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“You can’t.” I throw out a hand to grab him. “We have to get married.”
I’m grasping for a reason to give him as his jaw drops in disbelief.
“Are you that desperate for power?” he bites out. “We definitely do not have to get married. I’m sure that when they made this arrangement, neither of our parents knew you were the vigilante!”
That’s true enough, and they sure as hell can’t find out now.
“Unless you actually do want me to hang, we can’t very well tell them now, either.” I’m banking on whatever residual mercy he has for me to avoid telling him things that will get us both killed, but he surprises me by shaking his head.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to make something up. You’re good at that.”
Before I can think of a response, he spins around and saunters back to the ballroom. I don’t want to follow him yet, not until I have some kind of a plan.
I never get the chance to think of one, though, before a shape materializes from the shadows, and icy dread spreads throughout my body.
Damian.
