Page 33

His jaw tightens, and I see the flash of anger in his eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm being honest." I move around the desk, closing the distance between us. "You want a wife who'll follow your rules and accept your decisions without question. But that's not who I am, and it's never going to be who I am."

Samuil stands, and suddenly, we're too close, the air between us charged with the same dangerous electricity that's been building since that first kiss. "Then what do you want, Ana? Tell me what would make you happy, and I'll consider it."

"I want a partnership." The words come out before I even realize what I'm saying, but once I start, I can't stop. "I want someone who sees me as an equal, not a responsibility or an obligation. I want a marriage that's more than just a political arrangement wrapped in tradition."

"That's not completely realistic." But his voice has dropped lower, rougher. His eyes drop to my throat and I swallow thickly. "You know that as well as I do."

"Maybe I don't care about realistic." I tilt my chin up, refusing to back down even though every instinct tells me I'm playing with fire. "Maybe I want something more than what everyone expects."

"And maybe you're asking for something I can't give you." He reaches out, his hand catching my wrist in a grip that's firm but not painful. "I'm not the man you want me to be, Ana. I'm not going to change who I am or how I run my life just because you've decided you want romance and partnership."

"I'm not asking you to change." I blush but raise my chin even more. "And I never said anything about romance! I'm asking you to meet me halfway."

"Halfway." He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "You don't even know what you're asking for."

"Then show me." The challenge hangs between us, dangerous and tempting. "Show me what this marriage is going to be, Samuil. Because right now, all I see is a cage dressed up in white silk and family tradition."

We both know I'm not talking about being business partners. I may be saying the words, but underneath, I'm challenging him, and he knows it. Will this marriage be one in name only, or will there be… other duties?

For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. His eyes drop to my mouth, and his grip on my wrist tightens. The tension coils tighter, making it hard to catch my breath. My knees actually tremble a little in expectation of feeling those lips on mine again. But then he releases me abruptly and steps back, putting distance between us.

"The wedding plans stand as they are." His voice is cold again, controlled.

I turn toward the door, fury and frustration burning in my chest. "God forbid anything in your perfect world be negotiable."

I leave before he can respond, before I say something that will make this situation even worse than it already is. My heels echo in the hallway as I storm toward the main staircase, needing space and air and anything that will help me think clearly.

I'm halfway down the corridor when I hear voices coming from one of the side rooms. The door is slightly ajar, and I recognize the deep tones of two of Samuil's captains. I should keep walking and give them privacy for whatever business they're discussing. And I'm already moving away to do just that, but then I catch a bit of their conversation and I stop in my tracks.

"The boss seems different lately." The first voice is unfamiliar. "More on edge than usual."

"It's the engagement." The second man sounds older, his accent thicker. "Never thought I'd see the day Pakhan Galkin agreed to marry anyone."

"Yeah, well, he swore years ago that he'd never have children. Guess Princess Rostova had better not be expecting babies anytime soon."

Wait, what? Never have children. But what about Gregory?

And then it hits me. The main reason I wanted to escape this marriage is because I didn't want children or a ready-made family. But if Gregory isn't Samuil's son…

18

SAMUIL

Iwake with a pounding headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the woman currently living under my roof. The argument from yesterday still sits heavily in my gut, along with the memory of how close I came to kissing her again. How close I came to losing control completely.

I need a distraction. Something to remind me of who I am and what matters beyond the chaos Ana brings into my carefully ordered life. Princess Ana. I need to remember to refer to her by her title. That little bonding session we had over her mother's letter is making me too careless with her. I need the distance, and calling her, even in my own thoughts, by her title will help with that. I hope.

The third floor of my estate is off-limits to everyone except me and occasionally Gregory. I climb the stairs and unlock the heavy door at the end of the hallway, stepping into the room that houses the ancient Galkin sword.

The sword rests in its case, the blade still sharp despite its age, the Galkin crest etched into the metal. I don't touch it. I rarely do unless absolutely necessary. Instead, I pull several journals from the shelves and settle into the leather chair near the window.

My ancestors were guardians of the royals for generations. The journals detail their struggles and sacrifices, as well as warnings about the dangers of allowing personal feelings to interfere with duty.

One entry catches my attention. My great-grandfather wrote it in 1947, a couple of years after World War II ended.

"The burden of guardianship is not meant to be shared with those outside the bloodline. To bring another family into this responsibility is to invite chaos. Power attracts ambition, and ambition destroys everything it touches. I have seen men I trusted turn on me for far less than what we protect. The moment you allow personal feelings to cloud your judgment is the moment you fail in your duty."