesty, it appears you have me between a loch and a hard place.”

  He barks a laugh. “Oh yes, she’ll do.” Stepping closer, he offers me his arm, wafting the scent of oranges and cloves in my direction. “My lady…?”

  I swallow, sensing some sort of finality. Like there’s no going back. “Gwen.”

  The heat in his expression intensifies. “Lady Gwen.”

  It doesn’t escape my notice that the king’s friend appears stupefied.

  With a sense of impending doom, I curl my hand around Corbet’s elbow and allow him to lead me toward the moonlit loch.

  3

  Corbet

  Christ, she’s not only better than I’d hoped…she’s fucking extraordinary.

  There is a pulse beating to the left of my jugular I wasn’t even aware I had. Meaning it doesn’t even race like this in battle. The girl only reaches my shoulder and I can’t seem to stop staring down at the part of her hair, memorizing the way the starlight bathes each of the midnight strands. My gaze tracks lower to the pale globes of her tits that wobble subtly with every step we take toward the loch. And if she only knew how my cock stretches the front of my trousers, she’d probably go running back in the other direction.