This woman is dangerous, and no one sees it.
The prince strides over to me, and a dark coil of feelings writhe in my gut. Doubt assails me. Briar is just one more aristocratic lady who wants a joyride on my dick before settling into her boring, loveless married life.
I’ll give Briar the ride of her life. But on the morning of her wedding, I’ll hand her over to Alistair with a smile on my damn face, no matter how much I hate letting her go.
It’s still a betrayal of our friendship, such as it is, but once her curiosity is satisfied and her delicate heart smashed on the rocks of my rejection, I have no doubt Briar will be a faithful queen.
Consider fucking Alistair’s bride a wedding gift.
“You left Briar alone this afternoon.” Alistair clucks his tongue. “That wasn’t our agreement.”
I take it back. Pompous ass. He deserves everything he gets.
“We had an agreement?” I arch one eyebrow. The prince extracts that tightly rolled unsigned paper and taps my chest with it.
I consider that more of an ultimatum, but why quibble? I get his point.
“She was napping, Alistair. What did you want me to do, wait outside her door? You said I could leave her under guard if she was in her rooms, and I did.”
The prince tucks away the paper.
“I’ll let your dereliction of duty slide. You are still recovering from an injury, after all. But if you want this signed, no more sneaking off when you are supposed to be protecting my bride. There are monsters everywhere now. We’re boarding up the castle as a precaution. I want you to keep her safe. Understand?”
If he’s expecting me to click my heels and salute, Alistair’s going to be disappointed. He forgets I only don this costume to give the impression that I’m something other than a feral beast. A domesticated dog trotting the halls of the castle at the prince’s behest.
Our visit to the enchanted castle changed us both for the worse. He’s become more controlling since laying claim to Briar. I can see the way it’s eating him alive, the fact that she didn’t awaken until I touched her.
It doesn’t make her mine, but there’s no doubt she’s become a fatal blow to whatever friendship we once had.
“That paper had better be signed and in my hands before you start down the aisle, Alistair.”
“Then my bride had better be alive and uncursed the day after tomorrow.” His eyes narrow into furious slits. “And untouched.”
I brush past him. Briar glances up. The tip of her tongue glides over her lower lip. But it’s the spark in her eye that makes my cock twitch and an internal voice growl,no fucking way.
When Alistair knows you want something bad enough, he’ll use it as leverage. I should have made him sign that castle over to me on the spot. Before we even went up. Halfway up a magic-infested mountain to a cursed castle wasn’t exactly the time or the place to negotiate a contract.
He cannot ever learn how badly I want Briar. Gods only know what the bastard would demand of me if he learned the truth—and clearly, he suspects something.
Briar
One would think that bringing a man to climax would make him relaxed, but Killian is wound as tight as I’ve ever seen him when we enter the banquet hall. I am seated to the right of the king, with Alistair to his left. My knight positions himself immediately behind the three of us.
Apparently, Sir Ironheart won’t be partaking of the evening’s feast.
Killian should be the one celebrated. He is the one who hacked his way through the forest of vines to bring Alistair to me. He is the one who slew the basilisk. He is the one who brought us down from the mountain alive. He was the one to suffer an injury while slaying monsters.
Yet he is a servant and Alistair claims his victories as his own.
I flinch when the king’s palm lands on my thigh. Thank the gods for the many layers of fabric between his skin and mine. Then he slides his hand upward toward parts of me still soaked and wanting from my encounter with Killian, and I see red.
I snatch the fork beside my plate and plunge it into the back of the king’s hand. He blanches and yanks it away.
“I could have you hanged for attacking your sovereign, Princess Aurora.” He examines the three red scratches on the back of his hand.
An empty threat. Hanging me would be unpopular, and he is far too cunning to upset the people. The king won’t risk turning me into a symbol. Nor does he want his poor behavior to be exposed. As long as I keep his secret, I have a measure of power over him, one I am unwilling to give up.
“Ever so sorry, Your Majesty, my hand slipped. It wouldn’t have hurt you if your hand hadn’t been where it didn’t belong.” I bestow upon him a saccharine smile that promises retribution for the next time he tries to paw at me. I see where his son gets his disrespect for personal boundaries. Unwanted groping runs in the family, apparently.
