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Grim’s not quick to anger, I think, but as his eyes glint in fury back at mine, I instinctively know that for the people he cares about? For the few people he holds close to his well-guarded heart? He will burn down the world.
“The weasel,” Grim says flatly. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong with him.” His jaw tenses as he seems to mentally replay his interaction with Kimo. “He’s your Claudius.”
I recognize the Hamlet reference immediately, unsurprised by the layers of this man. Grim’s an iceberg, showing only the smallest percentage of himself to the world. I love that when I explore beneath the surface, I find Shakespeare.
“Maybe,” I admit wryly. “But I’m no Gertrude.”
Despite how pissed he is, the corner of his mouth twitches the tiniest bit, tempted to smile. “No,” he murmurs, “you’re really not. Gertrude had no control over her fate or her son’s. But you’d never allow that to happen.”
“And I’d never allow Kimo in particular to have control over me or Ka’eo, even though he’s proposed marriage a number of times.” It’s the most polite way to convey Kimo’s interest, but Grim doesn’t let me get away with polite.
“Some proposals. Is that all, little queen? Are you telling me the whole truth right now?”
I press my hands to Grim’s chest and toy with the two rings suspended on the gold chain. I think I’ll dream of his big, hard body for years, but right now, I’m soaking
up his strength and his courage in order to tell the truth.
I’m learning it takes more courage to be vulnerable than it does to conceal all the reasons why vulnerability stings.
“He’s made it clear that he wants more than the crown and complete control of my son,” I admit, trying to squeeze the unpleasant words out as quickly as I can. “He wants me. He comes to my room in the palace sometimes, especially at night. He tries to push his way into my hotel rooms when we travel. He’s touched me . . .” I break off, because I can barely talk about those brief moments without wanting to curl into myself. Such small, tiny moments—such small, tiny touches. A thumb brushing between my shoulder blades while we have to dance at state functions, or an intentional graze of my breast as he embraces me. Small, tiny assaults against my humanity. Small, tiny reminders that I’m running out of ways to politely refuse him.
Grim’s thumb tightens a little against the flower in my hair. “He’s touched you?” His voice, though controlled, is nearing full growl.
“Small things,” I sigh. “Still wrong, but he does it when other people are around, so that if I push back, it will make a scene. And I know what you’re thinking,” I add, to head off the storm brewing on Grim’s face. “You’re thinking that I should make a scene, but it’s not that easy. You’re a man and you’re a man with years of training and tactics, and you can’t know what it’s like to be a woman having to defend her dignity every single day—not just from Kimo, but from courtiers and politicians and the companies outside waiting to gobble up Manaroa. If I don’t keep the status quo, I could end up hurt. More importantly, Ka’eo could be hurt. That’s not an option, Grim. It’s never going to be an option.”
Grim’s hands move down to my back and then suddenly I’m crushed against his chest, against the hard pounding of his heart, and the way he keeps flexing and squeezing his hands against me makes me feel like he’s trying to remind himself that right now I’m safe, that right now I’m in his arms and he can keep every terrible thing away from me.
“Of course, it’s not an option, Lani, and for the record, that is not what I was thinking at all. I was thinking that it should be your security’s job to make a scene on your behalf. It should be your security’s job to keep you and your body safe. What would have happened tonight if I hadn’t been there? If Kimo had managed to get you into his car, like he wanted? Your security was nowhere in sight until we left the room, and even if they were, would they have protected you?”
Grim’s words make complete sense, and I hate that they do, because it means I have to give him honesty in return. “No. No, they’re loyal to me, but central to their training is the idea that royals can do no wrong. That includes Kimo, the future king’s uncle. Or the queen, when she invites big, brooding men up to her room.” I say the last part in a teasing tone, needing to ease the mood, but Grim’s arms only pull tighter around me.
“No one is looking out for you at home, are they?” he says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and against my ear. “There’re people for Ka’eo, there’re people for running the country, but there’s no one just for you.”
I exhale. “I have Vashti. Hehu.”
“They’re not security, Lani. They’ve already failed to keep Kimo away from you.”
“If I remarried . . .”
Grim suddenly goes very, very still underneath me, as if the very idea of me remarrying has him feeling some kind of way.
I quickly suppress the sizzle of pleasure I feel at his grouchiness, but it’s difficult to ignore; it feels so good to have someone jealous over me. Jealous in the fun, delicious way—not in the creepy, Kimo way.
“Yes?” Grim grates out. “If you remarried, then what?”
“If I remarried, maybe Kimo would back off. Maybe my new husband would protect me. That’s what Hehu hopes, at least, that a marriage will solve all my problems.”
“Would it solve your problems? Having a ring on your finger again?”
I consider it, even though I’ve already thought about it so much it’s impossible to come up with any new answers. Kimo probably would stay away—at least more than he does now—if I were married again, and it would certainly stop other men from eyeing me as a potential prize. There would be more stability, maybe, more certainty around Ka’eo’s regency, and that would be a good thing. But I just can’t help but feel like it might be a slow trap, a hidden eddy in the water that you can easily swim into but not out of. I don’t have much freedom now, but the little I do have I would lose.
“If I chose the right man,” I say slowly, “maybe.”
I didn’t have a choice at all when I married Rua, but the time for powerlessness in my love life is through. I’ve fulfilled my duty, I’ve borne an heir. Maybe I don’t have to choose between a man and freedom . . . after all, I was able to choose for myself tonight, wasn’t I? And it felt so good, so divine, just to see someone as thrillingly sexy as Grim, and think: I want. And think: mine.
It’s hard to imagine ever seeing any other man who fires me up like Grim, but maybe it’s possible. And if it’s possible, then maybe I’m not ready to give it up. Definitely not just so I can wear a ring on my finger, and most likely a ring belonging to a man who covets my crown or my son’s as much as he covets me.
“But,” I say, contradicting myself, “even the right man for me might not be the right man for my crown. I don’t know if I’m ready to choose between the two. Not after tonight.” I feel Grim tense under me, and I realize what I just said and how it sounded. “I mean, not after how good it felt tonight to be free again. Free to enjoy things just for myself.”
