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We take three or four of the same courses and according to some of my teachers, my tests got the highest grades, so I am better than him—at studying, at least. Why can’t he acknowledge that? Why can’t he see we’re all people with our strengths and weaknesses? He acts like I’m worth less than muck under his shoe because I am common and his ancestors trace back to an immortal who got locked away to another part of Xhera centuries ago. The very thought of him frustrates, unsettles, and irritates me like nothing else.
“You’re summoned to court next weekend.” His mouth curves into a smirk that shouldn’t make him look more beautiful, given how cold it is. “Present yourself to your king on Baltaday.”
“You’re not my king,” I grit between my teeth.
Even as the word escapes my lips, I know it’s not entirely accurate. When I took my place as my stepfather’s heir, I accepted a Ravelynian title. That means that I’m no longer a citizen of Magnapolis, or rather, not solely that.
I'm not sure I can decline an invitation from the king of Ravelyn, at least not without one hell of an excuse.
"Aren't I?" He huffs an amused laugh. "Then I suppose I shouldn’t have the power to make you do anything I want."
Because he’s mere feet away, I notice the subtle change in his pupils: his irises widen and the blue rims brighten so much it looks like a light was turned on inside him.
I can't look away. I can't even breathe.
"It would please me to see you leap onto your desk and remove all of your clothes, like the vulgar, inferior slut you are." His words might be crass, but his tone is hot chocolate wrapped in smooth velvet. Soft, low, sensual, and oh so beautiful.
My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips. I’m frozen in place, but if I could move, I'd obey him instantly. I want to please him. I crave his approval. It’s only natural. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I’d do anything to have him so much as smile at me.
At the back of my mind, something twitches, screaming for attention, but I barely hear it over the thundering need to satisfy his every whim.
You hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!
I don't. How could I?
I get to my feet, not even acknowledging the laughter around me, or our teacher's voice. I think he's talking to my beguiling, perfect king, and his tone is pleading, verging on panicked, but I cannot attend to a single word he’s saying.
The strangest sensation washes over me, like a glass of cool water running down my back, distracting me from the lure of the beautiful siren before me. It’s almost painful, but I instinctively cling to it as hard as I can, letting it anchor me to reality.
Straining, I lean over the desk toward the gorgeous thing trying to control me.
"No."
That's all I say, not trusting myself to remain another second in his presence.
I throw my satchel over my shoulder and leave the room, only breaking into a run after I’m out of view.
CHAPTERTWELVE
A BRUSH WITH DANGER
Irun.
I run like my life depends on it.
I run away from everything in that room. Him, clearly, but also the side of myself I discovered while I was under his spell.
I’ve never been as elated and peaceful as I was for those few atrociously delectable moments. Shame and confusion mingle with the undeniable desire to feel that way again.
Even as I kick the door of my suite closed and lock it behind me, I fight the urge to return to the alchemy lab, get on my desk, and strip as my king demanded. Do anything he'd like at all, let him take control.
What in the seven hells was that?
I throw myself on top of my canopy bed, bite my pillow, and scream at the top of my lungs. My nails dig into my palms, and I welcome the pain. The reality.
And here I thought his ice was the most lethal power in his arsenal. Now I know better.
What he is?
