Tansy waited, lip tingling where King Maximilian had laid his finger.
King Maximilianof Varros was planning a revolution and a wedding. Not necessarily in that order. If the wedding came first, so be it. If the revolution took precedence, that was just damned fine.
What he hadn’t been planning was to smash his fist into the nose of a royal Boritanian guard. However, since the sniveling whelp he currently had pinned to the wall wasn’t answering him, he was leaving Maxim with little choice.
Maxim drew back his fist. “Has King Gustavson given you leave to use force against the princess or her lady-in-waiting? You’ve until the count of three, puppy. One, two, th?—”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the man gasped, his reddening face turning a shade to rival the royal Boritanian purple livery he wore. “King Gustavson h-has instructed all guards t-to use force if the princess or Lady Tansy es-escapes.”
Maxim released some of the pressure on the guard’s windpipe. He didn’t want to choke the bastard entirely, just to instill much-needed fear. Fear by throttle.
“Do you know why we’re in London?” he demanded of the guard.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” the man sputtered, eyes wide with fear as he scrambled to find footing on the polished marble floor.“T-to announce the betrothal b-between yourself and Her Royal Highness P-princess Anastasia.”
“That’s correct.” He flexed his fingers on the guard’s neck incrementally, showing him that there was far more strength he’d yet to unleash, for Maxim had learned long ago just how terrifying restraint could be. “Princess Anastasia and Lady Tansy will be under my protection soon, and I don’t like any of my possessions to be touched. Do you understand?”
The sound of the man’s soles skidding frantically on the marbled floor was almost comical. Maxim might have laughed if his mind weren’t plagued by thoughts of the gray-eyed lady-in-waiting he had left mere minutes earlier.
Lady Tansy Francis.
She had a flower’s name. Flowers were easily crumpled in a fist. They faded and wilted after the bloom. Shriveled and died, only to return the following season.
Stupid, useless things, flowers were.
“I u-understand, Your Royal H-highness,” the guard squeaked out, clawing at Maxim’s hand on his throat.
“Good,” he spat, releasing the man so suddenly that he crumpled to the floor in a pathetic heap. “Tell the other guards as well.”
With that instruction delivered, Maxim spun on his heel and crossed the hall in easy, long-legged strides. When he reached the staircase, he ascended two stairs at a time, eager to return to the invalid chamber where his betrothed, Princess Anastasia, was meant to be convalescing. There was only one reason behind his impatience, however.Lady Tansy.His finger still burned from where it had touched the velvet-softness of her upper lip’s maddening bow.
There were no guards at the door now, which was how he preferred it. Hopefully, the worms would wait below while he concluded conducting the rest of his business. He wasn’tabove choking a few more of them if necessary. Or setting his bodyguard Felix upon them like a hound after unsuspecting hares.
Drawing blood wasn’t out of the question, although he didn’t want to make the usurper Boritanian king suspicious. No, he wanted to lull the bastard into a false sense of security and then strike.
Maxim didn’t bother to knock at the door. He simply entered, finding the lady-in-waiting precisely where he had left her, hands clasped behind her back, gaze wide as it landed on him, her full lips parting.
“Your Majesty,” she said, grasping her skirts to dip into a full, elegant curtsy that belied their mutual presence in this grim, closed-off chamber.
She was so damned small that for a fleeting moment, he had a fanciful notion that he might tuck her into his coat and spirit her away without anyone the wiser. Maxim knew he was a great, towering beast, but he had never felt his size more than standing alone in this room with her. He was taller than most men. Taller than all men he’d encountered thus far in London. Thanks, no doubt, to his pillaging ancestors.
“You are to cease curtsying in my presence when we are alone,” he told her curtly, irritated at the way his body leapt to attention in her presence. “I dislike ceremony.”
She rose, smoothing her skirts, the only indication of her confusion the slight crease of her brow. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not intend to displease you.”
Displeasing him was not the problem. Pleasing him was. Because everything about the woman before him pleased Maxim far too much. And he wasn’t meant to be lusting after his future wife’s lady-in-waiting. He didn’t have time for lust. He had a war to wage.
He grunted. “You are to stop apologizing as well, unless an apology is requested of you.”
She was too…subservient. Yes, that was the word.
Frightened of him, he suspected. And while he preferred everyone in his midst to fear him—his court, his men, his enemies most especially—the thought of Lady Tansy being afraid of him made his gut clench.
She swallowed, and he tracked the movement of her creamy throat with great interest. Her neck was dainty and feminine. He could likely wrap his entire hand around it. Not to squeeze, but to hold her in place for a kiss. He was suddenly terribly curious about what her lips would feel like beneath his.
By all the gods.
This wouldn’t do.
