Page 14 of Lethal King

“Fine.” Cranking my neck, I stare back out through the tangled vines.

The sight below angers me.

This day should be shared exclusively with those I’m closest with. Family. Friends. Mentors. Instead, those I love will have to be broadcasted in, all because I’ve been preoccupied with a problem I can’t bring myself to pass on to anyone else.

Her.

My fists tighten.

“So, what do you see?” Maksim repeats, turning my focus back onto what’s in front of me.

“I see fat selfish men and their greedy plastic wives.”

“And in the far corner, by the tall hedges?”

Fuck.

“Goddamnit, Uncle Maksim.”

He knows me too well. And he understands exactly what I’ve been purposely trying to avoid ever since we first opened the gates out front.

Maybe it’s part of why I’m so jumpy today. And it’s not just because of my security concerns.

There, huddled like cattle in the corner of the garden, are about a dozen women. Daughters of the Italian dons. The best they have to offer. Their white dresses stand out against the green shrubbery like flowing candles.

Not a single one of them looks comfortable. And not a single one of them should be. Everyone knows why they’ve been brought here today.

To entice me into marriage.

To seduce me into picking them.

“How the hell am I going to marry any of those women?” I growl, hating that my cock is already starting to swell at the sight of some of them. It’s been so long since I satisfied that urge. Too long. “They’ve been brought here like cattle. The last thing I need is another set of eyes looking up to me for guidance.”

It doesn’t help that the Italians have been dragging their asses lately. Instead of doing their jobs, the greedy bastards are putting all their energy into winning the Rian Kilpatrick’s bride sweepstakes. It’s making them sloppy. And that’s dangerous.

It's why I’m trying to force myself to make a decision. The sooner I get this over with, the better.

“Is that why you starving yourself?”

“Excuse me?”

Turning back to Maksim, I try to gauge how much he knows. But his dark eyes are indecipherable.

“There are some things a man should never withhold from himself,” he hints. “Some desires that can break even the strongest king if bottled up for too long.”

“Who told you about that?” I sneer. “Was it Branko? I swear to—”

“It wasn’t any of your cousins,” Maksim assures me. “They didn’t need to tell me. I know you all too well, nephew.”

“Fuck.” This is the last thing I want to discuss with my uncle. A vow of celibacy is a personal matter—hell, I shouldn’t have told anyone about it in the first place. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Let’s count out what you have on your plate right now,” Maksim replies. He starts before I can stop him. “One. You’re trying to hunt down the woman who threatens your family. Two. You’re trying to take over for your father as he deals with an issue that could destroy our empire. Three. You’re trying to force yourself to pick a bride, even if it’s the last thing that should be on your mind right now.”

“A king needs a queen,” I remind him, loathing the truth of it.

How many times have I heard that in the past few months?

“A king needs to be in control. And a man who’s desperate to satisfy his primal urges is not a man who’s in control—of himself or others.”