The King's Virgin Bride

by Natalie Knight

  I’m about to suggest we finish the trip on foot when the monastery comes into view.

  I feel a wave of relief, and not just because the ride’s about to end.

  The monastery is nice and calming even from a distance.

  We can’t possibly have gotten into too much trouble there.

  …I guess as long as they don’t perform marriages or anything, that is.

  Our tuk-tuk comes to a stop just before a sprawling green lawn. It’s so inviting, I briefly consider lying down in the grass for a nap.

  Until, of course, I remember exactly how deep into shit we are.

  “Oh, wow. Pretty as a picture!” Mysti May hollers from her tuk-tuk, now pulling up beside ours.

  “Hunky monks, too,” Percy adds, eyeing a troop of orange-robed eye candies as they pass. “I bet all that karmic detachment makes them fucking horny…”

  I don’t know much about the hospitality of monks, but I gotta admit, I’m feeling a little optimistic.

  How bad could it be? So we got some drunken tattoos, no big deal.

  I just hope we told them where we were going after.

  My relief lasts exactly as long as it takes the first monk to see us.

  He rounds a corner, contented smile on his face, eyes sweeping the grounds as he goes. When his gaze finds us, though, it’s entirely another matter.

  His lips flatten into a thin line, eyes becoming saucers in his head.

  “YOU!” he yells, voice heavily accented.

  One thin finger rises up in accusation, singling us out in a clearly unhappy point.

  “NO! You go!”

  I raise my palms to either side, the universal sign for Whoa, man.

  “We just need to ask some questions,” I say. “Please. We don’t know what happened last night…but something tells me we ended up here.”

  He ignores me entirely, instead roaming his pointer finger towards Mysti May.

  A string of foreign language spills from his lips, angry, accusatory.

  It doesn’t take a linguist to figure out that he’s really not a fan of Mysti.

  “Me?” she asks, looking wildly to the rest of us for help.

  A group of monks appear behind the first, clearly drawn by the commotion. All my hopeful feelings vanish. There’s recognition in their eyes as well, and it isn’t good.

  “Look, man…” I begin, eyes likewise searching for assistance.

  It’s then that I see the statue.

  Or rather, what’s left of it.

  Off to the side, clearly in a place of honor, sits what appears to be a rendering of the Buddha. Only this one’s missing his head.

  I nudge Mysti, staring pointedly in the direction of the headless Buddha when she looks.

  Recognition dawning in her eyes, she reaches for her bag.

  “Ohhhhh. You want Head!”

  The monk looks at her like she just propositioned him.

  I guess, in a way, it sure sounds like she did.

  Mysti May rolls her eyes in true beauty queen fashion. “Head is what I’ve been calling him. Look, I have him! He’s right here.”

  Her arms disappear up to the elbows into her oversized bag. When they come into view again, they’re clutching the Buddha head.

  She holds it up for his inspection, grinning like she happened across it rather than severed it herself.

  The first monk stills, glancing from the head to Mysti and back.

  He turns to the others, speaking quietly to them.

  After a couple of tense minutes waiting, they seem to come to a decision.

  A monk from the larger group approaches, and Mysti surrenders her treasure. He doesn’t so much as look at her as he takes it, seeming to avoid even her touch.

  What the hell’s that about?

  Monk number one returns his attention to me.

  “Okay,” he says, “What do you want?”

  Finally.

  “We just need some information,” I begin. “We were obviously here last night…”

  He nods for me to continue, still watching Mysti strangely from the corner of his eye.

  I really want to know what that’s about.

  First, though: “Well, the thing is, we’re having a hard time remembering what exactly happened.”

  It’s definitely a scoff that escapes him.

  “Please,” Percy interjects. “It’s really important. I could, uh…make it worth your while.”

  As Percy’s eyes slide up and down his tanned, orange-clad body, for a second, I think he might actually take her up on it.

  He stares us down for a long minute, clearly debating with himself.

  Finally, he turns back the way he came, gesturing for us to follow.

  “You were here,” he tells me when we catch up to him.

  Well, that’s helpful.

  “And?” I ask.

  He shakes his head like a disappointed parent.

  “I cannot speak of it.”

  “You cannot…” I trail off.

  Just what the hell did we do here?

  “I won’t,” he says.

  “So you’re taking us to someone who will?” Percy asks.

  “No. We will not speak of it. We cannot speak of such things.”

  I look to the group for assistance.

  Liam steps up to bat. “Look, mate. It’s obvious that you’re uncomfortable with it, but if you could just tell us something, anything…”

  The monk shakes his head once.

  A hard no, then.

  “You may have a look around,” he says. “Maybe that will help. But once you are done, you may not come back. Understand?”

  It’s clear from his tone that he’s made up his mind.

  Defeated, we nod along. School children who have lost the will to talk back.

  He stops walking, gesturing for us to continue ahead. We do so without further question.

  The man’s clearly a sealed vault. Hopefully, the long walk will jog our memories.

  “Ten minutes!” he calls after us.

  Well, shit.

  “You just had to steal the Buddha,” Percy directs at Mysti.

