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“I don’t understand.” No having to sugarcoat that one. Her thanks? For “breaking him in”? What was she saying? What the hell was Shiraz getting into? My heart thudded, spinning the possibilities to the realm of the bizarre. Was he going to end up the sex slave of some sado-crazy dominatrix? Or cuckold of a woman who really believed in adhering to the traditions of the old court—including playing musical beds with her courtiers? Like either of those would go over well with a man like Shiraz.
Ambyr acknowledge my move with another flighty hand wave. “Of course you don’t understand. You probably liked what he did to you.”
You mean what we did together? But I wasn’t about to point that out. Not here Not now. Not ever with her.
Ruminations that didn’t lead to any kind of a tactful reply, so I didn’t render one. Thankfully, didn’t need to. The ice princess rendered a rolling shiver that spoke volumes. “Yes, yes,” she muttered. “You American salpus…you all enjoy that sort of thing, don’t you?” Another delicate flinch. “The sweat. The strain. The…bodily fluids.”
My fists unraveled. I dipped my head quickly, so she didn’t catch my smirk. “Don’t knock it ’till you’ve tried it, sister.”
She stumbled backward by a step. Bobbed her head to the side, as if my words were a slap. “We are not ‘sisters’, Lucina Fava. Nowhere near it.” Her head came back up, stiffening until the cords were like cable ropes beneath her skin. “In that regard, I am going to be completely clear about your ‘help’ for my event on Saturday night. It is not needed or wanted—and neither are you. While it is my sincere hope Samsyn finds a way to get you completely off Arcadia by then, I must be realistic about the challenges we face in logistics, with getting the key members of the press over here for the festivities.”
I only nodded. The woman didn’t want to hear that I was likely on a first name basis with many of the celebrity beat reporters, and could coach them to live feed locales showing off the Palais at its best. She also didn’t want to hear that even before now, every additional hour I spent on this island was like another damn stake in my heart. She was running her own script, shooting her own movie, and I hoped it wouldn’t end up as everyone’s punchline in the next news cycle.
“To that end, Miss Fava, I must fiercely urge your absence from the celebration.” She adopted a new pose, hands joined together atop one of her hips, feet scooted into a ballet third position. “If you eschew my mandate, I will have no choice but to hail Arcadian security forces to assist you out of the ballroom.”
Screw the secret smirk. I was so tempted to. It’d be fun, just laughing in the priss’s face, but no way could I let her have even that satisfaction. If I was being openly blackballed, then she was truly scared—in itself a curious thing, if she really believed me to be Shiraz’s “trite little slake”—but I bypassed the snub in favor of the bigger picture. The much bigger picture.
And because of that, the much bigger fear I planned on throwing down.
Starting. This. Second.
Two steps took me back over the gap between her and me. Two more beats committed, just to be certain she saw the resolution in my gaze and felt the fire of my energy. Done and done—
And now, time to do this.
“I’ll honor your mandate, Miss Stratiss—but only because I have one of my own.”
Her lips twinged, spilling with a delicate chuff. “Oh? Is that so?”
One more step. One more moment of letting her see I wasn’t kidding about this. Not. One. Fucking. Bit.
“The universe is giving you a damn good man, Ambyr. A gift from the angels. He deserves the very best in return, including the woman on his arm, in his bed, and in his life.”
For a tiny moment, I took a huge risk. Let the walls drop, shedding all the shields of snarky, sarcastic, and cynical from my face…letting her see through to the woman beneath. The adversary now handing her the full victory—and the non-negotiable challenge.
“Vow to be that woman. Ambyr. Lift yourself higher…for him. Be better…for him. Because I’ll promise you this. I will be watching.”
