Chapter 38: King’s Suite
The carriage wheels crunched to a halt on the fine gravel of the circular drive. Through the window, the King’s Inn rose like a fortress of wealth, its pale stone façade illuminated by floating orbs of gentle, golden light. Liveried footmen stood at attention by doors of polished dark oak.
Ana squeezed Minalan’s knee, her excitement a palpable vibration in the close confines of the carriage. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with more than gratitude. “For the dress. The dinner. For everything.”
He simply nodded, his eyes reflecting the outside lights. He opened the door himself before a footman could reach it, stepping out and then offering her his hand.
The lobby was a cavern of marble and muted gold. A crystal chandelier the size of a small wagon hung from the vaulted ceiling, its light shimmering across the polished floor. A man in impeccably tailored robes stood behind a vast, onyx desk, his expression one of practiced, glacial neutrality.
“We require your finest suite,” Minalan said, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere.
The clerk’s eyes swept over them, noting the exquisite gown and Minalan’s confident posture, but also the lack of entourage, the absence of noble sigils. “The King’s Lavish Suite is available,” he said, his tone implying it was not. “It is, however, reserved for visiting royalty and requires a deposit of one hundred gold crowns, non-refundable.”
Minalan didn’t blink. He reached into the empty air beside him and his hand closed around a small, heavy chest that hadn’t been there a moment before. He placed it on the onyx counter with a solid thud and flipped the lid open.
Inside, coins of pure platinum gleamed, each stamped with the face of a forgotten emperor. The clerk’s neutrality shattered. His eyes widened, his jaw went slack. This was more wealth than the hotel saw in a season.
“Will this suffice?” Minalan asked, his tone light, almost bored.
The clerk stammered, his hands fluttering. “Of—of course, my lord! At once!” He snapped his fingers, and a bell was rung. “We will have you escorted immediately. The suite includes a full staff of attendants for your comfort.”
The elevator was a gilded cage that rose silently. When the doors opened, they stepped into a room that defied the word ‘suite’. It was a sprawling expanse of rich burgundy and gold, with vaulted ceilings from which more chandeliers hung. Tapestries depicting mythical beasts covered the walls, and a fireplace large enough to stand in crackled with a warm, magical flame. The air smelled of sandalwood and ozone.
And there were the maids.
A line of young women, each more stunning than the last, stood waiting. They were of various races—a pale elf with silver hair, a dark-skinned human with eyes like amber, a stocky dwarf with intricate braids in her fiery red hair. They all wore identical, scandalously short black dresses with frilly white aprons, their expressions a perfect blend of submission and eager readiness.
Ana giggled, a sound of pure, unadulterated delight. She clapped her hands softly. “Oh, Minalan, look! They’re perfect!”
The head maid, the elf, stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Master, Mistress. We are yours to command. My name is Lyra. Would you care for refreshment? A bath drawn? Anything you desire.”
Minalan’s gaze swept over the maids, then returned to Ana. “It seems our shopping spree has a different sort of staff.” He walked further into the room, his boots silent on the thick rug. He ran a hand over the back of a plush velvet sofa, then glanced at Lyra. “Leave us. Wait in the servants’ ante-chamber. We will call if we need you.”
“At once, Master,” Lyra said with another bow. She gestured, and the silent, beautiful procession filed out through a discreet side door, leaving them alone in the opulent silence.
The moment the door clicked shut, the playful energy around Ana shifted into something sharper, more focused. The awe of the market, the thrill of the restaurant, the joy of the maids—it all coalesced into a single, burning point of purpose. She walked toward him, the sapphire silk whispering secrets against the floor.
“That dress was a distraction,” he stated, watching her approach. “A beautiful one. But a distraction nonetheless.”
“It served its purpose,” she said, stopping just before him. She reached up and began to carefully unfasten the intricate clasps at the back of the gown. “It made me feel like a queen in front of those petty nobles. It made you want to peel it off me.” The dress loosened, and she let it slide from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet in a shimmering blue puddle, revealing her body to him—the heavy, milk-full breasts, the curve of her hips, the dampness already gathering between her thighs. The cool air of the suite pebbled her skin, but a far deeper heat was blooming within.