Though my body rebelled against logic, the question irritated me. Who was he to ask something so personal? Yes, he was king—but he wasn'tmyking! Regardless, his position didn't make it any of his business.
"You haven’t answered," he said coolly.
"No." Anger flared beneath my skin. I’d prepared to face him as an enemy, not to navigate this mess of desire and humiliation that was currently coursing through me.
He studied me. "Are you dreaming up another lie in that beautiful head of yours?"
I couldn't respond—all my energy was focused on wrestling my traitorous body into submission, trying desperately to talk my attraction to him down from the precipice it teetered on. My breath came shallow and uneven as I fought against theheat that coiled low in my belly, spreading outward like molten lava through my veins. I couldn't believe he was speaking to me this way—with such brazen intimacy, such raw possession in his voice—and that I was responding to it with my own hunger.
The rational part of my mind screamed that this was wrong, that I should have been repulsed by his arrogance, his assumption that my body was his to question and claim. Yet my pulse hammered against my throat, and I could feel the dampness gathering between my thighs despite every ounce of willpower I possessed. This was Arthur Pendragon—the tyrant I'd been sent to destroy, the man whose downfall Merlin was orchestrating through me.
And yet he was making me utterly, shamefully wet.
"When a king asks a question, he expects an answer."
"No," I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant it to be. His eyes narrowed—not with anger, but something like amusement. I exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down my temper. Still, the words slipped free before I could stop them.
"No?"
"The answer is no." I took a deep breath, realizing he could have my head whenever he wanted it.
"You are offended?" There was a smile on his lips.
"Yes, I'm offended!"
"Why?"
I frowned. What did he mean—why? "Asking about my past—thatpart of my past—hardly seems… well, kingly."
"And back-talking your king hardly seemsmaidly," he replied, his voice silked with warning.
Remember yourself, Guin.
"I apologize, sire..."
"You apologize, yet there is still fire in those magnificent eyes."
"I apolo—"
"—No. It’s that fire I want. Everyone bows and scrapes, apologizing for their every breath. Do not be like the rest."
My pulse quickened. What was he asking of me?
"Speak your mind," he coaxed. "Tell me why I have offended you."
"Very well. I don’t appreciate being treated… as if I… owe you an account of my body."
His eyes narrowed, though his smile lingered. It was the expression of the cat once it has got the mouse cornered. "You owe me whatever I ask of you."
Indignation burned within me, and I felt my breath coming faster. "Kings are supposed to protect their people—not interrogate them like criminals."
That caught him off guard—his expression shifted, the momentary flicker of surprise betraying him. Had I gone too far?
"You’d do well to remember who stands before you. Need I remind you that your fate lies entirely in my hands?"
"And yet, you asked for honesty."
"You speak of honesty," he replied, his tone icy. "Yet I have asked for your name more than once, and each time you respond, it is with another lie."
