The fact that I’m a bastard. And that the queen was right all those years when she claimed I wasn’t her son.
“Nothing within my control,” was all he could tell her. “Suffice it to say, I’m not the favored son right now.”
He’d been too young to understand what had happened; only that the queen had gone mad, claiming that he was a Changeling Prince. She’d hated the very sight of him and he couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever shown him any affection. Once, when he was six, he’d drawn a card for her, laboriously printing the letters to wish her a happy birthday. When he’d presented it to her, she’d torn it up and cast the pieces into the fire.
And when he’d met his real mother a fortnight ago, a strange kaleidoscope of memories and tangled visions had resurfaced. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t, but the king’s mistress made the queen look like a saint.
“Do you believe a marriage to me will bring you back into your father’s good graces? Is that the reason for your haste?”
He didn’t miss the tension in her tone, but he admitted the truth. “Nothing will change the king’s opinion of me. Whether I marry you or not.”
Serena’s shoulders relaxed a little, and she knelt down, pouring him a cup of wine. When she handed it to him, she offered, “You’re the king’s only son. That matters a great deal.”
No, I’m not. I’m a bastard that no one wanted.
Karl drained his cup and sat down beside her. “He doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
“Then what does?” She knelt down beside him, her green eyes concerned.
He reached out and untied the ribbon tied beneath her chin. His hands framed her face for a moment as he took off the bonnet and cast it aside. “I think you know the answer to that.”
Serena didn’t move, but she felt the warmth of his bare hands against her skin. He hadn’t worn gloves, and the sudden intimacy made her heart race. Karl traced her jaw line with his fingers, but though he stared at her, he didn’t kiss her.
He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and she wondered what the bristle would feel like against her cheeks. Would it be rough? Or would it be soft?
His breath warmed her face, and she stared at his firm mouth, wondering if he would kiss her again. The last kiss had shaken her, sending her world off-balance.
This is part of his game, her mind warned. Now that he’d discovered that the hardships of poverty didn’t bother her, he would try another tack.
“You’re not going to seduce me,” she said firmly, lifting her chin. She couldn’t allow herself to weaken, just because he made her pulse quicken. Her fingers trembled as she retied the ribbon of her bonnet.
“I’m not?” There was a lazy air to his voice, as if he intended a full assault upon her virtue.
Serena sat and reached for a sugar biscuit, pretending as though he hadn’t spoken. “No.”
“What do you suppose ordinary men and women do, when they’re alone?” he murmured. “Especially betrothed couples.” He leaned forward, his hands resting on either side of her. Though he didn’t touch her, his physical presence made her nervous.
“Play cards?” she guessed, before his mouth moved in to claim hers. Serena could hardly do more than catch a breath, before he laid siege to her defenses. She tasted the sweetness of wine on his tongue, and tiny shudders of breathlessness slid beneath her skin.
A slight smile tilted the edge of his mouth as he stared down at her. His hazel eyes were dark with need, and a thousand secondthoughts crossed her mind. The pause was giving her the chance to push him away.
“Is that what you want to do?” he ventured. “Play cards?” His hand moved down to the hem of her skirt. Every inch of her seemed to be on fire, her blood coursing through her veins with an intensity that couldn’t be stopped. She couldn’t seem to summon up a clear thought, not when he was touching her.
When his hand moved to her ankle, he sent her a chiding look. “You’re not wearing stockings.”
“They—they got wet.”
She shivered, closing her eyes when his hand moved beneath her petticoats, up her bare leg.
Stop him,her conscience ordered.You don’t want this.
But he was touching her with reverence, as if he couldn’t believe she was allowing it.Shecouldn’t believe she was allowing it. His mouth returned to hers, and the kiss was softer, coaxing a surrender. She held on to his face, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him closer.
Above the knee, his palm caressed her, and suddenly she grew moist between her legs. She imagined his fingers stroking her with the same gentleness, and heat blossomed inside her as she craved the forbidden touch. When his tongue entered her mouth, she kissed him back, swept away by the tide of shocking sensation. She was drowning, caught up in him.
He doesn’t love you. He only wants to wed you because you’re a princess.
Karl moved his hand from beneath her petticoats, and when he held her ribs, she had the sudden image of her father’s fist striking her. Over and over, the searing pain causing her to cry out.
