Page 10 of His Forbidden Princess
"You didn't have to do that," she says, rubbing her wrist where the sailor grabbed her. "I could have handled it."
"Like you handled getting out of the palace undetected?" The fear and rage of the past hour converge, making my words sharper than intended. "Or perhaps how you would have handled all the vagrants who would have cornered you had you gone into that first tavern alone?”
Her eyes flash. "I didn't ask you to follow me. I didn't ask you to protect me. I just wanted one night—one night—to be normal."
"You're not normal!" I step closer, backing her into the shadows of an alley beside the tavern. "You're the crown princess, the heir to the throne, the most valuable person in this kingdom. And you're out here playing commoner like it's a game."
"It's not a game to me." Her voice breaks slightly. "It's the only time I've ever felt real."
"This isn't real." I gesture to the street, the tavern, the city around us. "This is a fantasy. A dangerous one."
"Then what is real, Dain?" She doesn't back down, even with my body caging hers against the rough brick wall. "The palace? The endless duties? The marriage to a stranger that my father is arranging even now?"
Her words hit me like physical blows. So she knows about the marriage plans. Of course she does—little happens in the palace without her knowledge, just as little happens around her without mine.
"That's your reality, Princess." The title is deliberate, a reminder of what separates us. "That's your duty."
"And what about what I want?" Her chin lifts, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Does that matter to anyone?"
"What do you want?" The question tears itself from my throat, raw and desperate.
She stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in her gaze. Then she reaches up, her fingers brushing the scar on my jaw with a gentleness that undoes me.
"This," she whispers.
The last thread of my control snaps. I surge forward, capturing her mouth with mine, swallowing her gasp of surprise. She stiffens for half a heartbeat, then melts against me, her lips parting beneath the onslaught of my hunger.
I kiss her like a drowning man finding air, like a starving man finding sustenance. My hands frame her face, then slide into her hair, angling her head to deepen the connection. Her fingers clutch at my shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of my shirt to the skin beneath.
She tastes of ale and sweetness and forbidden fruit. I press her harder against the wall, my body flush against hers, letting her feel exactly what she does to me, what she's been doing to me for years.
A small sound escapes her—half moan, half whimper—and it pierces the haze of desire clouding my judgment. I tear my mouth from hers, breathing hard, forcing myself to step back.
Her hair is a wild tangle around her flushed face, her lips swollen from my kiss. She stares at me with dazed eyes, confusion and desire warring in her expression.
"Dain?" Her voice is husky, uncertain.
"I shouldn't have done that." The words taste like ashes. "Forgive me, Your Highness."
Her face crumples at the formal address, at the distance I'm desperately trying to reinstate between us. "Don't. Don't pretend this didn't happen."
"It can't happen." I rake a hand through my hair, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You know that as well as I do."
"Because you're my guard? Because of duty?" She steps toward me, and I force myself not to retreat. "Or because you're afraid?"
"Because you are the future queen," I growl, "and I am nothing."
The hurt that flashes across her face is almost worse than the kiss was forbidden. But it's necessary—this line between us must be redrawn, the boundaries reinforced.
Even if it kills me to do it.
"We need to go." I glance at the sky, where the first hint of pre-dawn gray is becoming visible. "Dawn approaches, and I promised to return you by then."
She doesn't move. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll carry you, as promised." My voice softens despite my best efforts. "Please don't make me do that, Lirien."
The use of her name without title is a concession, a plea. She studies me for a long moment, then nods once, her face settling into the composed mask I recognize from court functions.
