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Her eyes flashed. “You’ll find I do not put much stock in titles as the due for affection.”
“How quaint, for an elemental.” My grip on her wrist, still above her head, tightened. “Yet you are so irritated when I call you princess, rather than queen.”
Her lip curled up to reveal her teeth. “My brother died for me to have this title.”
“Diedforyou?” What a way to phrase it.
“One smile, princess, and you’re free,” I reminded her, letting my gaze travel down her face to her chest, to where the swell of her breasts spilled over the loose bodice. Did she wear one of those spectacular golden brassieres beneath? Or nothing at all?
I let her feel the proprietary lingering of my gaze. Felt her squirm at the hips as she tried to get away, uselessly. It only served to inflame me further.
“What smile do you want?” she bit back.
“The one I wear for the courtiers?” She forced her lips upward into a strained, almost painful expression. “Or the one for my lovers?” This one was lazy, sensuous, but bored.
“I want the one you wear just before you make the kill,” I said softly, letting the heat of my breath spill across her cheek and down the column of her neck.
“This one?”
The brief flash she gave me would have to suffice. Because in the next second, she drove her knee up into my balls.
30
VEYKA
Arran Earthborn could go straight to hell.
The pits where the Gremog bred, deep in the desert beyond the Blasted Pass? The perfect place for him.
Right through one of the rifts into the human world—exactly the sort of destiny he deserved.
So long as he wasn’t anywhere near me. Not in my kingdom, not in the goldstone palace, and certainly not sleeping outside my bedroom door.
“Your Majesty,” Gawayn called after me, jogging to catch up.
“Veyka,” Lyrena huffed, coming up alongside of me, her gold braid bouncing against her shoulder. “You cannot run off without—”
“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do,” I snapped, rounding a corner.
Ancestors below.
Courtiers—everywhere.
What the fuck were they doing here in the middle of the day?
“Having afternoon tea,” Lyrena answered.
I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud.
I threw up my hands, rounding and nearly crashing into Arran.
“Leave me alone,” I said, shoving hard against his chest.
Little good it did me. I was like a hummingbird beating its wings against an iron wall.
“I should have expected you to be a sore loser,” he said sardonically. Though he did shift his hand to cover his balls. Satisfaction flared through me.
“Sore loser, unfit to wear the crown, you’re compiling quite a list,” I said as I shoved past him. It was a mistake. I should have ignored him altogether. I’d practically invited him to follow me with that comment.
