A flicker of hope.
“And what way is that?”she whispered, the words laced with disbelief.“Running away?To where?”
Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with a raw, acerbic desperation.
“The thought of facing my father’s wrath, of being cast out into a world that would see me as nothing—” she swallowed hard, her fingers twisting together.“It makes bile rise in my throat.I would have nothing.No one.My entire existence would crumble to dust before my eyes.”
Her pain sank into me like a dagger buried deep.
She was trapped.
And I—of all people—knew what it meant to be caged by duty.
I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket, fingers brushing against the embossed card I had prepared for such unforeseen circumstances.
The exit I had never planned to offer.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” I said, drawing out the card—a simple thing, yet weighted with meaning far greater than ink and paper could convey.
Lord Amir Hassan.
The name was not mine, but the only one she could know.
I extended it toward her, and our fingers brushed.
A spark.
A current, unexpected and undeniable, licked up my spine.
Her lips parted—barely, a soft inhale that sent heat rushing through me.
Sparks danced between us.
And my body responded—viscerally, ruthlessly.
It was alien to me, this sensation.
But in that instant, I knew.
I wanted her.
Not as a pawn in this war.
Not as a woman in distress.
I wanted Elizabeth Alexander.
Completely.
Wholly.
In every way, a man could claim a woman.
And gods help me?—
I would have her.
“If you ever feel unsafe,” I said, releasing the parchment into her safekeeping.“Or if you need to get away… this is where I’ll be.My townhouse.You’ll be safe there.”
