His tone changes again, louder, mocking and cruel for them.
“This is what their princess looks like now,” he sneers, lifting a strand of my hair. “Naked. On her knees. Begging for the heir of the Green Flame.”
His hands move next. Not gentle. Possessive. Calloused fingers skate down my ribs, over my hips, along the inside ofmy thigh. Just enough to make me tremble. Enough to make the crowd believe the lie.
It feels good. Gods, it feelssogood.
But wrong.
Not because it’s him but because it’s here. Because of the eyes watching us. Because of the harpies licking their lips, the goblins clawing at each other, the revelers chanting for more.
And still… I arch into his touch, begging for him.
He bends close, his lips brushing my temple. His voice is low and calm. “You’re doing perfect.”
My eyes lift to the cage above.
To Keldarion.
He’s shackled, shirtless and chained, but his gaze is unbroken. I expect fury. Rage. Maybe shame. But what I find instead makes my heart clench.
Hunger.
He wants me. Even like this.Especiallylike this.
Caspian sees me looking, and his jaw tightens.
Then he drops into the throne again, sprawling like a king at rest, one hand draped on the armrest, the other extended toward me.
“Come here,” he says aloud, voice laced with wicked amusement. “Sit.”
The crowd whistles and hoots.
I rise, every inch of bare skin humming with fire. I step up to the dais and climb onto his lap, my back to his chest. His hands settle on my waist, then roam. My thighs. My breasts. My throat.
The shadows ripple in delight, licking around our bodies like smoke. I let my head fall against his shoulder. He positions me like I’m nothing but a doll.
“I’m yours, Prince of Thorns,” I gasp, playing my part as thrall.
“Perfect,” he whispers in my ear. His fingers tweak a nipple so hard I arch into him. He slides a hand down my body before tapping my inner thighs.
“Cas, please,” I moan.
He laughs wickedly. “See how she begs for me? She craves my touch.”
More and more eyes are drawn to us, and with every one, Caspian coils tighter. I might get a thrill from this, but I can tell it’s angering him, to have so many eyes on what’s his.
Caspian shifts beneath me on the throne. There’s the unmistakable press of him growing stiff through the thin fabric of his trousers. And gods help me, I react. Heat flashes through my core, unbidden and dangerous, shame and desire tangling like thorned vines.
His hands are everywhere. Stroking my thighs. Palming my breast. Fingers dancing over me like I’m an instrument he’s claimed. Like my only purpose is to be used.
And the worst part is I like it. I really like this.
Even as my cheeks flush, even as the monstrous crowd leers and laughs, even as shadows swirl like eager tongues around my ankles, I burn for him.
And then he slides a hand between my legs.
I tense for a breath, and he feels it.
