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He stalks toward me and I edge away until my back hits the wall, trapping me from evading his towering form. The moonlight illuminates a face I would admire under normal circumstances. Now, though, I see only hard lines and hatred.
His attention drops to where I clutch the blanket close to my chest, settling on my makeshift bandage. “I don’t see any need for you to wear such jewelry anymore, do you?” He holds his hand out, palm up.
It’s not my bandage but my ring that has grabbed his attention, and his meaning is clear.
You must not remove this ring for any reason.
I don’t want to test the truth of Sofie’s warning, so I tuck my hand beneath the blanket in response. Summoning all my nerve, I meet Zander’s steely gaze, holding it while I find my voice and say, “It’s mine.”
Time hangs as my heart drums in my chest and the growing tension swirling around us threatens to choke the air from my lungs. He seems to be trying to read my thoughts as surely as I try to read his.
I pray he can see the honesty and innocence in mine when I say slowly, clearly, “I’m not who you think I am—”
“Are you not Princess Romeria, future queen of the kingdom of Ybaris, betrothed to be my wife?” he says with deadly calm.
My mouth gapes. Princess? Kingdom?Betrothed? “No! I mean, yes, my name is Romeria, but I’m not—”
“Enough!” His brow furrows as he reaches beneath his jacket for his hip. His hand wraps around the hilt of the dagger. “Is there any shred of you that feels remorse for what you’ve done?”
I stay mute, afraid any answer will guarantee that he draws that weapon from its sheath.
“Do you know how much I wish to believe you were not behind this?” he whispers hoarsely, moving closer. His eyes shine with raw pain. “Please, convince me you would not do this to me.”
I flatten my body against the cool stone wall and hold my breath, the urge to scream clawing at my throat. After all I’ve been through, this is how I am to die? In a medieval tower cell, at the hands of this emotionally wounded king, mistaken for someone else?
He leans in and his lips brush against mine in a featherlight stroke.
I’m frozen in shock by the unexpected move, and the next one, when he kisses me with more intention. His words find purchase within the swirl of my panic. I was to be his wife. He wants to believe I’m innocent of these terrible crimes.
Maybe there is a way to convince him still.
It’s been awhile since I’ve kissed someone—a guy at a club six months ago, who didn’t bother to remove his wedding band when he propositioned me; I divested him of his Blancpain watch that night—and forever since I meant it. With a deep, shaky breath, I coax Zander’s mouth with mine. His lips are soft and warm, such a contrast to his cold, hard demeanor, and they part willingly.
I release my grip on my blanket and it slides off my shoulders, falling to my feet. With tentative fingers, I smooth my uninjured hand over the wall of chest before me, silently admiring the expanse of solid muscle beneath my palm as I lean my head back and taunt him, teasing the seam of his lips with the tip of my tongue.
Zander goes still, and I fear whatever momentary spell he’s fallen under has waned as quickly as it struck him. But then, with a sharp inhale, he’s responding fervently, reaching to grip the back of my head, his fingers knitting through my hair as he deepens the kiss with skilled strokes of his tongue. Firm hips pin me to the wall, his tense body pressed against mine.
I’m momentarily overwhelmed. I’ve never been kissed like this—with so much desperation. But I remember my purpose quickly. My hand climbs up over the thick column of his throat to graze that carved jawline with a tender touch. My other one—the injured hand—slips from between us, where it’s safe from being crushed.
Where it’s closer to the dagger.
Zander’s lips shift from my mouth to my jaw, and then to my neck, his breaths coming in shallow pants.
In the headiness of this moment, my body begins to respond despite the peril I’m in. I arch my back to give him better access, and his grip on my hair tightens. He tilts my head at an angle, stretching my neck wide. I shudder at the playful scrape of his teeth, the unexpected sharpness of them sending a shiver to my core.
But when his fingers curl around the neckline of my dress and I feel the jerk of fabric, hear the tear of a seam, I realize I’m quickly losing control of the situation—if I ever had any to begin with.
I never allowed anyone to use me like this when I was living on the streets. I am not about to let it happen now, no matter how dire my situation. But I will use it to my advantage.
Night air caresses my bare skin, where one side of my dress has been pulled down precariously low. I feel Zander’s gaze on my body as surely as if it were his mouth, but he hasn’t made a move. He has stalled, as if contemplating whether to continue or stop. Any moment, he could decide on the latter.
Gritting my teeth against the sting in my palm, I slip my fingers inside his jacket, skating them over his trim waist to get my bearings before I draw his hips tighter against my parted thighs.
He responds with a guttural sound. His fist tightens on my hair once again, and his mouth moves for my neck. I feel another deliciously sharp drag of his teeth and a soft moan escapes my lips, unbidden. But I use the moment’s distraction to brush the dagger’s hilt with my thumb, testing its fit in the sheath while searching for a light, unnoticeable grasp.
I pinch the top …
Zander peels away from me suddenly and takes several steps back, out of my reach.
