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Oh no.
This ... this might be worse than the threat I feared just moments ago.
This can end so much bloodier than a simple punishment for almost speaking without permission.
He blames me for his want. Should I blame him for my desires?
His hands on my jaw start to loosen their grip. Still, he holds onto my face, guiding my head further back to allow his mouth to meet mine.
Against my lips, he confesses, “I never should have brought you here.” One of his hands leaves my face and reaches around me. “An error I can correct now.”
Behind me, I hear a faint scrape of a ... abladeover the desk.
The letter opener.
My heart leaps up into my throat. In a beat, I struggle against him. I shove at his unmovable chest, writhe between his body and the desk, wrestle to free my face from his tightening grip, but I can’t move. He won’t let me budge.
“Please,” I whine, feeling the blade’s cool kiss graze over my shoulder. “Please, please let me go.”
On my lips still, his mouth twitches into a half-grin. “Beg me,” he whispers darkly. “Tell me why you should live, and I might spare you.”
A shudder rinses through me.
“I’ll be a backroom slave,” I gush, hands grabbing at his unbuttoned shirt. I tug at the material as though it’ll somehow save me in a desperate moment. “I’ll return to my world. I’ll hide from you forever, or serve in another household—but please,pleaseeelet me live.”
My wet eyes find his, and I see him through a glaze of tears. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do—I just want to survive long enough to get home. That’s all. I just want to go home.”
His grin, pressed against my mouth, is still in place, though faded some. Frosty eyes look down on me, gleaming with too much intrigue. “Offer me your body,” he says, then nips at my bottom lip. I wince and a dark chuckle whispers from him. “And I might consider it.”
A choppy breath escapes me. I shudder against him, my hands settling on his firm chest.
I ... I think he just lured me into a trap. He was never going to kill me. He wastoyingwith me.
Asshole. Absolute devil, demon, fuck.
Frustration boils up inside of me. And it’s sudden to turn into a bolt of anger.
Through the stifled sobs, I push at him—my hands slap and shove against his chest, but he is as unmovable as the statues in the twilight gardens.
Smile fading, a dark look settles over his face and he peels his lips away from mine. Looking down at me, he growls a vicious tone that jolts me with fright; “Get on the desk.”
“What?”
Before I can blink, the letter opener has clattered to the blackwood floor and he’s snatching my waist. He sits me on the desk, then yanks me against him.
My legs are spread, my damp face hot, breaths coming out sharp and shaky.
He fits himself between my legs, his glacier eyes pinning me in place. One of his hands runs up the length of my outer thigh. The other reaches around me—and I trace it out the corner of my eye.
He reaches for a silver container, plain in its exterior. A medical one—I recognise it from the stash of salves and whatnot that the butler keeps locked away in a stone cabinet in the kitchen backroom.
I watch as the prince flicks off the lid and reveals the container to be full of white powder. My face turns down with a frown as he dips his fingertip into the powder, scooping up a small lump, then brings it to me.
He holds it out in front of my face. “Eat it.”
I blink, glancing between the white powder and his small smile.
“For your sickness,” he adds, bringing his finger closer to me. “It will heal you for a short time. And once its effects begin to fade,I will come to collect.”
