He released her.
She served the second glass. The slim black man took it. His hand went to her wrist. He held. He brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed the back of it. His lips were full. Warm. His tongue traced a vein.
"Soft," he said. His voice was quiet. Smooth. The voice of a predator that does not need to roar. "Like silk over glass."
She pulled her hand back.
She poured the third glass. She took it to the king. He took it. He did not look at her. He sipped. He looked at the two men.
"Well?" the king said. "Is she as I described?"
M'baku set down his glass. He looked at Viviana. At her body. At the nightgown. At the thin cotton. At the outline of her breasts beneath it. At the nipples— dark, stiff, visible through the cloth. At the curve of her waist. At the flare of her hips. At the dark triangle between her thighs— the hair, visible through the thin fabric.
