Gary of a Hundred Days (The Unwanted King #1)

by Isabel Murray

Even though I’d been used to wearing Gower’s cast-offs, it didn’t mean I could walk in them. The toe of the overlong shoe caught in a crack between the flagstones and I hiccupped forward. My upper body folded about an inch as I shifted to regain my balance, and then I felt it. A long, glancing scrape to the left of my spine, and a hard shove between my shoulder blades. Puzzled at the sting, I twisted my hand back to investigate. When I held it up in front of my face, it was smeared with blood. I…didn’t do well with blood. Especially surprise blood. I looked from the bright shine of red on my hand to Drusan’s malicious smile, my eyes rolled up, and that was it. I’d fainted. Like a goat.

Where the goats had their survival strategy of fainting, I had one of my own that had served me well for years. I had a long and successful history of running.

I’d been trudging along for hours by the time I realised that the gloom wasn’t due to the rain anymore. In fact, it had mostly stopped raining. I glanced up at the sky. A waxing moon was half-hidden behind a bank of ragged clouds. Ah, yes. Night. Forgot about that. Wonderful.

I hadn’t even been this afraid when it dawned on me that Drusan had literally stabbed me in the back. Because Drusan had just wanted me dead. He wouldn’t have eaten me afterward. Gods, I didn’t want to be eaten. I refused.

I’d been sitting in my chamber, apparently in solitary confinement and entirely too stupid to know it, spending most of my days journaling. I bet Drusan had been reading them the whole time. Perhaps for some light relief between plotting my death and taxing the poor.

“Definitely a bonfire. A pyre is for mourning. Tyrants get burned like last year’s dead leaves. Especially tyrants whose bodies have disappeared when Drusan has already seized power. It was ramping up to quite the party by the time I left.” Magnus’ words were light. His expression was haunted. I still had my arms around him. I patted him again. “Whoever they’re burning, it’s not me,” I said. “Mm,” he said. “Probably dug out the shortest guy in the dungeon, put a wig on him and dressed him in your robes.

“Of course I came for you, Gary. I will always come for you. Always. You’re my—” I gazed up into his dark chestnut eyes. What? I was his what? We were plastered together, from knees to chest. My arms were locked around him. He was holding my face. Somehow, I didn’t think he was going to finish that sentence with my employer.

From a purely observational standpoint, the whole business of kissing looked quite horrifying. The first time I’d stumbled across it, I’d thought…well, I was ten years old. I couldn’t begin to guess what was happening. All I could think was that Elayne, one of the chambermaids, and Jafray, one of the gardeners, were engaged in some kind of hostile tussle, and things had devolved to biting.

Their faces were mashed together, and their jaws were moving. I’d dithered anxiously, wondering whether or not I should intervene, when it dawned on me that they were sighing and giggling at the same time as they were wrestling. Elayne had wound her arms around Jafray’s broad back and she kept pulling him closer, rather than smacking him and stalking off back to the kitchen.

“Did you see me with a lad every now and then, Gary?” I could deny it. But why bother? “Yes, with a lad now and then.” And he hadn’t necessarily been gentle with them, but, “They always seemed to be having a good time.”

I loved it. I could do this all day long, I— Magnus angled my jaw with a firm hand, tilted his head, and slipped his tongue into my mouth. I bit him.

While the thick greatcoat and the ridiculous clothes beneath provided some padding and protection, and the Wound of Betrayal was more of a Lightly Seeping Graze of Betrayal, it was still a tender spot.

“I’m sorry,” I said again in a small voice. “Don’t apologise,” Magnus said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I know that you’re inexp—” I stiffened. Magnus cleared his throat. “I know that you’re cautious about letting people close.”

“Can I kiss you?” he said. “Please do,” I said, then pulled back so quickly I hit my head against the tree. “Ow. Um. Are you going to do the tongue thing again?” “Was thinking about it.” “Oh.”

“So...the tongue thing. That’s...that’s normal, yes?” “Lots of people like it.” “Right. You mean when you do it to them? Or...in general? As in, everyone’s sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths on a regular basis?” “Well, I didn’t invent it, Gary. It’s a thing people do.”

Then again, I was discovering all sorts of things today. My ‘friend’ Drusan had been plotting my death before we’d even met. I’d been a warmongering tyrant and the worst king in the history of the Kingdom of Estla to ever rule. And I now knew how to bring a man off. Exciting times.

It was barely above a growl. Nothing like the sexy growling he was doing earlier. Not knowing quite know how to respond, I eased back a fraction more, and trod on a twig. It cracked loudly. Magnus turned at the sound. He blinked. For some reason, he looked stricken. He held out a hand to me, his eyes dark and beseeching. I’d only shifted away out of habit. I didn’t think for a single moment that Magnus would lash out. I quickly reached back and took his hand, tangling our fingers together.

Things were becoming tacky and beginning to stick. “That’ll teach you to come in your underwear,” was Magnus’ unsympathetic remark. I gaped at him. “It was your doing!” I said. “You should have warned me. How was I to know?” “How indeed?”

