Rune stared over her shoulder at the powder room door. Willing it to open. Willing Cressida to bring Gideon out and hand him over to the palace guards, who would march him down to whatever cells lurked beneath Larkmont, where he could rot for all Rune cared.
But the door remained shut. And now it was getting smaller,and her chest was getting tighter, and when Soren dragged her around a corner, it disappeared from view completely.
Rune felt sick.
I have to do something.
But what?
She had no reason to ask Soren to turn back. And it’s not like Cressida would stop hurting Gideon simply because Rune wanted her to. Rune would have to force her—and that was impossible. Cressida was a far more powerful witch, despite Rune’s advancements under Seraphine’s tutelage these past two months.
And Cressida was their only chance of saving the witches they’d left behind.
Rune couldn’t defy her.
“I’m starting to understand the danger you live under,” said Soren. Two guards opened his bedroom doors, allowing him to usher Rune inside. “I couldkillthat man.”
“Whatever you’d do to him…” Rune watched the guards shut the doors behind them. “Cressida will do worse.”
The lamps were dimmed. It took a moment for Rune’s eyesight to adjust to the dusky light. The heavy smell of incense burned, filling the air with cinnamon and sandalwood. When the room’s details became clearer, Rune noted its contents: a canopied bed, a wardrobe, a dressing table.
“I’m going to lock you in,” said Soren. “I’ll return when I’m certain the palace is safe and you’re no longer in danger.”
Rune wasn’t listening. She was still thinking about how she had no power to stop Cressida from hurting Gideon. No leverage. Nothing to barter for him with.
But Soren does.
The thought flared inside her.
Soren had already turned toward the door. This was hisestate. His father’skingdom. And not only that: Cressida desperately needed his army.
Rune couldn’t ask him to save the man who’d tried to assassinate her. But she didn’t need Soren to save Gideon. She just needed him to get Gideon away from Cressida.
“Doors and guards won’t keep me safe,” she blurted out.
Soren stopped and glanced back, taking in her disheveled state. Rune knew how she looked: tearstained, roughed up, every bit the victim. Beneath his rage—how dare another man touchhisfiancée—was the same look she’d seen earlier.
Hunger.
Forher.
Normally, that hunger made Rune feel like a cornered animal. Tonight, she would use it to her advantage.
She tugged him to the bed. Brushing aside the canopy, Rune took hold of his shoulders and pushed him downward, until he was seated at the bed’s edge and his polished boots were planted on the floor.
“I will never be safe until Cressida retakes her throne,” she said, holding his gaze. Hiking her dress to her thighs, Rune climbed into his lap, straddling him, then slid her arms behind his neck. “I will always be in danger until Cressida, with the help ofyourarmy, puts all witch hunters to death.”
Rune ignored the sudden bulge in his pants. If she weren’t worried about Gideon, it would have repulsed her. But Rune was only half here; the other half of her was in the powder room.
This was what she was good at: Seduction. Deceit. Spinning webs of lies to ensnare her prey.
“I must confess,” she whispered against his clean-shaven cheek. “I wasn’t sure about this betrothal before tonight. I thought you were only marrying me to show me off, like an interesting piece of art.”
Her hands dropped to his, guiding them to her hips.
Soren’s gaze slid from the golden dress bunched around her waist to her pale thighs.
“And now?” he breathed.
