"Possession isn't the same as affection," she says quietly.
"Isn't it?" My hand captures hers, bringing it to my lips. "What would you call this need I have to see you adorned in the finest things? This rage I feel when other men look at you? This hunger that's never satisfied, no matter how many times I take you to bed?"
Her breath catches, her pupils dilating slightly. "Obsession," she whispers. "Not love."
"And what would you know of love, Princess? You who have never known a man's touch before mine?" My thumb caresses her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath the delicate skin. "Perhaps obsession is love for men like me."
She pulls her hand away, but not before I feel the slight tremor that passes through it. "Men like you don't love. They conquer."
"Is there a difference?" I smile, though there's no humor in it. "Try on the necklace. I want to see it on you."
For a moment, I think she'll refuse—another small act of rebellion in our ongoing war. Instead, she turns, lifting her hair to expose the nape of her neck. "Help me."
The gesture of submission, however minor, sends a surge of satisfaction through me. I take the necklace and fasten it around her throat, allowing my fingers to linger against her skin. The sapphires glow against her pale flesh, matching the blue of her gown.
"Beautiful," I murmur, turning her to face the polished metal mirror mounted on the wall. "See how it suits you?"
She stares at our reflection—her small frame dwarfed by my height and breadth behind her, the jewels glittering at her throat like a band of stars. For a heartbeat, I see something in her eyes beyond the usual resignation or defiance. Something like yearning, quickly suppressed.
"Thank you," she says, her voice formal, controlled. "They're lovely gifts."
"But they don't buy your loyalty, do they?" I rest my hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension that never fully leaves her in my presence. "What will it take, Fiona? What must I give you to make you truly mine?"
"Freedom," she answers without hesitation.
The word hangs between us, impossible and absolute. I grip her shoulders tighter, fighting the urge to spin her around, to force her to look at me. "You are a queen now. You have more freedom than most women could dream of."
"A gilded cage is still a cage." She meets my eyes in the mirror, her gaze steady despite the slight tremor in her voice. "No matter how beautiful you make it."
Before I can respond, a sharp knock comes at the door. I release her with reluctance, moving to answer it.
Callum stands outside, his expression grim. "Forgive the interruption, my lord, but there's been an incident."
"What kind of incident?" I ask, already reaching for the sword I'd set aside earlier.
"The stable boy your men were watching—he's gone. And he took a horse." Callum's eyes flick briefly to Fiona, who has moved to stand behind me. "The guards found this in his quarters."
He holds out a folded piece of parchment. I take it, unfolding it to reveal a message written in a precise, feminine hand I recognize immediately. My wife's handwriting, detailing a plan for her to slip away during a hunting expedition planned for the following day, with the stable boy serving as guide and accomplice.
The rage that surges through me is so intense that for a moment, I can't speak. I turn slowly to face Fiona, who has gone very still, her face a mask of carefully controlled fear.
"Leave us," I tell Callum, not taking my eyes from my wife.
"My lord?—"
"Now."
He withdraws, closing the door behind him. The silence that falls between us is heavier than a winter snowfall.
"Explain," I say, my voice dangerously soft, holding out the parchment.
She lifts her chin, defiance replacing fear. "What's there to explain? I want to go home."
"This is your home now. I am your home." I crumple the parchment in my fist. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? That I'd let you slip through my fingers so easily?"
"I had to try." There's no apology in her voice, no regret. Just the same stubborn pride that made me want her in the first place.
I close the distance between us in two strides, towering over her. "The boy will be flogged for this. And then?—"
