"I've brought them security." I take another step toward her. "Your father's rule was failing. Your borders were vulnerable. It was only a matter of time before someone conquered you—if not me, then someone far less inclined to mercy."
"Mercy?" she scoffs. "Is that what you call forcing me into marriage?"
"Would you prefer I put your family to the sword? Execute your father? Sell you to the highest bidder among my generals?" I'm close enough now to see the pulse jumping in her throat, to smell the floral scent of her hair. "Make no mistake, Princess—there are far worse fates than becoming my wife."
She stares at me, searching my face for some crack in my resolve. "Why marriage? Why not simply claim the throne through conquest?"
It's the same question she asked in the great hall, but this time, without an audience, I can give her a more honest answer.
"Because I'm not just a conqueror. I'm a king." I reach out, unable to stop myself from touching her hair, from confirming that it's as soft as it looks. She flinches but doesn't pull away. "A king needs a queen. Your people will accept my rule more readily with you at my side, bearing my name, my children."
Her eyes widen at that last word, color flooding her cheeks. "I will never bear your children," she whispers.
My hand slides from her hair to her throat, not squeezing, just resting against the rapid flutter of her pulse. "You will bear my name, my crest, and my heirs, Princess. The sooner you accept that reality, the easier your life will become."
I expect rage or tears. Instead, she laughs—a bitter, broken sound. "My life? What life will that be? A prisoner in my own home, forced to share a bed with the man who destroyed everything I love?"
"Not destroyed." I drop my hand, stepping back to give her space to breathe. "Transformed. United with something stronger. Your people will prosper under my rule. They'll have protection they never had before."
"At what cost?"
"You." I say it simply, honestly. "You are the price of their safety, Princess. A price I suspect you're willing to pay, despite your protests."
Something flickers in her gaze—a recognition of truth that she doesn't want to acknowledge. She's a ruler's daughter, raised to understand duty and sacrifice. She knows I'm right.
"And what of your price?" she asks, her voice barely audible. "What does this marriage cost you?"
The question catches me off guard. No one has asked what anything costs me in a very long time. The answer rises to mytongue unbidden: Everything. My freedom. My solitude. The simplicity of conquest without the complication of feeling.
But I swallow those words. They're a weakness I can't afford to show.
"Nothing I'm not willing to pay," I tell her instead. "Now prepare yourself. We wed in an hour."
I turn to leave, needing distance from her before I do something rash—like press her against the window and claim her mouth, claim her body, before the vows that will make her mine in name.
"Wait." Her voice stops me at the door. I look back to find her watching me, confusion warring with hatred in her eyes. "Tell me one thing, Lachlan Drummond. What do you really want from me? Not as a king. As a man."
The question pierces something in me, something I've kept armored for years. The answer burns in my chest, too raw and honest to voice.
I want your fire. I want your defiance. I want to be the one who breaks through that wall of hatred and makes you burn for me the way I'm already burning for you.
Instead, I say, "Everything, Princess. I want everything."
I leave then, before the hunger in me grows too strong to control.
In the corridor, I find Callum waiting, his expression carefully neutral. "The priest is ready when you are, my lord."
I nod, already distant, my thoughts still in that room with her. "Post extra guards. She'll try to escape."
"You're certain?"
"I would, in her position." The thought almost makes me smile. "She has spirit."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Callum falls into step beside me as we head toward the great hall. "The men aretalking. They say you look at her differently than you've looked at any conquest before."
"The men should mind their tongues before I cut them out." The words have no real heat. Callum knows me too well to fear empty threats.
"She's beautiful," he continues, undeterred. "But so were others. What makes this one different?"