  “I didn’t mean to!” she replies.

  Right. The picture of innocence, that one.

  “It wasn’t even the whole Buddha,” she continues. “It was only the head.”

  “Still counts if it’s only head,” Becky offers up with a mischievous smile.

  Maybe it’s just my nerves, but I laugh.

  This has been a topic of some debate in the past. Well, not this exactly…

  Liam chuckles. “Alright, you silly birds, pay attention. There’s got to be something we remember here.”

  We direct our attention back to our surroundings, still walking further into the grounds.

  I stare intensely at every possible landmark, every building.

  Nothing even looks remotely familiar.

  I see similar looks of confusion on the faces around me.

  Obviously, we’ve been here, but for the life of me, I can’t recall.

  Mysti’s eyes roam around us, stopping just a hair too long on the many statues dotting the lawn.

  I catch her eyes with my best maternal glare.

  Fuck, no.

  Two minutes later, any lingering hope I was feeling begins to wilt in my chest.

  I just don’t remember this place.

  At all.

  I stop walking abruptly, the gang following suit.

  “Anything?” I plead.

  Heads shake all around.

  “Great. We’ve probably got two minutes before we’re thrown out on our asses.”

  “Don’t worry,” Becky says. “We’re gonna figure this out. We’ve done it before.”

  “Definitely,” Percy offers. “If not here, we’ll find clues somewhere else.”

  I’m not so sure.

  It’s not like we have any other leads. This was all we had to go on.

  Not to mention, we have no clue what kind of hell we rais
ed last night.

  I may have totally ruined things with Eggs, destroyed our migration project, and screwed up my entire life plan.

  Call me crazy, but I’m just not feeling the pep talk.

  I’m about to suggest that we head back for the tuk-tuks when I hear bells.

  CLANG!

  CLANG!

  “Lunch time?” Mysti wonders.

  All of our heads turn towards the sound.

  “Who knows?” Becky says.

  I barely hear her, though.

  CLANG!

  The ringing of the bells awakens something in me. Not a spiritual revelation—but a revelation just the same.

  The memory slams into me with the force of a freight train, and suddenly, I recall another piece of the puzzle from last night.

  Sammi

  8:54 PM FRIDAY

  The clanging of the bells fades, soon replaced by a mechanical hum.

  I take a swig from the bottle of tequila, sighing as the magical tonic washes down my throat.

  “Maybe you should slow down, darl.” Lock teases, removing the bottle from my hand.

  He takes a swig of his own.

  Yeah, right.

  There’s a mild but insistent pain in my shoulder.

  Lock reaches over me, passing the bottle to the monk currently tattooing my skin. He doesn’t even slow as he drinks from it, the tattoo rod continuing with practiced ease.

  The monk removes the bottle from his mouth and passes it back to me. Not once does he break eye contact with his design.

  I admire his attention to detail. Not to mention his ability to pound tequila.

  I raise the bottle back to my lips, catching Locks eyes as I do.

  He raises one eyebrow in question.

  Should you really do that? the look says.

  Damn straight I should.

  I take an even bigger swig as punishment for his audacity before passing it off to him.

  He chuckles and shakes his head, his sandy blonde hair falling in a way that makes me bite my lip.

  I can’t help but think of the cabaret earlier. Of him under that table.

  I feel myself getting wet again at the thought.

  “How’s it feeling, Sammi?” he asks.

  “Not too bad, really. Tequila helps.”

  From outside, we hear giggling. It’s the sound of my BFFs making mischief, I have no doubt.

  “So are you guys like…priests?” I hear Percy ask someone on the other side of the door.

  “How do you mean?” a man responds, his voice heavily accented.

  “Oh, you know…” she says. “I just have a, uh…a thing for priests. Wanna bang?”

  From the silence that follows, I take it that he doesn’t.

  I hear Liam laugh, breaking the awkward pause.

  What the fuck are they up to?

  “Well,” Becky chimes in, “I was just looking at those flowers. What kind are they?”

  “Which?” the monk asks

  “Oh, I dunno. They’re over here. Come look.”

  After a moment, I hear Mysti May giggling like a lunatic. Someone, presumably Ladyboy Celine Dion, joins her.

  “I’m gonna be, like, soooo zen!” I hear Mysti say.

  There’s a thump, like something falling onto the grass, followed by more giggling.

  Yeah, I definitely don’t need to know.

  The metal rod continues all the while, the muffled sound of it soothing to my nerves.

  Lock scoots closer to me, locking his eyes onto mine.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

  “Sure am.”

  “About Eggs—” he starts.

  “I’d rather not.” I interrupt him.

  His new proximity to me makes my heart beat a little harder. I feel my gaze being drawn to his mouth.

  That fucking mouth.

  His lips twitch into a smile that tells me he’s not oblivious to my thoughts.

  I’m actually glad. I don’t want him to be.

  Images from the cabaret play in my head again.

  That kiss.

  That fucking amazing kiss.

  I know I probably shouldn’t, but I feel myself leaning towards him anyway.

  The monk says something in Thai, clearly displeased.

  Still, he adjusts the rod accordingly, following me forward.

