“I don’t know.”
He studied me, eyes flicking over my face—then down, lingering on my breasts, which were now heaving. The space between us pulsed, dangerous and alive.
“What is your fucking name?” he ground out, eyes fixed on my nipples, which hardened beneath his gaze, straining against the fabric.
I hesitated too long as I searched for words that wouldn't come. His stare became a blade in itself—unyielding, merciless, cutting through whatever fragile composure I'd managed to maintain. I felt the exact moment his patience snapped, saw it in the subtle shift of his jaw, the way his nostrils flared.
Cold steel suddenly jutted under my chin before I even saw him move, the metal kissing my skin. One heartbeat he was glaring down at me from his towering height; the next, his ornate dagger—the ceremonial blade that hung at his side—rested at my throat, promising swift death. The transition had been so fluid, so practiced, that my eyes couldn't even track the movement. This was a man who had killed before, many times, and would do so again without hesitation.
His grip remained steady as stone. Not a tremor, not the slightest waver.
"Not a difficult question." His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than any shout could have.
My mind scrambled for a lie.Say something. Anything.
“El—Elaine,” I stammered, hating the way the word faltered on my tongue.
His eyes narrowed to deadly slits, the piercing blue depths freezing over. The tip of the blade beneath my chin felt even more pointed as he pushed slightly, the razor-sharp steel biting just enough to remind me how easily it could part flesh from bone.
"Do you think it wise to lie to your king?"
The words came out deceptively soft. But that voice also held the promise of violence barely leashed. It was the tone of a man who had executed subjects for far less than deception.
Fear and anger tangled inside me until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Part of me—the reckless, defiant part that had gotten me into this mess—wanted to challenge him, to unleash the magic coursing through me and turn the tides of this deadly game. I could feel the power stirring beneath my skin, responding to the threat, begging to be released in a torrent of fury.
But that wasn't a good idea. Not when his blade was perched against my throat. Not when those winter-blue eyes watched me with the calculating patience of a man who had perfected the art of intimidation through years of absolute rule.
"N-no, Your Majesty."
“Your name,” Arthur said again, quieter now, more dangerous. "This time the truth."
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, the gesture almost tender, at odds with the blade beneath my jaw.
But I could say nothing; my mind was a blank page. All I could do—all I could focus on—was the way he seemed to be fighting himself—how his gaze kept lingering on the curve of my breasts before he'd force it back up to my eyes again. His breathing had grown shallow.
His hunger was unmistakable.
"It is… Adele, Sire."
"Adele," he repeated, still studying me as if to decipher whether or not this was another lie. I simply nodded. His gaze focused on my lips, and I swallowed hard.
He wantedme—clear as day.
"I have not seen you before, Adele." His lips curved between a smile and a sneer.
"I—" My voice caught as his other hand slid around my waist, drawing me closer. A small cry escaped me, and even though I wanted to push away from him, I didn't.
A chuckle broke from his lips as he moved closer. "You fear me?"
"Y-yes," I stammered, telling him what I was fairly sure he wanted to hear.
"Smart girl. I could snap this little throat of yours like a twig."
"Y-yes, Your Majesty."
"Now do not lie to your king again."
“No, Your Majesty.”
