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‘It doesn’t matter,’ he agreed lazily, reaching for the pins that kept her hair coiled in its tight little bun, unable to stop himself. ‘You don’t need to approve of me in order to die for me.’
She froze as he pulled the pins out one by one, deliberately slowly, dropping them carelessly on the floor and watching her as he did so.
Her breathing had quickened, the pulse at the base of her throat accelerating.
Yes, he was pushing her. Wanting a challenge, wanting a fight. And it was dangerous; it was playing with fire. But he’d always liked a little danger, and getting burned could be fun.
‘Iwoulddie for you, Your Highness.’ Certainty glowed in her eyes. ‘That’s my purpose, too.’
‘Would you?’ He pulled out the last pin and dropped it on the floor. ‘You’d die for a man you don’t know, much less like?’
‘What I think of you doesn’t matter. It’s the royal house of Nikolaides that’s important, and that’s what I’m protecting.’
It’s never you. Did you really think it was?
The thought was a snake winding through his head. Of course. She meant that she would die for the prince, not forhim.The country and the throne were the only things that mattered. The only things that hadevermattered. The man wasn’t important, and once he was engaged, the man would be gone, crushed beneath the weight of the crown.
But you won’t care. You’ll have become your brother. Cold. Hard. Rigid. Exactly what your father always wanted you to be.
Ice sat in the pit of his stomach, spreading through his veins. He didn’t know why that thought should cause him so much dread, when it hadn’t before. When the last ten years of his life had been dedicated to proving he didn’t care much about anything.
When he’d been a boy, all he’d wanted was to be Defender of his brother’s throne. The position hadn’t been filled in years, since his father had had no siblings, and Xerxes had been desperate for the honour. But that was before he’d learned what a cage being royal was, before he’d understood the demands it would lay on him, the sacrifices he would have to make.
He knew now though. Oh, yes, he knew.
She was watching him in the mirror again, her gaze sharp, as if she could see inside his head. See all his doubts.
See the weak man you really are.
Xerxes ignored the thought, tugging on her bun, uncoiling it so it fell down her back in a thick, tangled skein. Initially he’d thought her hair was plain brown, but it wasn’t. There were strands of gold there, and tawny, chestnut, caramel and a deep mahogany like fox fur. Her hair shimmered in thick waves, curling at the ends. He’d never seen anything so lovely.
He wanted to wind his fingers in it, wrap it around his wrists, spread it all over his chest, silky and soft.
She made no sound, made no move to stop him, merely watching with that same steady, amber gaze.
She’s not looking at the prince.
His breath caught, his temper shifting yet again, coiling tight. He shouldn’t care what she was looking at. Whether it was the flawed, broken man he’d once been or the sulky playboy he’d turned himself into. It shouldn’t matter. So why did he feel angry? Why did he feel exposed?
Either way, he needed an angle and he’d always preferred to attack and take the enemy by surprise.
‘Such blind obedience.’ He pushed his fingers into the silky mass of her hair, combing it out so it cascaded over her shoulders. ‘If you’d die for someone like me with no questions asked, purely because you were ordered to, then what else would you do?’ His fingers closed into a fist as he drew her head back gently. ‘Tell me, soldier. If I ordered you to unzip your gown and stand naked before me, would you do it?’
CHAPTER THREE
CALISTA’SHEARTWASbeating very fast. The prince was behind her, all heat and hard male strength, his hand in her hair. He wasn’t holding her tightly and it wasn’t painful, but she could feel his grip, the slight tug of it sending shivers down her spine.
Every part of this was a problem.
His proximity, his touch. The weight of his dark stare gleamed in the mirror. The scent of him was pine and sunshine, and something else musky and delicious.
She shouldn’t have lost her grip on her temper. Shouldn’t have told him she disapproved of him. Definitely shouldn’t have said she’d die for him.
She should have kept her answers toYes, Your HighnessandNo, Your Highness.
But she hadn’t.
She’d let his presence get under her skin. The way he looked at her, the way her body reacted to him as if it had a mind of its own. The seductive darkness of his voice. The gowns he’d made her try on and the shock of seeing herself looking not at all like the soldier she was, reminding her of the little girl she’d once been, who’d loved trying on her mother’s clothes. Who’d once wanted nothing more than to grow up pretty and fun and smiley just like her. Sunshine to her father’s dour raincloud presence.
