Page 14 of Promise of Darkness
The faintest of smiles graces his hard mouth. “I never say please.”
I’ve heard that about him too—I can see it in the flex of his jaw, as if a part of him yearns to reach out and take my arm. He’s not the sort of male you deny. A warlord, a conqueror, a prince who stole his kingdom from its rightful heirs.
“Sorry. You don’t own me just yet.”
And then I whirl away into the watching crowd, leaving him staring after me.
4
“Acurious choice of words: I don’t own you….”
He finds me within minutes.
I close my eyes, blinking away the afterimage of a bonfire. When I open them, the prince fills my vision. Fire backlights him, shadows cutting harshly against those cheekbones and the playful fullness of his mouth.
The worst part of this entire affair may be the fact that even though he’s my worst nightmare, he looks like he stepped directly from my dreams.
“Midnight,” I tell him. “The exchange happens at midnight. Until then, I’d prefer to be alone.”
I push past, but a hand shackles my wrist.
“Stay,” he whispers, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. He’s big enough that I feel a little overwhelmed. Every inch of him dwarfs me, and his dangerous beauty holds a lethal grace that intrigues me, just a little.
He has the face of a sinner.
The body of a god.
And the touch of a seducer.
I tear my hand free. “I have little choice in accepting this sham of an alliance and my role in it, but do not ever mistake me for obedient. Iwillfight you at every turn, and if you dare put your hands on me again, I’ll remove them.”
I hate that faint quirk of a smile.
Sliding the mask back off his face, he considers me. The shock of those dangerous green eyes is like a punch to the chest. I don’t know why, but my heart is suddenly pounding.
“If your mother abides by the treaty, then you have nothing to fear from me.”
It’s thatifthat concerns me.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” he adds smoothly, gliding toward me. “And the next three months don’t have be a war.”
“No, they don’t.”
But they’re going to be.
The prince glances around, and I realize we’re drawing attention. Hobs whisper behind their hands, and a pair of fae watch us over the slow waft of their feathery fans.
“My lady love,” sings a nearby minstrel, smiling viciously at the prince as he bows his head and strums his lute. “My lady fair. She of the moon, and the gilded hair. Come dance, said he, and extended a hand; But the lady divine, slapped him with her fan—”
“This way,” the prince growls, directing me toward a stand of trees.
“I like that song,” I protest.
“Of course you do,” he mutters.
Here in the clearing, we have a semblance of privacy. I tug at a golden cord, and a curtain of vines sweep closed behind us, shielding us from prying eyes. It’s been created for lovers, a private nest some lord no doubt intends to use later tonight. But for now, it’s a haven.
I don’t know what he wants to say.
