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“To take back what was rightfully mine. To make some changes. And to offer the court something in turn.”
“Care to elaborate on those cryptic statements? By what was rightfully yours, I assume you mean the throne?”
“I do, but it’s not as easy to attain as it is in Pendrath.”
“What do you mean?” I was curious despite myself. “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”
“Your brother was given the throne. He didn’t have to fight for it, did he?”
“Of course not. He inherited it, lawfully...” I trailed off. “Well, he inherited it.”
By rights, the throne of Pendrath was meant to be mine. I was the eldest child of Uther Pendragon. But my fae blood had marked me as unfit in my father’s eyes. And so he had disinherited me and raised up his bastard son by another woman to sit on the Rose Court throne.
I had not fought for the seat. I had meekly stepped aside. I had always believed there was no other choice.
And now? I was done with being meek. I still had no use for thrones.
Draven gave a wide catlike yawn. “Look, I’ll tell you more soon. I promise. But in the meantime, one of the reasons you can’t leave this room is because you’re not exactly... receptive to playing the part you need to play.”
I gaped at him. “You mean because I don’t want to pretend to be your fucking paramour, you’re locking me in here?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that, but yes. Essentially. You can’t leave this suite until you understand who the court expects you to be. And until I can trust you to pretend–for both our sakes.”
I lifted one of the books. But then I thought of the damage it might do if I threw it. To the book, not to Draven. I had my respect for the written word to consider.
“I think it’s a good thing I had Hawl put all the sharp knives away,” Draven said, watching me. I couldn’t tell if he was jesting or not.
I bared my teeth. “Lucky for you. How exactly do you want me to act? I suppose I should follow you like a puppy begging for your caress.”
“Not quite so desperate as a puppy,” Draven managed to say with a straight face. “But public displays of affection–while the nobles of the court will act as if they despise such lowborn conduct–would be very convincing.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to... kiss you or something? In public?” I twisted my lips to show my revulsion at the prospect, but the truth was my heart was thumping against my breastbone and my eyes had gone straight to Draven’s full perfectly shaped lips.
“Perhaps nothing quite so affectionate, but subtle touches here and there, to show we don’t despise one another. I can lead the way, if you’ll permit it. Small signs of public affection would go a long way to cementing your place here. We need to be convincing.” He looked at me then shook his head. “You need to pretend you don’t hate me quite so much, Morgan. Do you think you might be able to do that?”
I took a step towards him just as he stood up. Mercifully, he had not yet removed his belt or trousers. I had distracted him from that.
“Let's get one thing straight. If you dare to try to show me anypublic affection,” I hissed. “I’ll murder you in your sleep. I may be weaponless, but I’m not entirely defenseless.”
Draven studied me for a moment, then lifted his shirt over his head. With a swift motion it was flung onto the same chair as the jacket.
Then he stood before me, half-naked. His smooth, bronzed chest was bare save for a cluster of curling dark hairs that started at the top and then gradually narrowed into a tapering trail that stretched between his ribs and down past his navel all the way to...
I forced my eyes up and realized he was gazing back at me, his green eyes measured and discerning.
“I know you’re not defenseless, Morgan,” Draven said quietly. “I saw the ashes. Remember?”
I swallowed, not sure whether he meant the words as a compliment or a rebuke. Was he saying he was actually... frightened by me? Or possessed a healthy respect for whatever he thought I could do?
It was a start.
“Now, I’m going to sleep,” he said abruptly. “It’s been a long day. I would suggest you do the same. This is the first day you’ve been out of bed in a week. Your body is still recovering.” He started to pull back the coverlet. “And before you tell me to go sleep on the floor or the couch in the other room–no. The answer is no. There are servants who might enter to tend these rooms. While I trust most of them, they’ll need to see every indication that we’re a...”
“Happy, normal couple?” I supplied, pushing my lips up into a false smile.
Draven smirked. “Never normal. That would be dull. A couple, however–yes. They need to see the bed has been slept in by both of us. See our hairs on the pillow. Smell our mingled scents on the sheets.”
“Just how trusted are these servants if they’re going to smell our sheets?” I demanded, my cheeks flushing at the thought of our “mingled scents.”