  Lock’s eyes twinkle as he watches me, his smile growing wider.

  My mouth claims his hard, desperate.

  God, this Aussie fuck can kiss.

  Eggs pops into my head, and I try to remember if we ever shared a kiss even remotely as good.

  Nothing comes to mind.

  Lock’s tongue pushes past my lips, finding my own.

  All thoughts of Eggs disappear.

  I moan in the back of my throat, content to finally feel his lips on me again.

  He breaks the kiss suddenly, his eyes aflame.

  He doesn’t look away from me as he pushes his chair back, his stare still cutting into mine when he lowers himself to his knees.

  This is definitely not the place.

  Then again, neither was the cabaret, and that worked out pretty well…

  I don’t even pretend to protest as he reaches out to grab my legs.

  I don’t bicker when he pulls them apart.

  Behind me, the monk never even slows. The rod continues its rhythmic tapping.

  Lock doesn’t check if the monk is watching, obviously determined no matter what.

  I’ll give him that much. When the man sets his mind to something, it’s probably gonna happen.

  Unless I’m involved, of course.

  Tonight being the obvious exception.

  I feel his hands slide into my dress, pushing the fabric up my thighs and grabbing my thong in one fell swoop.

  The flimsy material gives way in a single tug, tearing easily.

  I grip the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself to stay still no matter what.

  I’m already dripping wet by the time his tongue finds me.

  He starts out slow, seeming to savor the taste of me.

  I groan, equal parts pleasure at his touch and frustration at my limited movement.

  He answers with a moan of his own, wrapping his lips around my engorged clit and sucking gently.

  My hands dig harder into the chair, knuckles turning white at the effort.

  “Fuck, Sammi,” he groans, releasing me for the briefest moment. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

  I release the chair with one hand, risking the movement to pull him back to me.

  His tongue finds me with increased resolve, flicking steadily across my clit.

  His hands are on my inner thighs, and he pushes at them, spreading me further open.

  I let my hand stay on his head, twining my fingers deep into his sandy hair.

  Each tap of the tattoo rod sends a small spark of pain racing through me. Each flick of Locks tongue sending pleasure up to meet it.

  The two seem to meet in my core, mixing and building until I can’t tell one from the other.

  I close my eyes, losing myself completely in the warring sensations.

  When Lock’s fingers slip inside me, I gasp, pulling hard at his hair.

  It’s all but torture, staying still when my every instinct screams at me to move. To thrust against him, drive his fingers deeper into my aching pussy.

  Instead, I grip his hair even harder.

  I moan out my frustration and delight.

  His fingers rub deep inside of me, seeming to know every inch, every nerve.

  His tongue perfectly matches their movements.

  I feel myself getting close, my body tensing as I approach my orgasm, my pussy tightening around his thrusting fingers.

  I pull my other hand free from the chair, momentarily unconcerned with the movement.

  It tangles in his hair with the first, tugging frantically.

  He redoubles his efforts, fingers driving deep into me, tongue flicking across me like
lightning.

  I scream as I come, pulling his face harder against me.

  Waves of ecstasy rush though every inch of my body.

  I feel my muscles spasming, my heart racing.

  It seems to last for ages.

  Every time I think it’s reached its peak, it only intensifies. My moans echo off the walls of the room, startling even me with their power.

  By the time it passes, I find myself gasping for air.

  Lock takes his time in stopping, his fingers thrusting for a moment more.

  His tongue sliding over me like he’s hesitant to stop.

  The pain in my shoulder re-solidifies, real again, now that it’s alone.

  Tap tap tap.

  The rod digs into me.

  I could care less.

  I feel a level of drunk that not even the tequila can account for, my pleasure still radiating through me.

  All I can do is stare at him. Needing him even more now that I’ve come.

  A million images flash through my mind. A million things that I want to do to him.

  It’s all I can do to remain in my seat.

  It’s only moments before the rod stills behind me, going quiet after one final tap.

  I turn to the monk, inclining my head in question.

  He nods, looking from me to Lock.

  “My turn?” Lock asks, and I’m not sure which of us he’s speaking to.

  The monk answers from behind me, Thai words spilling from his mouth. I look questioningly at him.

  “He says that this tattoo comes with obligations.” Lock says.

  “Obligations?”

  “Sure, all blessings come with obligations.” There’s a smirk on his face that I don’t much care for.

  “And they are?”

  He chuckles, “Nothing much. You just have to perform certain duties—for me. Or else you’ll be…you know. Cursed.”

  I raise my eyebrow at him.

  “Duties, huh?”

  “Nothing you can’t handle,” he says with another smirk, returning his attention to the still talking monk. “He says…hmm. He says you need to perform these duties daily. Or else.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  As far as I know, Lock doesn’t even speak Thai.

  “Hey,” he says, mock-wounded, “they’re not my rules. Don’t shoot the messenger, darl.”

  “And what exactly do I get in return?” I ask him.

  “Like performing sexual acts on me isn’t reward enough?” he asks, smiling broadly, “I mean, honestly, Sammi, greed doesn’t become you.”