by BJ Bentley
What A King Wants
BJ Bentley
Copyright © 2021 by BJ Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my readers.
Thank you for three years.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Also by BJ Bentley
About the Author
Chapter 1
“My king—”
“Silence.”
His quiet command was all that was needed to stop the insolent fool from flapping his gums a moment longer. And thank fuck for that, or he would have been sorely tempted to have him beheaded just for some godsforsaken peace and quiet.
King Phares rose from his throne, an ornately gilded heirloom passed down for generations. Or, at least, it was, until he’d become king. He hadn’t inherited the throne, or the kingdom, so much as he’d taken it. Born to a whore, Phares learned at a young age how to fight for what he wanted. His mother had done good business, but still, money was tight, particularly after one of her customers beat her and stole what little they had that hadn’t yet been hidden in the wall of their modest hut.
When he’d come of age, Phares had joined the previous king’s army. He’d learned to fight from some of the best soldiers the kingdom had to offer, and once he’d learned to combine those skills with those he’d learned on the streets and his own cunning, he’d gathered an army of his own. Together, they’d overthrown the previous king, a man of little worth as far as Phares was concerned. King Claren had been a lazy and cruel ruler. The kingdom was far better off with his body burned to ash and scattered to the four winds.
Descending from the dais, Phares contemplated what to do with the noble before him, one of the few left he knew had been loyal to Claren. One of the few left that Phares was starting to regret not having executed on sight.
The king sighed. “You will go home, Bhatten,” he began, smirking at the noble’s sigh of relief. “And you will inform your tenants that you will be suspending this month’s rent.”
The man gasped. “My king—“
“Silence,” Phares groaned. He really was about to lose his patience. “You will also inform your tenants that you will only be needing half the usual crop this month.”
“We must eat!” Bhatten’s blustering was one more reason Phares took pleasure in wounding his pride.
“And you shall. But you will eat half of what you normally do.” He paused, expecting another protest, but the noble wisely kept his mouth shut for once. Though, the crimson in his cheeks belied his struggle. “And if I hear that you have not followed my ruling, I will make it two months. And,” he added as an afterthought, “if I ever again hear even rumors of whisperings that the farmers that rent your land are going without because you and your brood have gotten greedy, I’ll make it six months, and I’ll have your wife working in the royal baths indefinitely.”
With the nobleman’s face a mottled shade of scarlet, Phares figured his point had been made. “Go,” he dismissed the pompous ass, already bored with the afternoon’s proceedings.
He was in need of entertainment, but none of his usual pursuits appealed to him. He was not in the mood to best any of his men in the training arena, nor was he in the mood to strategize with his generals in the war room. Fucking always had merit, but he’d already had nearly everyone available to him in the palace, and it was rare that anyone interested him enough for a repeat performance.
Women and men alike had graced his bed over the years, as he was no different than the rest of the residents of his kingdom, fucking whoever and whenever the urge struck. They were an openly sexual people. Sex in public places was neither rare nor common, but when it happened, no one batted an eye. Sex with one partner or multiple partners depended on the individual preferences of those involved, and gender was rarely given consideration.
Feeling restless and agitated, he made his way to the baths, dismissing the completely unnecessary personal guard that insisted on dogging his steps. He appreciated their loyalty and diligence, but he’d never needed anyone at his back, much less in his own palace.
The steam from the baths greeted him as he strode through the winding hallways that led to the spring-fed rooms. The scent of rose petals and oils reached his nose, helping to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. He entered his private bathing room and allowed the lone servant present to divest him of his leather pants and the weapons holsters that crossed his chest. His favorite daggers, his most prized possessions, were never touched by anyone other than himself.
Dismissing the servant eying him with blatant lust in her gaze, Phares sank into the steaming water and closed his eyes. He allowed his head to rest against the intricately laid mosaic tile, the lion-shaped design in the center of the bath representing him and his rule. It was going to be his legacy. Strength and courage of heart, body, and mind. Watchfulness over his kingdom, his people. He would not disgrace them the way his predecessor had.
He tried to let the heat and oiled water bleed the remainder of noble-induced stress from his muscles, but he struggled to let go of the interaction. Something about it still nagged him. If the fool managed to make friends, Phares might have a rebellion on his hands. He’d love to think they weren’t so foolish as to rise up against him, but history had proven that greedy men weren’t always the most intelligent.
A soft sound had his eyes snapping open, his muscles clenching for battle.
On the far side of the room was a servant, a man that had Phares stiffening for a different reason. He wore the loose, linen pants that all servants wore. But whereas the women also wore thin camisoles, the men were bare-chested.
And this man had a particularly appealing chest.
The servant turned his head, and Phares sucked in a breath.
