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I was going to make a new me. A better me. Except nothing I ever dreamed of making for myself came close to what life could be like here. Even if I’m tied up with a sociopathic maniac like Prince Titus. This is the place where Prince Roark exists, where people walk the city streets on foot instead of behind steering wheels, and where ghosts of simpler times are everywhere, giving day-to-day life a fairytale charm. It’s also a place where I’m a princess. A princess. What girl hasn’t dreamed of this? What would all the little girls out there say to me if they knew I was running from a life that might as well be spun from a dream? Especially if they knew what I was running back to?
I sigh. More than anything else, Prince Roark looms in my mind. I’ll never forget what it was like being in his hands in that dungeon, or the rush of pure adrenaline that came when I gave myself over to him to do as he pleased.
If I stay, it’s for him. I know that now. Maybe other people would call me a slut, and not just for what I’ve already done when I’m promised to Titus. If I do decide to stay, it will be for Roark, who I know so little about except for the way I feel under his control. Screw other people though. This is the first time in my life I’ve had a chance to make a real decision for myself, and right now, the only person’s opinion I care about is my own.
Roark holds the promise of something I want more than freedom, more than the life I thought I would build for myself outside this place. He promises me the knowledge that I’m wanted. I don’t care if it’s selfish to need that so much or childish. I need to be wanted, and his hunger for me is written on every inch of his face when he looks at me.
So I don’t take another step toward the door. I take a step back, shake my head, and turn to walk back to my room.
I’ve only taken a few steps when Roark emerges from a shadowy alcove in front of me with a predatory grin. “You decided not to leave,” he notes.
My breath catches at the sight of him--at the sound of his deep, gravely voice. “I did,” I say.
“Inquiring minds want to know why,” he says, moving closer, circling me slowly.
I lower my head. “I don’t think I’m done here. There’s someone. Someone I don’t want to leave behind.”
“Should I be jealous?” he asks.
My heartbeat quickens. “Jealous?” I ask. Even though I can see in his body language that he wants me, it’s another thing entirely to hear him openly admit it. “Why would you be jealous?”
“You want to hear it for yourself?” he asks.
I say nothing, holding my breath as I follow his gorgeous face through the shadows.
“You’ll have to earn that,” he says. “I caught you trying to escape, after all. I think you know what that means?”
The heat already flooding my body grows more intense. “The dungeon?”
“The dungeon,” he says, gripping my arm almost hard enough to hurt and leading me down the familiar hallway and down the stairs.
He doesn’t speak again until the door to the dungeon is closed behind us and we’re completely alone. He turns a key in the door and slides it in the pocket of his jacket before turning to face me. There’s not much light in the room, and the way the shadows fall over his face makes him seem dark and dangerous.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” he says finally, stepping closer to me.
“You have?” I ask. My voice sounds too shrill and grating in the intensity that hangs between us.
“It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
“Me?” I ask, mentally pinching myself for asking stupid question after stupid question. Get with it, Elizabeth. He’s going to think you’re a brainless idiot!
His lips twitch just slightly upward at one corner. “Like I said, you need to earn answers, even if you should already be able to figure them out for yourself.”
Should I be able to? Maybe. But with a man like Prince Roark, it seems foolish to assume. How can I even begin to guess what is going on inside that gorgeous head of his? Or do I even want to know?
“Should I be frightened of you, Prince Roark?” I ask.
My question makes him pause for a heartbeat, almost so subtly that I could’ve missed it. “What makes a man good?” he asks.
“You’re going to answer my questions with questions, too?” I ask.
“You want answers so badly? Fine. You can have them. But you’re going to pay for every last one. Take off your dress,” he says.
