I’d braced myself for something like this, but hearing him say it out loud knocks the air from my chest.
My fingers curl tight at my sides. My nails dig into my palms until they sting. It’s the only thing I can do to keep myself from shaking.
My mind flashes back to the old Petyr. The one who teased me, who didn’t smirk with cruelty but with warmth. Who brushed my hair out of my face and kissed me softly in the dark. The Petyr who made me feelseen.
I don’t know if that Petyr was ever real. But this version of him—this cold, emotionless tyrant—isn’t someone I recognize.
Petyr steps into my space, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His body radiates threat. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set.
“To be clear, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like it,” he snarls. “This is what you get. You had privileges, and you tossed them away. Now, you’ll do what I say, or you’ll be sorry you didn’t.”
My throat works as I swallow hard. I don’t argue further. What would be the point? This is the new Petyr. Or maybe this was always him, and I was too smitten, too stupid to see it.
I tear my gaze away and take in the space again.
My skin crawls. It feels like the walls are leaning in closer with every breath I take. I swear if I stay here long enough, they’ll close in completely and press me flat. Squish me and the baby into 2D cutouts of ourselves.
I hate it already. I can’t stand the idea of being trapped here for an hour, never mind the weeks left until I give birth.
“Petyr.” My voice turns pleading. “Come on. Is this really necessary?”
“You took out your bodyguard with a belt. I’d say it is.”
“Do you seriously think I’d risk running away now?” I search his gaze for a hint of humanity, of warmth. Anything I can latch onto. “That I’d risk putting the baby in danger?”
The worst part is, I’m not even sure I’m lying right now. If he showed me a sign of emotion, I might fall for it. Maybe we can mend what’s been broken after all, right? Right?
But Petyr doesn’t do that. He just looks at me with that cruel sneer again and says, “There’s no telling what you’re capable of.”
Is this what he really thinks of me?
Apparently, yes, because Petyr starts to turn toward the door. The conversation is finished. He’s said all he needed to say.
“Wait!”
Slowly, he turns.
“Will you take her away?” I croak. “My baby?”
It’s the question that’s been haunting me since we met again. I wasn’t sure I’d have the courage to ask it. But what else do I have to lose?
Every line of his face freezes into stone, erasing even the trace of that cruel smirk. “That depends on how cooperative you are about giving me a male heir.”
My arms wrap around my stomach without me thinking. I can’t shield my future kids from him just by hugging myself, but instinct takes over. Whoever this new Petyr is, he’s a cruel man who treats people like things. He’d treat his children like objects, too.
I wonder if he ever thought of this baby as his. As his daughter.
But that’s a stupid question. To men like him, sons are clay to be molded, and women are property to be bartered. Wives, daughters, even infants—we are all pawns.
And God help the baby boy he’ll pick to be the next king.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I force them down. I won’t cry in front of him. My throat aches with the effort of holding it together, but I resist.
Right now, none of those other babies are real yet. And if I have my way, they’ll never be. Only my daughter exists, and for her, I’ll tear the world apart.
Even if it means running away from her father.
Petyr turns to leave. I watch his retreating back with the taste of despair in my mouth. Once upon a time, he made me feel safe. I thought he could be my escape from the life I ran from.
