Page 49 of Her Cruel Empire
I jerk upright, clutching for the sweater I discarded earlier. Panic spikes in my chest.
The room stinks of sex.Istink of sex. What if someone comes in and sees me like this—naked, flushed, laid out like an obedient pet?
My fingers fumble with the hem of my sweater. My cheeks burn.
Eva doesn’t move. Her voice is cool, faintly amused.
“There’s no need to be ashamed of your body,” she says. “You’re very beautiful.”
The words only make my blush deepen. I’m not beautiful like her. I’m soft where she’s toned. Round where she’s lean.
And I don’t wantanyoneelse to see me like this. Vulnerable. Undone.
I pull the sweater over my head and tug my leggings back into place. Eva watches silently, her expression impatient as if I’m being unreasonable. When I finally manage to sit upright on the couch, she exhales softly, as though my modesty is an unnecessary impediment.
“Yes?” she calls.
The door opens just enough for the housekeeper to slip inside. Her eyes remain carefully lowered, her posture rigid with respect—or fear. She speaks in the flowing syllables of their own language, and none of the words I don’t understand.
Eva’s face changes instantly.
Her lips curve into a smile. A real one.
“Uncle Stefan is here?” she says, her voice warm with delight. “Bring him up at once. And have refreshments sent.”
I blink at her, startled. She’shappy. Really, truly happy to see him.
I’ve never seen her like this.
The door opens wider a few minutes later, and Stefan sweeps into the Great Hall like a warm breeze.
He’s older than Eva, elegant in a dark wool coat, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back. His eyes twinkle with affection as they land on her. I can see his resemblance to the man in the bed, and of course—this must be her father’s brother, Eva’s uncle that she mentioned when we were talking about the few people she really trusts.
No wonder she’s happy to see him.
He greets her in what sounds like the same language Eva and Mrs. Kovacs used, his accent rolling the words into something musical. Eva rises gracefully, but her hand slides possessively through my hair as she passes me, a slight tug that I’m not sure how to read. Warning? Possessiveness? I watch her carefully as she heads to the door. She embraces Stefan lightly, kissing both his cheeks.
He says something soft in their own tongue—a pet name, I’d guess, intimate and familial. Eva laughs quietly and links her arm in his, bringing him closer to the lounge suite.
“And who is this?” he asks, his smile polite, curious as he nods at me.
Somehow, he knew to use English. But I stumble over my words as I reply, “I’m R-Robin. Robin Rivers.”
His gaze sharpens, just slightly, studying me with newfound interest. I can feel my face flushing as I meet his eyes. My hair is mussed. My skin flushed. And I’m hyperaware of the faint, sweet scent of arousal still lingering around me.
“Robin is a friend of mine,” Eva says casually.
Uncle Stefans’s eyes flick between us, and clearly, he understands exactly what that means.
“I see,” he says. “How lovely to meet you, Robin. You’re an American?”
“Yes, I?—”
“Come and sit by the fire,” Eva interrupts smoothly.
It’s a dismissal. A verbal indication that I don’t matter in the slightest. I sit there, frozen, as Eva guides Stefan to the armchairopposite hers, switching seamlessly into rapid, flowing syllables of their shared language. The sounds are musical, intimate, and completely exclude me.
I understand nothing. Iamnothing.