“You,” he called out, gaining the man’s attention. “Come. Wash me.”
His prey’s steps stuttered, but he dropped the stack of clean towels on a low bench and did as his king bid. Bowing his head in deference, he acknowledged the command and sank to his knees at the edge of the bathing pool.
Phares leaned forward, a silent order. “Tell me your name.”
“Darius, my king,” came the soft reply, a sound that summoned goosebumps to Phares’s skin.
“Darius,” he echoed. “You are new here.” He knew this because he would have noticed him much sooner had he had the opportunity.
Darius picked up the linen washcloth and cake of soap. “Yes, my king. I arrived just two days ago.”
Two days. Phares had been in the woodlands, overseeing the last hunt of the season. He’d only returned to the palace that morning. Now, with Darius diligently washing his back, he might never again leave the golden fortress.
He might not ever leave this bath.
Phares dunked his head, taking a second cake of soap from the bath’s edge and scrubbing it into his scalp. His long hair, currently divested of the beaded braids that usually adorned it, floated around him, the soap’s lather like the foam on the top of the small creek that ran through the village just outside the palace gates.
Rising from the water, Phares turned to face a shocked Darius. “My front also requires washing.”
Darius’s shaking hand rose, clenching the washcloth tightly, to Phares’s chest. He k
ept his eyes averted, either in deference or shyness, Phares wasn’t sure. Either way, he found it…endearing. His servant was nervous, but was it attraction or fear that motivated him?
“Do you fear me, Darius?”
Darius’s eyes, the same color of the moss that grew on the northern face of the bordering mountains, flicked to his. “Yes, my king.”
Phares frowned. “Why?”
“Because…you are fearsome, my king.”
Phares found that answer oddly disturbing coming from Darius’s lips. His growl of displeasure rose unbidden.
“I’m sorry to have displeased you, my king.” Darius’s hand dropped from his king’s chest as his eyes dropped to his lap.
The more Darius addressed him as ‘my king,’ the more irritated Phares became. He didn’t want to be this man’s king. He wanted to be his master. He wanted Darius to obey him but not out of fear. Oh, no. He wanted Darius to obey him because he knew of the pleasure it would bring to both of them.
He wanted this man in his bed. But he would not force him.
So, he would seduce him.
“Do you have other duties to attend, Darius?”
Darius cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but declined to raise his eyes. “Yes, my king. The towels,” he added.
Phares flicked a glance over his shoulder to the stack of towels Darius had laid there when he’d summoned him and made a decision. “Go, then,” he said with a jerk of his chin.
Laying the washcloth and soap down, Darius rose to his feet. Still avoiding Phares’s eyes, he walked stiffly to the bench and picked up the towels to deposit them in the warmer built of river rocks and heated by the fire that Darius was also likely responsible for stoking.
Phares sank back down into the water and watched Darius go about his tasks. His heavy cock, which had sprung to life the second Phares had laid eyes on his soon-to-be lover, was resting against his stomach, begging for release. Phares had hoped to relieve the pressure with Darius’s mouth, but it appeared Phares would be easing the ache with his own hand until Darius was his.
He gripped his cock in one hand, the other reaching beneath to cup his heavy sack. He stroked upward, squeezing the head as he watched Darius bend over, the muscles in his back bunching with the movement. His pants were slightly wet from kneeling next to the bath, and the fabric clung to his corded thighs.
Phares stroked back down his shaft, the movement sure and firm. His legs fell open as he allowed himself to drink in the sight before him. Imagining that Darius wasn’t feeding the fire behind the rocks but instead the fire in his blood, his strokes gained speed. He thought about the things he’d do to Darius once he had him in his bed.
Underneath him.
Over him.
Bound to him.
He rolled his balls in his other hand while he stroked his shaft furiously. The grunt that escaped him caught Darius’s attention. Their eyes locked, and it was all Phares needed to spill his seed in the water.
Darius’s eyes widened in shock before he dropped them to the floor.
Phares was about to demand that Darius give him his eyes once more, but he noticed the obvious erection straining his linen pants.
He was willing to bet Darius had seen more than he let on.
And he clearly liked what he’d seen.
A feral smile stretched Phares’s face. He was going to thoroughly ravage Darius as soon as he had the chance, and his shy one was going to drop to his knees in worship.
Chapter 2
Darius strode down the corridor toward his room, aroused and terrified.
What had just happened?
Had the king actually…?
He needed his space. His room was small, but it was his, and if he didn’t get there soon, he feared his heart would beat from his chest. His lungs were already on fire for the air he struggled to take in.
He rounded the last corner to his quarters, bursting through the door and slamming it shut behind him. His body rebelled against every attempt to calm it. His muscles strained, his heart raced, his breath quickened. Everything was the opposite of what he wanted, and the frustration prompted tears to gather in his eyes.
