By the way he’s posturing himself, I get the haunting sense that stepping onto that boat bobbing by the jetty is going to be a much bigger hurdle than I initially anticipated.
I should have left yesterday ...
Shit.
Perhaps I can still get to it. As long as my feet are touching that Bahari-bourne deck, Rhordyn can’t remove me without inciting some sort of war.
He’s overbearing, but he’s not stupid.
My pulse sounds like a war drum as I lift my chin, pushing my shoulders back. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“And what about your guards?” he asks, deadly calm. “You’re just going to sail off and leave them here?”
“They can hitch a ride on a trade ship.”
No love lost there.
“They’reyourpeople now, Milaje.Yourresponsibility.” His gaze darts down to my cupla, back up. “You’re their future High Mistress, are you not?”
Asshole.
I leap to my feet and run.
Imake it about two dozen steps toward the ocean before I’m swept up and tossed over Rhordyn’s shoulder, landing a blow to my stomach that knocks the air right out of me. Recovery proves difficult when every powerful stride he takes lands another assault to my gut, preventing me from drawing a sufficient breath.
We’re inside the castle by the time I manage to haul my lungs full. I let out a furious scream, pummeling his back with my fists and swearing like I’ve heard the guards do when they think they’re out of earshot.
He doesn’t slow, doesn’t even grunt ... as if he were cut from the very walls of this very castle. So I prepare to sink my teeth into a slab of solid back muscle.
“No biting,” he murmurs, flipping me off his shoulder and catching me in a cradled position. “Those teeth can do far more damage than you realize.”
“Put me down,” I bellow, shucking against his grip. I free an arm and tear my fingers down his shirt, popping buttons and clawing his skin.
All I get in response is a throaty rumble before my arm is pinned down the side of my body. “You keep at this,” he says with a deep, gravelly cadence, “and that pathetic excuse for a garment is going to fall right off you.”
I stop moving. Instantly.
The glint in his otherwise stoic stare tells me he finds a sadistic sense of amusement in my sudden compliance, which only serves to rile me more.
Choosing to look at anything other than his intolerable face, I glance around, realizingexactlywhere we are ...
Headed down the corridor I’ve walked a thousand times with hungry, scent-starved lungs and empty hope in my chest. A corridor that leads to only one place.
The Den.
My throat clogs, nerves on fire, gaze shifting to the line of Rhordyn’s jaw that looks sharp enough to split wood on.
To the caged look in his eyes.
A week ago, being carried down this corridor would have pitted me with a seed of anxious excitement, but that was before I learned about the lies. That was before he put a sword through Mishka’s heart and smothered us both in blood.
“Rhordyn ... I need you to put me down.”
His grip tightens, and my heart finds a berth in my throat.
We reach the door to his personal chambers, and I’m tossed over his shoulder again while he undoes the handle, storms inside, then slams it shut behind him.
I’m flung to my feet, and it takes four stumbling steps to gain balance, a task made far more difficult by the fact that I’m suddenly choking on the potent perfume of his scent. Layers upon layers upon layers of it diving down my throat and shoving my lungs full.
