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It was an excruciating kind of pain to see Christine so wrapped up in my best friend. I’d been keeping my distance these last few days, too ashamed of my own actions to approach her. I was scared. A fool. All I wanted to do was make this castle—this kingdom—a safer place for my bride. And Atticus saw an opening and went for it.
“Are you going to kill me, Your Majesty? You’ve never been bloodthirsty, but I wonder if the prospect of Christine enjoying me more than you could push a man to those extremes.”
I started breathing faster, my pulse thudding. “No,” I replied. Standing up, I made my way toward the door and didn’t bother looking back at him as I said my parting words. “It just means I need to eat her pussy until she forgets your name.”
Chapter Seventeen
CHRISTINE
I stood with my palms pressed against the cool tile in the shower, with hot water cascading down my back and shoulders. My mind was fuzzy with disappointment and eagerness. Seeing Atticus always set me on edge. Being near him made me question myself, but it was pointless. I couldn’t have him. Soon, I would marry August, and my life would be planned out for me. There was a time that I would have been excited about this. I was in love with August for many, many years. And it wasn’t that naive childhood love, either. It was something I felt bone deep, an admiration and acceptance I felt for him that carried me through some of my darkest times.
I couldn’t give that up. Not only because we were trapped in an arranged marriage that was forcing us together, but because I still had hope for the boy I once knew. The boy I once loved fiercely. I was devoted even to his faults, and it was kind of scary to think I would lose myself in that love.
With August, I had to become what I feared. With Atticus, I got to accept the darkest parts of my soul. And somewhere between all of that, Leo was there too. We were trauma bonded, the rugged bodyguard and I. I would always remember him as the man who pulled me from the deepest pits of hell, with blood splatters on my skin and fire in my heart. Something like that was impossible to ignore. I would always feel connected with him in some way, even if he wanted nothing to do with me.
All three of them had captured parts of my soul, but at the end of the day, I would be marching down the aisle with one of them. I couldn’t help but feel regret for my situation. Not only because August seemingly wanted nothing to do with me, but because I wondered if it was possible to dive fully into a relationship with him while neglecting parts of myself that were difficult to let go of. A queen could not be a murderer. At least not a hands-on one. My dreams, aspirations, and future were all wrapped up in whatever August did. There was no individuality for a queen, only service. And I wasn’t sure if I was falling for Atticus because he offered a sense of freedom or because I genuinely loved that he was a monster like me.
I was about to turn off the water and figure out something to do for the evening, but the bathroom door crept open, sending my senses haywire. I scanned the room, hoping to find a weapon, but August’s voice knocked me out of my fear.
“Christine?” he called softly.
I sighed in relief. “What are you doing here, August? Shouldn’t you be avoiding me?”
I heard him curse softly as I turned off the water. When I opened the door of the shower and fully looked at him, there was a wild spark in his gaze. The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame, and he dragged his smoky gaze up and down my body. “I’ve been busy,” he replied distractedly.
“Hand me that towel?” I held my hand out, but he didn’t move.
“I prefer you naked.”
The last time I had seen August, I freaked out. It was embarrassing and triggering for me. I had had sex a couple of times since my attack. I fought for the right to enjoy sex without thinking of the king or Lord Geralt. But something about being in this castle—being with August—triggered me. I worried that he would start treating me like a delicate glass ornament. Something pretty he’d hang up, but not something he would ever stick his dick into again. Especially not if I was going to have a panic attack every time we fucked.
I stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel myself, a blush spreading across my cheeks that reminded me of all the times I used to gawk at August like he was currently eyeing me. “You’re very confusing,” I replied before stopping in front of the mirror and grabbing a comb.
“How so?”
“One minute you’re a lazy, spoiled prince with a drug addiction and a line of women ready to suck your dick. Next, you’re a dedicated king determined to faithfully serve his country. I haven’t seen you in three days, and everyone keeps telling me how busy you are.”
He shrugged before reaching out to grab the comb from my hand. Positioning himself at my back, he started running it through my long blonde hair as I stared at my reflection. “For starters, I still have the drug addiction. I had to take a Percocet last night to fall asleep, and I’ve been popping Adderall like it’s my job. As far as the women wanting to suck my dick, I can’t help that I have such a fabulous cock that women want to shove down their throats.”
I giggled a little, but that timeless, acute insecurity I used to feel as a teen flared within me. I remembered having to watch the boy I loved chasing skirts and getting off every chance he could. “Why don’t you go find one of those pretty women then?” I said. My voice was hoarse with frustration.
“It’s ironic to hear you sound jealous, considering I just saw a photo of you and Atticus,” he replied. “If you want to keep me all to yourself, then I expect the same in return.”
The comb snagged on a tangle, as if accentuating the tension between us. I spun around to face him, and he dropped it to the ground before bracing his palms on the sink at my sides. “I wouldn’t have to go to Atticus if you would stop avoiding me.”
To my surprise, there was a heart rending tenderness in his gaze. I tried to swallow the lump that lingered in my throat as he considered his words for a brief moment. “I didn’t know what to say.”
For some reason, hearing him admit that, made things worse. My trauma felt like a chasm between us. It would always hold him back. He would never see me the same way again, and I hated myself for reacting the way I did up in that tower. Even though we were forced together by an arranged marriage, we could have been happy. I could’ve loved him. But now this would always be something that held us back, and it made me sick. “I see,” I mumbled.
“Why do you look like that?” he asked before grabbing a wet strand of blonde hair and pinching it between his thumb and index finger.
“Look like what?”
“Like I just kicked you. Like I just broke your fucking heart.”
I braced my palms on his chest, preparing to push him away, but stopped at the last moment so that I could feel the muscles beneath his button-up shirt. “I don’t want you to see me differently,” I admitted.
The truth twisted and turned inside me, like a thorny vine growing up my throat. “I do see you differently,” he admitted, breaking my heart with those five simple words. “You’re stronger. In my mind, you are the bravest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You’ve always been better than me, Christine.”
