“I think it would beveryentertaining…”
She started undoing the second button when a knock interrupted them.
Glancing over her shoulder, Cressida narrowed her eyes on the door. Ava turned away from the sink to go answer it.
“Tell them to go away,” Cressida said.
No sooner had she issued the command than the door swung open.
Ava halted as Prince Soren stepped in, looking regal in a navy blue tailcoat, if not a little flustered. Cressida spun to facethe intruder, but at the sight of the prince, she reined in her anger.
“My lord.” Her voice was cheerfully restrained. “I’m sorry for the trouble we’ve brought upon Larkmont. As soon as—”
Soren waved his hand, cutting her off. His gaze fixed on Gideon. “Is this the brute who attacked Miss Winters?”
“Indeed,” said Cressida. “I’ve bound him with a spell. He can’t harm you unless I remove it.”
Soren strode forward, stopping directly in front of Gideon. The prince squared his shoulders and drew both hands behind his back, reminding Gideon he was an admiral, not just a prince. They were the same age, but the sea air had weathered Soren’s face, making him appear older.
Gideon was slightly taller, though, forcing Soren to lookupat him even though Gideon sensed he very much wanted to look down on him.
Staring at the prince, all Gideon could think of were the man’s hands all over Rune. Of Rune drunk and crying at the sink.
Gideon’s thoughts spiraled to places he’d rather not go.
What does she let him do to her when they aren’t in public?
He went hot all over. The beat of his pulse pounded like a drum in the base of his throat.
Soren’s lip curled, as if he were inspecting a dead rat. “How dare you touch her.”
Gideon knew better than to open his mouth. But he couldn’t help himself.
“At least she likes it when I touch her.”
Soren’s face reddened.
Crack!
The prince’s knuckles collided with his jaw and the force of the punch slammed his head to the side. Blood welled in Gideon’s mouth. He spat it onto Soren’s crisp white cravat.
The man seemed about to throw a second punch—or perhaps wrap his hands around Gideon’s neck and choke the life out of him—when Cressida stepped in.
“Let me deal with him, Your Highness. There’s no need for you to get your hands dirty.”
Seeming to remember himself—he was a prince, he didn’t stoop to the level of rats—Soren stepped back, untying his now bloody cravat and dropping it to the floor.
“I’m afraid your plans for him must wait.” He turned to Cressida, his face still red. “My lawyers have drafted the contract. All it needs is our signatures.”
Cressida’s brows lifted in surprise.
“That’s wonderful.” There was no edge in her voice this time. “But I really should attend to our enemy.” She glanced at Gideon. “Why don’t we sign over breakfast tomorrow?”
“Rune is impatient to be married,” said Soren. “And I know you’re impatient to have your throne back. Which is why I must insist we do this now. I’d rather not risk any more”—he glanced at Gideon—“interruptions.”
Gideon watched a nerve in Cressida’s cheek jump. She clearly loathed the idea of leaving Gideon, but she was outranked. And this was what she wanted: an alliance to help her wage war against the New Republic.
Sliding her casting knife into the folds of her cloak, Cressida glanced at Ava. “Bring him to my chambers.”
