The King | Maxon Schreave

Chapter Ten

Hello everyone! I am so sorry for not posting last week, but I was overwhelmed by university work... I think this chapter is longer than usual, so enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you thought and leave reviews!

-

Taking a sip from the cup I hold in my hands, I enjoy the powerful aroma of the black coffee that is spreading in my mouth. It was a very long night, and after spending much of the plane trip working on the peace agreement between Illéa and New Asia, I was able to get a little sleep before Palmer knocked on the cabin door to inform me of our impending landing.

He was surprisingly efficient and discreet during this short getaway, I thought. I cannot stand the constant presence of a guard by my side any better than America, but the fact that he is not in uniform and is so unspoken helps him to make his presence easily forgotten. Rising from the leather armchair facing the fireplace in my office, I place the heavy files on the side table, annotated with my hand, and head up to the third floor.

- Sir? Palmer asks, printing his steps in my path.

- I'm going down to the basement to work out, I replied, continuing up the staircase. You have free time.

- Sir, if you do not mind, I would like to go with you. Just in case... he said without finishing his sentence, leaving me to read between the lines.

I let out a sigh. The threat of the rebels weighs a little more on my shoulders at every moment. They have already exceeded the limits of my patience and having to deal with their actions at every moment of my day irritates me to the utmost. I hope for Stavros and the others that they will have something viable to present to me at the eleven o'clock meeting about the investigation and the measures taken. I can no longer live and subject my loved ones to this constant intimidation.

- I guess I do not have much choice, I muttered. Well, let's meet downstairs in ten minutes if you do not mind.

He nods his head, as stoic as ever, and gives me some privacy as I close the double door, heading towards the huge dressing room where I quickly put on a sports outfit. Taking the service lift to avoid wandering the corridors dressed like this, I find Palmer busy gathering his dreadlocks in a hairband, then I head to the treadmills to begin my warm-up. The room is almost empty, but that is not surprising; it is late enough in the morning for most of the guards to have started their shift and the few others present pay little attention to me, too used to seeing me come in to train every morning for almost four years. My thoughts are focused on the physical effort I need to make to keep up with the pace as the treadmill speeds up more and more. Soon I cannot think of anything else but the sound of my footsteps resonating on the track. Once I am warmed up enough to continue, I head to the weight bench where I grab two dumbbells. Between two breaks, I can see Palmer training against the punching bag out of the corner of my eye, and I cannot help but envy his precise moves; perhaps one day I will ask him to teach me some of his techniques?

It is drained of all energy that I return to my quarters and the burning shower jet, under which I indulge myself for long minutes. My mind escapes to America, and I wonder what she is doing right now when it must be a little after one o'clock in Carolina. Is she thinking of me as much as I think of her? Even from thousands of miles away, every little thing reminds me of her; and I cannot help but imagine her hands on my body in the bush in the bathroom, the shower gel foaming on our wet skins and the water trickling down her wicked curves. I let out a rough grunt, so vivid is the memory; my desire for her only seems to increase as the days go by and giving myself a few more minutes of respite, I let the steam mist up the bathroom mirrors even more while I let the sensations overwhelm me more than ever.