There was no pressure that followed.
No roving hands, no lips on my skin, no crash of his weight on top of me. I peeked through my lashes to find his eyes still focused on me though.
He moved my face slightly sideways, peering through the dim light.
“What is this?” King Zavan asked, his thumb gliding under a sore spot on my cheek.
It dawned on me only then the extent of his intention.
“It’s a cut,” I said. So insignificant that I had forgotten about it until now.
“How did it come about?” The King looked perplexed. “I know of no such hazards in your chorework.”
Dusting.
While balancing on a stool, with a bucket and a few dozen tomes upon the seat, because everything here was too damned high– I lost balance.
I hadn’t fallen. But I had grabbed a curtain to catch myself halfway down,
