She was standing. Beside the bed. Her hair was down— the dark waves falling past her waist. She wore a nightgown. White. Cotton. Simple. The fabric was thin— the candlelight showed the outline of her body beneath it. The swell of her breasts. The narrowing of her waist. The curve of her hips. The darkness of her nipples through the cloth.
She looked at the king. At the two men behind him. Her brown eyes went wide.
"Your Majesty," she said. Her voice was soft. Gentle. The voice she always used. But there was a tremor in it. A vibration. The sound of a string pulled taut. "Who... who are these...?"
The king walked to her.
He stood before her. He looked down at her. He was a foot taller. His shadow fell over her. His hand went to her chin. He tilted her face. He looked at her the way a man looks at a thing he owns.
"They are here to praise your beauty," the king said.
