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Paris Apollo stopped walking. They were in one of the grand halls of the palace, a stunning and airy architectural marvel of a room—but all she could see was the green of his eyes, the arch of his brow.
“You do not care much for your parents,” he said.
And Madelyn thought that if she had to discuss them with him, here, she would shatter into pieces.
She wouldbreak.
“I don’t want to think about them,” she told him, knowing her voice was as urgent as the heat she could feel in her gaze. “I don’t want tothink,Paris Apollo.”
His perfect mouth curved, slowly. So very slowly.
“I know just the thing,” he promised her in a low voice.
And he was as good as his word.
It was raw, there in that bed of his that had begun to feel like some kind of chapel to her. It was a marvel in and of itself, what they could do to each other. The heights they could climb. The passion they could summon with a mere touch.
He wiped her clean. He made her new.
And when he rose, much later, and donned those dark clothes of his, Madelyn was not asleep.
Because her heart would not stop its terriblebeatinginside of her, leaving her aching and awake.
And because it was possible that she had forced herself to stay awake, knowing this would happen again.
That it wasn’t a dream. That she wasn’t seeing things.
That ignoring this was just another way of being the same foolish girl she’d always been, and if her parents’ appearance here had made anything clear it was that she never, ever wanted to be that girl again.
Madelyn rose from the bed and dragged her gown back on, glad that it was one of the more comfortable ones. It even had pockets. She shoved her feet into her shoes, which were far less comfortable, but they would do.
And then she followed Paris Apollo out into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
PARISAPOLLOHADbeen walking for some time when he realized he was being followed.
And was furious with himself because he should have noticed it sooner. He should have noticed someone behind him instantly, but he knew why he hadn’t. He’d been too busy being lost in his head like some lovesick fool.
It was as if he was destined to forever be a letdown—to himself, to everyone around him—when it mattered most.
He had gotten well used to making his way out of the palace. And while he still sometimes climbed the wall to see if he could continue to evade his own guards efficiently, tonight he’d used a secret door set back in an overgrown part of the garden instead. It had been used by many a member of the royal family in times past. It had crossed Paris Apollo’s mind that, really, he ought to have a word with the guards about how easy it was to enter and leave the palace undetected, but he hadn’t. Because he liked the ability to come and go as he chose, the same as anyone.
On the other hand, no one had taken to his heels before.
And thanks to his inability to think of anything other than Madelyn, he had no way of telling if he’d picked up this tail before he left the palace or somewhere else along the way.
He’d taken the old path down the hillside, the one ancient Ilonians had carved with their own hands. The main part of the city was farther to the east, but he’d stayed to the west instead, crossing through one of the most exclusive neighborhoods on the island. It was all cobbled streets and graceful houses here, and his target was a particularly grand villa set out on a bluff by itself.
His cousin Konos’s house.
Though he had to remind himself that Konos was not his quarry tonight. Paris Apollo still had a whole other level of Konos’s henchmen to get through first. By now, Paris Apollo was certain that his cousin was well aware that someone—and, really, could it be any other someone?—was cutting a ruthless swath through his people.
All the people that Konos had used to enact his plan while he sat pretty and kept his hands clean. Making certain that any attempt to take him down by legal means—or even royal decree—would be risky at best. The courts would take too long. And after all the snide things Konos had said about Paris Apollo, anything Paris Apollo did openly would be seen as retaliation.
Konos had the island’s media in his back pocket. He would see to it personally.
These were the things Paris Apollo had spent his years in the Hermitage working out in his head like so many chess moves.
