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‘And Marit? How is she?’ The concern in Aleksander’s voice caught Marit by surprise. It was years since they had been anything that resembled ‘close’. And his ascension to the throne in the last three months certainly hadn’t helped that.
Her gaze returned to Lykos, who had stopped with his hands on his belt, frowning towards the phone as if unsure what to say. She flattened herself back against the corridor wall when his eyes turned towards the door, her pulse pounding in her throat.
‘She is...fine,’ Marit heard him say and the snap of leather told her he had removed his belt. Biting her lip, she was about to turn back to see if she could...
‘Lykos, I need you to keep her.’
‘What?’
What?
Lykos’s voice had been as harsh and shocked as her own internal voice.
‘Just for the week.’
‘A week? Aleksander—’
‘I will explain later.’
‘I don’t want her.’ The explosive words cut into her like shrapnel.
‘You would make a king beg.’ It was less of a question from her brother, more of a statement.
‘I will expect something very great in return,’ she heard Lykos growl.
Nausea rose in Marit’s stomach and the fingers that pressed against her lips shook.
He didn’t want her here.
‘I’ll see to it that you have it.’
She turned to lean against the wall, her breaths short and puffy as she wilted down to the floor.
No one wanted her. Not unless they were paid for it.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling and she tried to tell herself that she should know this by now. She hadn’t been the important sibling, she hadn’t been taught the same things, treated the same way, wanted the same way. Loved. She had been unseen for so much of her life. Until now. And even now she wasn’t really wanted. She was the only stand-in available. She was the worst-case scenario.
‘What is it that you expect me to do with her for a week?’
‘Just...keep her away from here and out of trouble.’
She bit her lip until a faint metallic taste hit her tongue. The sharp sting pulled her back to the present, her brother’s words finally registering. He should have known better.
She heard Lykos sigh. ‘She’s a princess. How much trouble can she be?’
Poor man, Marit thought. He had no idea.
Water poured over Lykos’s skin, the freezing jets raising goosebumps and thankfully not much else. He breathed through his nose, trying to calm the emotions swinging between resentment that he’d been lumbered with a spoilt princess, irritation that a brother would be so neglectful of his sister and frustration. Because that spoilt princess happened to be causing a reaction he’d not experienced since his teenage years.
He couldn’t understand it. She was absolutely not his type. His preference leant towards brunettes that were his age or older, with sleek sophistication and absolutely no desire for a commitment he would never give. Marit was... He cursed. She was nearly ten years younger than him. The thought had him clenching his jaw. It didn’t take a genius to work out that she was innocent too. The way she had looked up at him in the car park... There hadn’t been an ounce of artifice about her or her reaction to him.
He shut off the water and turned for a towel before the memory of that moment could take hold of his body and lead to another twenty minutes in a freezing cold shower. He dried his body with harsh strokes, as if he could rid his skin of the desire to reach for her.
Stamáta!
Enough. He had more control over himself than this. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he strode into the bedroom and stopped immediately.
For his entire childhood he’d lived in a constant state of hyperawareness. Firstly because of his father’s fists and then at the orphanage, where fear and desperation were tools to be used against the weak. Consequently, he had a very specific alertness to his surroundings, especially his possessions, where they were and, most importantly, where they weren’t. And he hadn’t left his trousers on the bed. With his hand clutching the towel, he stalked through his apartment to confirm what he already knew.