“I was shoving you against that tree!” “It’s a scratch,” I said. “A graze. Nothing to worry about. These ridiculous clothes took the brunt of it, I promise, and I enjoyed the tree very much.”

He laughed in disbelief. “It’s a scratch.” He touched my skin softly. “A spot of soap and water will see you right.” “I had worse that time Embray threw me into the rose bushes,” I said.

and when Hazlette shied and ran because of the cat, I fell off onto the cobbles and my shoulder popped out.” “She didn’t run.” Magnus stroked my hair off my face and tucked it behind my ears. It was probably drying funny. He left his hands resting either side of my neck. “She walked briskly. You fell like a lump.”

“You looked at me like you wanted to throttle me,” I said. “No, sweetheart. I wanted to throttle myself for letting you get hurt. I looked at you like I wanted to never let you be hurt again.”

“It didn’t… I wasn’t queasy!” I gave him a disbelieving look. “I wasn’t! I’ve had my arm up a mare’s chuff clean to the armpit to haul a foal out more times than I care to count. Think you can do something like that if you’re the kind to get queasy?” “Oh. Ew.”

If I’d known that I’d have half the household in my room, I’d have made my bed that morning with a plainer throw. Something in a sober tweed, maybe. Or a stout plaid from the western clans my mother hailed from. But I’d had no inkling when I set out that morning that anyone, let alone someone as overpoweringly male as Magnus would be in my room, judging it and me. So there were many, many pillows. And the bedspread was satin. It wasn’t pink. But it was a lovely rosy apricot. It was pink-adjacent.

“Why, Magnus?” My question came out tremblingly soft and I was about to roll my eyes at myself for being ridiculous when Magnus said, just as softly (but not trembling at all), “Because that was the day I recognised you as my bondmate.”

For a long moment, I simply lay there beneath him. The novel delight I felt in having Magnus on top of me, the unfamiliar sensation of having someone so close that their body heat sank into my skin, that their heart beat against my back, slowly changed to something dark and insistent.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?” “Yes.” “I know.” “How could you possibly know?” “There were a few hints. Here and there.”

Didn’t you think I was perhaps just a little inexperienced?” “No. I thought perhaps you had never allowed anyone to touch you like you were allowing me, and I thanked the gods for the honour.” “Oh,” I said. “That’s pretty.”

You don’t have to perform for me.” Unlike in all my riding lessons. “So you won’t be yelling, Heels down, my lord! And, Trot on! And, Deepen your seat!” “I didn’t say that,” Magnus replied. “In fact, I may yell all of those.” I gave him a quizzical look.

You tried to make me ride Hazlette over a jump once. I told you for an hour straight before you made me do it anyway that I didn’t want to and I didn’t have to try jumping to know I didn’t like it.” “It wasn’t a jump. It was a pole, it was on the ground, and she walked over it.” “I told you I’d fall off, and I—” “And you delivered on your promise.”

“But I would like to fuck you anyway.” Magnus’ smile faded. “It won’t be fucking between us, Gary. Fucking’s for fun. It’s good, healthy fun.” “So what will we be doing?” “Making love.” “Magnus. You really are very romantic. I had no idea.”

And of course, it wasn’t quite the same. The lads weren’t mares, and Magnus couldn’t have…been inside them in any way…or…? Because where would he put…? “Gary?” Magnus stroked my face. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone green.” “You’re going to put it up my arse, aren’t you?” I said. “Not if the thought of it makes you go green, I’m not,” Magnus said dryly.

“Ohhhh. Was that why Harlo was on his knees that one time when I walked into the stable?” “Yes.” “You said he’d dropped a hoof pick in the straw and was looking for it!” Magnus stared at my mouth. “He wasn’t.”

You are a delight. And, my sweet delight, I am not letting your teeth anywhere near my cock until you’re less likely to be surprised by new experiences. You have a terrible habit of biting when startled.” He had a very good point.

“I didn’t want any lovers,” I said again. “But I think, perhaps, I’ve always wanted you.”

“What happens next?” I asked reluctantly. If I had my way, I’d barricade the door and stay here for the next four or five decades, hiding away with Magnus. But I knew we couldn’t do that. We’d die of dehydration within three days.

“You have plenty of money.” “I don’t see how?” “For one thing, I stole all your horses.” “You...what?” “Stole your horses. The whole stable. Shipped them north. Near all of Silverleigh’s worth was in the horses, Gary. Especially mine, the ones I trained and bred.”

The previous Yule, Magnus had caught me trying to slip into his room and leave his present. Thinking he was out supervising the morning exercise, I’d walked on in and seen him hauling his breeches up over his naked arse. He’d turned to look at me, chest broad and just as naked as his arse had been. I’d panicked. I’d hurled his gift at him, and bolted. Last thing I saw was his astonished face as a pair of fine leather gaiters with shining buckles smacked him right in the mouth.

“You get to keep your pigs. That means you have to hold up your end of the bargain. You’re supposed to be riding me until I come so hard that I black out.” “Oh my gods,” Gary hissed. “Lower your voice.” “There’s no one to hear.”