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off as the physician urged her to remain calm.
    “Will you lay quietly, or do I need to tie you?” Xander had pulled her to the bed, where he was forcing her to lie down.
    “I will never submit to this!” she cried angrily.
    “Very well.” He nodded to the physician. “I suspected as much. Fortunately, we came prepared.”
    The physician reached into his bag and produced several lengths of rope that were used to bind Avin to the bed hand and foot. She cursed them both, knowing that those in the courtyard below would likely hear her, but did not care. Let them talk. Let them say they had heard the former queen call her king every foul manner of thing. Let it be known that even if they willingly knelt to the king, she never would.
    “As the king, I alone should touch my slave.” Xander waited until Avin’s voice was exhausted from screaming insults to address his physician.
    “I understand.” The physician nodded. “Her breasts. You should check them for lesions and lumps. These can be discovered by gently squeezing.”
    Avin closed her eyes and looked the other way as her former lover’s large hands closed over her breasts. He’d once said they were made for his hands—pert, firm globes that filled his palms to overflowing. The dark pink nipples hardened against those palms now. He was taking his time, massaging, kneading. He slid his hands down, allowing the callused hands to graze her nipples. They began to ache with the same needful throb that was developing between her clamped thighs.
    “I feel nothing amiss,” Xander said, and she could hear the thickness of his voice.
    “These marks.” The light coming through the window was highlighting dozens of little scratches that covered the flawless ivory skin. The physician looked at Xander. “Do you know how they came to be?”
    Xander looked at her. “Why are you so marked?”
    She laughed. “Why don’t you ask the kindly nurses you employ,” she hissed. “They do enjoy their little torments—dousing me in ice water, scrubbing me raw. You would be proud.”
    His face grew stormy, and she realized his anger was not directed at her. “It will not happen again,” he said in a tone Avin knew all too well. She realized then that the nurses would not return. But if this was a victory, it was short-lived.
    “She was herded through the streets, through filth,” the physician said. “You should check to make sure she is clean below.”
    Avin flushed. She’d always been meticulous, and nothing on the street had happened to indicate that the soft, aching spot between her legs had been affected. But she recognized that this exam was more than medical; it was also meant to school her in Xander’s power—a power never more evident than when he pushed her thighs apart and brushed the curls of her pussy with his hand.
    She was being stroked in full view of the physician. And even worse, her body was betraying her with its response. Avin had to fight to keep her hips from arching up against the familiar hand that had brought her equal amounts of pain and pleasure, from gravitating toward the touch she craved.
    “Don’t…” She whispered the word, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as the king’s fingers parted her labia. She was trembling with indignation and need, hating the finger that traced the slickening folds even as she longed for its entry into her pulsing core.
    “Pink and healthy,” Xander said to the physician. He looked down at Avin, his eyes locking with hers. “Had she married, her husband would have been a fortunate man.”
    The comment was a barb that struck its target. A painful lump formed in her throat.
    Xander removed his hand, but not before his thumb deliberately brushed her swelling clit. Avin bit her lip, but could not suppress her whimper.
    “She’s thin,” the physician said. “And pale. And you say she’s not eating, Your Highness?”
    Avin dug her nails into her palms when she heard the title. Her anger only increased when