He sat on the simple but plush bed and squeezed his eyes shut. With his head in his hands, he forced air into his lungs with long, deep breaths. When the strain made the muscles in his chest quake, he nearly gave up, but with time, he was able to shake the panic and return his feet to solid ground.
The hardness between his legs was another matter altogether.
Calming his mind did nothing to calm his body, for each time he closed his eyes he saw the same image—the king in the bath. Touching himself. Pleasuring himself.
All the while gazing upon Darius.
He’d been watching the king surreptitiously since walking away from him to return to his duties. He couldn’t help it. He had no right to look at the king with lust. It was why he’d kept his eyes down. He wasn’t worthy of such a lofty daydream, let alone the reality of actually touching the muscled warrior with the deep olive skin.
Just being in the same room with the savior of their kingdom was something Darius hadn’t anticipated or dared to hope for. Taking the position in the palace meant survival for his family, but he’d never imagined he’d be stationed any higher than the other servants who mucked animal waste from the courtyard. How he’d secured a place in the king’s private bathing chamber was a pure stroke of luck.
Or the will of the gods.
Gods knew it had nothing to do with his skill with a washrag.
A soft knock on his door heralded the dinner hour. Rising, he contemplated bringing his food back to his room to eat in peace, but in the end, decided he should take the opportunity to mingle with the other servants. It wouldn’t hurt to have friends in the palace.
Meals for the servants were served in a dining hall that was visited by no one else in the palace except for the servants. Long tables were placed end-to-end in two rows in the center of the room. The food was served on platters atop more tables that lined the far wall. Servants lined up for the buffet and served themselves until their plates were filled with meats, cheeses, vegetables, and slices of bread with seasoned olive oils for dipping.
Darius filled his plate and chose a seat at the end of one row of tables closest to the door in case he changed his mind about eating alone after all. He was halfway through a chicken breast when the first of the gossip started.
“I heard he turned down Salma again.”
“Not surprising. She never did know when she’s not wanted.”
“I’d like to give him another go.”
“Oh, please, you’re lucky the king even looked at you the first time.”
The table erupted in cackles.
Darius’s food tasted like dirt, and he struggled to choke it down. He didn’t want to listen to the servants discussing the king’s sexual escapades.
“Maybe I’ll give him a go,” someone spoke up over the dying laughter. “When was the last time the king took a man to bed?”
“As far as I know, probably at least a year.”
Darius really didn’t want to hear about the king taking a man to bed. Or a woman, for that matter. Some of the women who frequented the king’s bed hoped to one day become queen. They could sire an heir to the kingdom, as would be the king’s duty and the queen’s privilege.
But Darius didn’t want to think at all of the king’s pleasure. Duty was a different matter. Duty, Darius could rationalize.
Darius shot a glare at the man who’d spoken.
“Don’t worry,” the woman next to him whispered as she patted his thigh. “You’re new here. The king may take you, yet.”
Darius blinked at her. “What if I don’t want the king to take me?” He swallowed, the lie having scorched a path up his throat.
The woman smiled knowingly. “Everyone wants the king to take them to bed. And nearly everyone here has already had the privilege. I’m sure you’ll get your chance.”
“So, Darius, is it? Tell us where you come from.”
He looked up from his half-eaten chicken, reluctant to engage in conversation but thankful the subject had at least changed. “I come from Janabba.”
“Janabba, eh? That’s a fishing village, is it not?”
Darius nodded. “It is.” He shoved a large piece of bread in his mouth and chewed slowly in the hopes it would deter the nosy man from inquiring any further.
It did not work.
“I knew a woman from Janabba once,” the man boasted. “She was a pretty girl, but she smelled no better than the fish her husband hauled in from the sea each day.” The man laughed while many others jeered his words.
Darius ignored him but rolled his eyes as he finished off his meal. He took his plate and utensils to the basin to wash them before returning them to the designated basket for clean dishes. It wasn’t expected of him, but having always been one to look after himself, he struggled to let the responsibility fall to anyone else. Therefore, he washed his own dishes and tidied his own room. That night, before bed, he also had plans to wash his own clothing. He was there to work and earn a wage with his room and board, not to be one more burden for the working class.
The men and women in the laundry facilities didn’t spare him a glance as he brought his small bag of clothing to one of the washbasins and emptied it. The laundry rooms were clean and well-lit, much like the rest of the palace. It was rumored that the king was not fond of dark spaces. Darius didn’t know the reason for that, but now having met the king, he couldn’t help but be curious. King Phares did not seem like a man who feared anything, though perhaps there was another reason he preferred the light.
