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It all clicks into place in a matter of a second. Then, right on cue, the doors to my sleeping chambers open, and Elizabeth sashays into the room.
She smiles warmly, as if her presence here is nothing out of the ordinary. My hackles rise, apprehensive of yet another trap. I draw a discreet breath—wolf shifter blood to cover her natural cloyingly sweet scent—and my suspicions are confirmed.
Remaining silent and still, I wait for her to speak.
Large lavender eyes and painted blood red lips make her skin appear snow white. Everything about Elizabeth, from her looks to her soft voice, is designed to make her seem young, innocent, and desirable to men. It is nothing more than a façade to hide the dark, twisted creature under it.
The visage that inspires humans to fall willingly at her feet, only reminds me of my time spent trapped by her powers. Elizabeth slowly stripped away my humanity with every word and action she compelled onto me. Held prisoner in my own body, I watched helplessly as she molded me into the monster she always wanted me to become.
“Good morning, my sweet prince. I trust you slept well?”
I cannot be sure if there is a bite to her words or if it’s my own paranoia. It’s a simple enough question, not requiring a verbal answer, so I dip my chin in a reverent nod.
Elizabeth stretches her long legs over the length of the settee. Judging from the cup with traces of blood, she has been here for some time—hours before the Red Hunt was scheduled to end.
She motions to the chair across from her, indicating for me to sit. I obey her silent command without hesitation. Those eyes watch me with unnerving focus.
“You have been busy, my prince,” Elizabeth says conversationally.
Still, I say nothing. She is waiting for a tell, for an error so slight that it will give away the truth.
With a quiet hum, she returns to watching. Observing. Her long slender fingers dance back and forth over the delicate chain of her necklace. The way she watches me is not unusual, but it is no less unnerving.
“Stand,” she orders.
I obey.
Then tersely she says, “Come.”
I take the three steps to stand before her.
Elizabeth drops her legs off the edge of the settee in a way that intentionally drags the hem of her dress up, showing more of her thigh. Reaching out, she takes my hand in hers—the opposite of the one I used to oath bind to Clara—then rises to her feet.
She traces her finger over the bones of my hand and knuckles, then turns it over to follow the lines of my palm. “I hope you enjoyed your hunt with Lawrence last night.” Elizabeth’s finger stills as she looks up at me through her frosted lashes. “It seems you finally caught your prey.”
“Yes, my queen,” I say.
After Cassius took Clara to his estate, Elizabeth had ordered me to hunt Clara down and kill her upon her return. I would have succeeded last night if her skin hadn’t been coated in nightshade. The blood pouring from her wound was more than enough to blind me to the sedative’s syrupy scent.
“Good,” she purrs. “Because tonight I want you all to myself.”
In the span of a heartbeat, she slices my palm and then hers. Sliding her fingers through mine, Elizabeth presses our palms together, torquing my wrist at an angle that me to my knees.
My eyes widen.
She is attempting to oath bind me.
Here.
Now.
Even though the coronation is still over a month away.
There is no exchange of power… nothing more than the two of us holding hands as our wounds heal.
I want to rip my hand from hers, but she—
“Did youhonestlythink I wouldn’t notice?” she hisses through her teeth. Thin fingers tighten, pressing down, just shy of snapping my bones. “I don’t know how you did it, Alaric, but you broke my compulsion.”
