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“You didn’t think to warn me?” August asked.
“I figured you were already aware. Hell, I’ve been wondering if you requested it, considering you’re so determined to keep me in this damned castle.”
He reached for my wrist and wrapped his hand around it, squeezing tightly. “If I knew that was even an option for me, I would have married you when we were eighteen.”
A shiver traveled down my spine at his words, not because of flattery, but because eighteen seemed to be the magical number for Lord Geralt, too. Old enough to be fucked and young enough to be innocent. The appropriate age for being bent over someone’s knee and broken like a wild filly. August was not like Lord Geralt, but I always thought that arbitrary number was sinful. Childhood shouldn’t have a legally binding finish line for predators to stalk.
I forced my mouth to form words. “I don’t want to marry you.”
Off to our left, Queen Isabelle was standing in a group of men and talking to them but watching us out of the corner of her eye. “We don’t always get what we want, Christine,” August replied before releasing my wrist to thread our fingers together.
“What are you doing?”
“Holding my fiancée’s hand,” he replied with a malicious grin. I looked at him. His eyes were like pinpricks.
“We aren’t getting married,” I replied.
“My mother says otherwise.”
“Well, she can go fuck herself,” I said a bit too loudly. Isabelle looked over the crowd and stared at me. I stared right fucking back.
I didn’t believe in royal authority. I denounced the policies of the Crown the moment Lord Geralt slammed his body into mine. The old king ruined the monarch’s reputation in my eyes. I didn’t listen to Isabelle because I felt restricted by her rule; no, I did it because she knew everything I had done—everything I was capable of. If she wanted, she could have me murdered for my crimes. No one would see me as an innocent girl forced to kill the lord. They’d see me as a monster. They always blamed the person holding the sword, not the person who ordered the kill. You can’t punish a dead man, and I was still very much alive.
“I suppose I should get you a ring, huh?” August asked, drawing my attention back to him.
“Please do not,” I pleaded while crossing my arms over my chest. “You seem awfully calm for a man who was just informed of his engagement to someone he supposedly hates,” I challenged.
He looked confused for a moment. “What are you talking about?”
Shit. I didn’t want to bring this up. It was embarrassing how much his words rang in my mind. It’s too late now. “Last night. In the car, you said you hated me. You also mentioned my fat ass and said my degree plan was a waste of time. I guess you were right on that front. Not like I’ll be able to finish my studies now. My schedule will be filled with etiquette classes.”
Goodbye, my normal life. Goodbye, peace. Goodbye, a fear-free existence far away from Aldrich.
“Yeah, so I’m a dick when I’m high? And drunk. And basically, all the times between,” August replied sheepishly.
“And I get to marry you. How lucky am I?” I replied with sarcasm dripping from every syllable. I loved August—or at least the boy he was—but this version of him was a mess. What happened? We’d both changed so much.
“Come on, Christine. Aren’t you even a tad curious about how I would be as a husband?” he asked before reaching up to stroke my cheek. Could he see the blood? Could he smell death on my skin? “We used to be best friends, you know. Before all of this. Before you left.”
“You’re so quick to forgive, August. Don’t forget I did leave. Left you without a word,” I added. It was easier to push him away if I reminded him of that. I couldn’t stay. Too much was at risk. August snapped his hand back, but I continued spewing venom. “I suppose marrying the August I knew three years ago would be an honor, but the man I’m looking at right now inherited an entire kingdom. He hasn’t stopped for a single moment to think about how crucial that is. You fuck around and don’t give a damn about the implications of your actions. You were always so rambunctious. I never imagined you’d grow up to be a loser, August.”
He grabbed his chest, like I’d wounded him. Stunned, he stared at me, hurt flickering in his gaze for a brief moment before burning with anger. “Yeah? Well, fuck you too, Christine. I don’t want to marry a heartless bitch, but here we are.”
“Enough, you two. We have an audience,” Leo said. I hadn’t even noticed him standing behind August.
“I always have a fucking audience,” August snarled while running his hands through his hair. “I’m about to buy you the biggest goddamn ring money can buy.” August grabbed my neck, and I fought every instinct to incapacitate him. If I wanted, I could have August lying dead on these marble floors. “I want the whole goddamn world to know that you’re betrothed to a loser, Christine.” He squeezed. Leo placed his hand on the Glock strapped to his waist.
August leaned over and kissed my lips. He was sloppy and angry. His fingers squeezed tighter and tighter around my neck. My head grew dizzy, and I knew that soon I’d have to show him just what I was capable of.
His sweeping tongue caressed mine, and his free hand pawed at my body, as if the space between us was too vast. His fingers bent as he dug into my breast, my corset blocking the brutal touch but only slightly. The groan that escaped his lips swallowed me whole.
I thought of thunderstorms and promises. A sweet boy that captured my demons and let them loose in his soul.
Then, he let go of my throat, his reluctant fingers releasing me from his hold. I gasped for air, and his tongue invaded my mouth the moment my lips parted. I was choking on his taste. Sputtering as he lapped me up and bit my lip.
“Happy engagement, Christine,” August said before pulling away and leaving me in the hallway.
“Happy engagement, stranger,” I rasped back while rubbing my neck where his hands were.
