“Rhocyn.”
The sibilant whisper comes from directly behind me, so close I can feel breath on my neck.
My entire body freezes. Every muscle locks, every nerve screams, every instinct howls at me to run. The word hits me like a physical blow, dragging me back to memories I’ve tried to bury. The taste of fear floods my mouth, metallic and choking. My hands shake as they grip the edge of the table.
No. Not tonight. Not when I’m already so close to breaking.
“Oh, I do apologise,” the voice continues, mocking and sweet as poisoned honey. “I forgot. I meant to say… Your Highness.”
Duke Carian. Of course it’s Duke Carian.
The voice is exactly as I remember it. Cultured and smooth and hiding razor blades beneath silk. How many times did I hear that voice whisper commands in the dark?
“However, just because your hair is no longer loose, doesn’t mean we can’t still play. You did use to warm my bed so well.”
I should turn around. I should face him, tell him to get lost, remind him that I’m no longer a powerless rhocyn he can abuse for his pleasure. I’m fully a prince now. I’m married to the human prime minister’s son. I have protections, status, and power of my own.
But my body won’t obey. I’m trapped in amber, frozen by the weight of too many memories. In my mind, I’m still a frightened youth with unbound hair and no choices. The logic of my changed circumstances can’t compete with the visceral terror that his presence invokes.
I thought I’d gotten rid of him forever by orchestrating his public humiliation. I was so sure he’d stay away inshame and never dare show his face at court again. But here he is, and I can practically taste his hunger for revenge.
His hand settles on my waist, possessive and all too familiar, and I only just bite back a whimper. The touch burns through the silk of my court robes like poison. Every nerve in my body screams in protest, but I still can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but stand here and endure.
“How dare you touch my husband!”
Jack’s bellow cuts through the music and conversation like a hot knife. The words ring across the ballroom with such fury that all conversations stop mid-sentence. I turn just in time to see him striding toward us, his face thunderous with rage I’ve never seen before.
Before I can process what’s happening, Jack has grabbed Carian and thrown him against the wall. The duke hits the stone with a satisfying crack, his diamond-encrusted jacket jangling like broken wind chimes.
Carian stares up at Jack. Open-mouthed with shock. Clearly too dumbfounded to muster any magic. He’s probably never been physically assaulted in his life, certainly not by a human. The very concept is so far outside his experience that he can’t even begin to respond.
“Do. Not. Touch. My. Husband.” Jack snarls, each word punctuated with deadly precision.
Then his fist connects with Carian’s perfect face.
The sound echoes through the suddenly silent ballroom. Blood spatters across pale silk, and Carian crumples like a broken doll. The sight of his perfect features marred by violence sends a dark thrill of satisfaction through me.
Jack takes my hand, his grip warm and steady and real. “We’re leaving.”
Oh sweet goddess of darkness, I think I might actually swoon to death.
I may keel over right here from the sheer overwhelming relief of being protected. Of having someone who will throw dukes against walls for daring to touch me without permission.
My legs feel unsteady as Jack leads me from the ballroom, past shocked courtiers and gaping nobles who’ve never seen a human lay hands on fey nobility. I’m dimly aware of the whispers starting, the scandal that will follow us, the political ramifications of what Jack has just done.
But I can’t bring myself to care about any of it.
Because Jack’s hand is firm in mine, and his jaw is still set with protective fury, and for the first time in my life someone has fought for me without calculation or expectation of reward.
“Are you alright, Love?” he asks once we’re safely in the corridor, his voice gentle now that the threat is past.
“I...” I try to find words, but they all seem inadequate. How do I explain that what he just did has fundamentally changed something inside me? That I’ve never had anyone defend me like that?
“He hurt you,” Jack says simply. “Before, I mean. That’s why you froze.”
It’s not a question, and I don’t insult his intelligence by denying it. “Yes.”
The single word carries the weight of years of abuse, of nights I spent wishing for someone to come save me, of the devastating realisation that no one ever would. That I would have to save myself.
