Page 118 of Queen of War and Ruin

“Where in the nine hells have you been?” Blayne growls.

My breath catches in the back of my throat. Blayne turns to Petrys with a glare so fierce I almost expect him to start swinging punches.

“The lady was feeling faint,” Petrys replies. “I suggested she get some air.”

Blayne’s fingers dig into my arm as he drags me closer to him.

“Do you know how that looks?” he demands in a rough whisper. “Do you have any idea what people are going to say about me?”

Some of the men and women around us have stopped talking. They’re watching Blayne. Or, perhaps, watching me. They’re being polite about it, glancing at us and then back at their wine glasses, but they’re watching.

There’s always someone watching in this damn palace.

I try to pull away, but Blayne’s fingers squeeze my arm even harder. Rage burns in the back of my throat.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I hiss, under my breath. “If I’d known getting a little air would be such an affront to your honor, I would have just passed out on the dance floor instead.”

Blayne’s hand falls from my arm. He turns to face me, his features scarlet with rage. I recognize the look on his face; nine hells, I’ve seen it before. I know what’s coming.

I have just enough time to think I’ve made a mistake, I’ve pushed him too far.

And then he slaps me.

His hand hits my face with a sound like a pitcher full of water hitting a slate floor. I don’t even have time to react. My head rocks back, and my vision flashes white as pain explodes in my cheek. Tears rush to my eyes.

The music is still playing, somewhere, but all of the voices around us have gone quiet.

I blink; the world shimmers through a haze of tears. Blayne looks like he wants to spit on me. I take a step back.

“You bastard,” I gasp.

Someone close to me gasps. Blayne’s mouth falls open.

How he must hate this. He’s tried so hard to claw his way into this ballroom, using me as his stepping stone. He wants so desperately to belong here.

But he never will. I can make sure of that.

“You will learn to respect me!” Blayne growls under his breath.

“No,” I reply. “I will not.”

I swear that even the music goes silent. Blayne’s face goes from red to white. My cheek burns with the ghost of his hand. Everyone is staring at us now. They aren’t even pretending to be polite.

“You insolent bitch,” Blayne hisses.

I stand up very straight. Blayne is taller than me. Still, it’s easy to look down on a man small enough to hit a woman.

“I am the reason you’re here, Blayne Everard,” I tell him, twisting his name so it sounds like a slur. “I am the only reason you’re here. In this royal ballroom. You were useful to me, so I tolerated you. And I’ve just reached the limits of my tolerance.”

Someone whispers something behind me. I ignore it.

“You are my wife,” Blayne snaps. I’ve never heard those words sound more like a threat. “You will obey me!”

I pull myself up as tall as I can. My beautiful dress rustles around me. My face hurts, my eyes swim with tears, and the back of my mouth tastes like blood.

Gods above, I am so tired of this man.

“I am not your wife,” I declare, my voice cold and regal. “I am married to a prince.”