Slowly the people parted, opening a pathway between Mina and himself. She did not notice—perhaps because she had moved on from the French ambassador and was now involved in what looked like an intense conversation with the Minister of Agriculture.
Zayn approached her without her knowing, observing as he neared that the lines of her back, revealed and accentuated as they were by her astonishing gown, were obviously the shared creation of heaven and hell.
Her spine was a graceful indentation that slid and flowed between her slim shoulder blades, drawing his gaze to the generous swell of her hips. If there was ever a reason to burn all the trousers in the country, it would be because Mina had once used them to commit the sacrilege of hiding her glorious backside.
The dress did sinful things to her legs, too. Seeing her clothed in garments that actually fit, he could now see that her legs were the true source of her above average height. And tonight she was even taller than usual—a tall golden bouquet of curves and curls.
And there was another surprise.
Freed from the severe braid, her hair was riotous—sensual, soft, and mesmerizing. He fought the urge to thrust his hand into the vibrant cloud of her hair, palm the back of her hand, and bend her face back towards his. Instead, he curled his fingers around the soft exposed flesh of her upper arm, running his thumb along the buttery-soft smoothness of her skin.
Up close, the thin film of her dress seemed so viscerally alive it was as if he felt it shiver along with the rest of her body at his touch. His senses zeroed in on her further, taking in the flush beneath the glow that hadn’t been there moments before.
The music still continued, but all eyes in the room were on the King and his unknown Queen.
She turned slowly, forcing him to release her arm.
His eyes burned over her body like a grassland fire as she rotated, taking in the curve of her hips and indentation of her waist.
The front of the dress was even more of a revelation.
A full-grown woman had been hiding beneath all that oversized clothing.
He felt her with his gaze as he raked it upwards, spending extra time on her proud breasts before finally letting it make its way up to meet the wide-stretched green eyes behind the mask—eyes that had haunted him since the moment he’d seen them in the chapel.
Her breath caught, but she held her composure, giving a small vertical curtsy and murmuring, “Your Majesty.” Her voice was cool, but as taut as the rest of her body.
He inclined his head, addressing her with the same cool tone. “Your Majesty.”
Mina opened her mouth to speak again and Zayn felt his pulse quicken, waiting for what she would say, but the petite woman in black had stepped from behind her, holding a milky stone circlet out to him.
Her voice cracked out like a dry whip. “You’re late, Your Majesty. Put this on.”
Zayn’s spine straightened at the familiar rasp, his hand automatically reaching out to accept the offering—obedience to this particular individual had been drilled into him since childhood.
“Roz.” He inclined his head to her respectfully, before looking at what he held. It was a black circlet inlaid with moonstone. He put it on without comment.
Roz had been his royal etiquette instructor throughout his childhood. Now she was the most sought-after event-planner in the kingdom. She was also his godmother.
A number of things about the evening made abrupt sense.
“Please join us in making the rounds, Your Majesty,” Roz said.
Beside her, Mina stiffened.
Roz’s request had been more order than invitation, but she was one of the few people the King still deferred to.
“It would be my honor, Roz.”
He reached an arm out to the older woman, but she gave a small shake of her head. Telling himself he was doing as he was told because it was Roz, rather than because he wanted to get his hands on the silk that was Mina, he smoothly took her arm in his.
As their skin touched her scent rose up and wrapped around him—fresh and floral, with just a hint of something wicked. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to bend his head to her neck and breathe deep.
Her flush deepened and he felt the heat of it emanating from her body. Rather than stop himself, he leaned in a fraction of an inch closer to her and breathed in her heat and her scent. Her eyes widened into mossy pools beneath her mask and her mouth opened slightly in surprise, her body frozen by his gaze.
His impact on her was obvious. The power and thrill that came with it, however, was unexpected. He was used to power. He was the King, with power over millions of souls. And yet this power... He had a feeling his power to affect this woman was somehow singular.
Roz cleared her throat loudly, saying, “If we may...?” And the moment evaporated.