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Fear bolts through me like lightning. Flipping onto my back, I scramble up against the far wall of the cabin, my wild eyes on the prince, hand pressed to my cheek. My knees hike up, as if to push a barrier between us, my silk skirt falling back to reveal my legs.
But Daein follows, fast.
Rage blazes in his eyes like blizzards on the cliffs. He straddles me, snatching up neck in his tight grip, and angles my face to align with his furious one.
“You fool yourself, April,” he growls at me, his voice shivering with the rage that presses his fingertips too tightly into the sides of my neck. “Did you really believe for a moment that I would not see the way you looked at him?” His voice booms in the carriage, “Did you?!”
His grip traps any scream I might let loose, so I can only grunt. Face twisting with a teary grimace, I manage a shake of the head, though it sears the bones deep in my throat, the bones I fear will shatter under his hold.
The air is cut off from my lungs, and I’m squirming beneath him to suck in a long breath.
“Understand this,” he hisses, bringing his face closer to my reddening one. “You belong to me. I will flay you alive for touching another, treacherous human.”
Again, I shake my head, lifting my hands to his one wrapped tightly around my throat. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe. I grip onto his fingers, trying to peel them away from my neck, but it’s like trying to pry apart a statue’s fingers from a stone sword.
He snarls at me, baring his teeth as he loosens his grip slightly.
A sharp gasp spears through me. I suck in as much air as I can, my eyes fluttering at the rushing sensation. My hands go limp on his grip as I steady my breathing.
Still, my voice is breathless and dry as I whimper, “I only looked at his clothes. I swear it, my prince—”
“I saw you smile,” he growls, his eyes darkening in the shadows of the carriage.
“I smiled back,” I plead, tears spilling out the corners of my eyes, wetting my temples before trailing into my hair. “He smiled first and I was being polite. I don’t want to make enemies here.”
“Careful you do not make one out of me,” he hisses as he leans over me, bringing his lips to the corner of mine. His tongue darts out and snares up the trail of blood there. As he draws back to glare his dagger-eyes at me, he adds with a curling lip of hatred, “That will be your greatest foul.”
A squeal catches in my throat as he shoves me deeper into the cushions before his hand slips away from my neck.
I gasp, scrambling to sit upright against the cabin wall. Eyes wild and glued to the prince, I bring my hand to my aching neck and hold gently, as if to soothe the promised bruises that will soon bloom there.
Daein turns his hardened face away from me and sinks back into his seat. He stretches his arm out over the armrest and looks out the window. But by the tight clench of his jaw, I doubt he’s watching the scenery.
Silent tears fall down my face. My hand strays from my burning throat to my cheek that throbs with a fleshy ache. Even the teeth behind the skin hurt some.
I cup my face, eyes downcast, and stay quiet the rest of the ride.
The vicious prince doesn’t speak a word either. He’s stiff and tense in the corner of the carriage, staring out of the window, and when we roll into the courtyard, he boots open the door and jumps out without so much as a glance my way.
I wait a moment, watching out the open door as he storms off, leaving me behind.
At his absence, I loosen a heavy breath and my shoulders slump. I’m slow to climb out of the carriage, avoiding the gazes of the slaves—Terry among them—who wait at the entrance to the atrium.
Keeping my gaze tucked down, I speed past them and rush my way through the castle to my own private bedroom.
The moment the drapes fall into place behind me, it’s all released. I throw myself onto the bed, tears quick to twist my face into something ugly, and I scream into my feathery pillow.
I sob my aching heart out for as long as I have tears left to shed. And when the water stops leaking from my eyes, I’m left with harsh, shivering breaths that shudder my body and tremble my bottom lip. That real ugly sort of crying.
Once I finally gather enough strength to pluck myself from the firm bed, I drag my feet over to the golden framed mirror.
I’m a dreadful sight, as I expected. My cheek is red raw, a faint shiny purple hue brewing there, and a cut at the corner of my mouth. My neck is the worst, though. It’s covered in kiss-like bruises along the sides—from the prince’s fingers digging into my flesh—and there’s an angry red line along the front from his tight grip.
Bloodshot eyes stare back at me, swollen and puffy from all the crying I’ve been doing.
But in all of those sobs, I realised that the prince was right in a way. I needed that, I think. I needed to be reminded of what I mean to him, which is absolutely nothing at all. To him, I’m something that he owns for a short while. I’m an object, and he means to treat me like one.
Guess I just got so lost in all the playfulness between us lately, and I started to forget what he really is at his core. Ugly.
