Even if he never so much as glances my way.
I’m standing without a second’s hesitation, and despite the seriousness slicing into this moment, I just know Avian is beaming with pride all because I followed a simple order.
Stop smiling, asshole.
It wasn’t some great accomplishment.
I do listen…ish.
The impassive look on my face is held tightly in place with a carelessness I’m summoning deep from within my hard pounding heart.
It feels like every step is leaden. Time passes like I’m looking back on a decade of tragedy instead of ten seconds of casual walking.
And then I’m locking eyes with the cruelest gaze filled with so much manic destruction.
“Tell me, my sweet, is Roman appealing?” the Prince of Hell asks.
The use of that nickname he just gifted me slides over me like cold vomit hitting my face.
I smile the most charmed smile.
“Women do not love the weak,” I answer without hesitancy, and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much to say what I know he wants to hear.
Yesterday I held this man in my arms, and today I tell him he’s weak. Worthless.
If I wasn’t already in hell, I’d have just reserved my seat with that single comment alone.
It works perfectly though. The corner of the Prince’s mouth angles up in a hard, pleased smirk.
“Beauty and brains. No wonder my brother likes you.”
Brother?
That word circles over and over and over again, and I grow sicker and sicker with each and every round it makes. Roman is the Prince of Hell’s own flesh and blood.
And judging by last night’s whippings, I’d say he’s punished frequently simply because of that blood.
I don’t dare look at him. As tight as my throat is and as painful as my heart feels, I won’t dare risk a look at him.
It’ll only make things worse for him and I know it.
So why does it feel so wrong?
“Kiss him,” the Prince says suddenly, his words ringing out among the watchful crowd, and I nearly stumble in my desire to glance to Zilo for guidance.
I don’t. I hold that charmed dazed smile in place and try to blaze through all the possible outcomes of this test.
Is it a test? For me? Or for Roman?
I should refuse. I should appear appalled.
But to be uncertain is to fail.
And I don’t fail.
I turn on my heels and look at him for the first time in what feels like an eternity. I hold his pretty, tormented gaze. I have to lean into his frozen frame, my toes stretching to accommodate his impossible height. Ever so lightly, my lips press to the softest waiting mouth. I expect no reaction from the magically bound man held in place.
To my surprise, his warm tongue slides over my lips. And I open to him in a gasp of surprise. My lashes flutter. Strong fingers shove through my long hair, and he pulls me to him harder, kissing me so deeply he steals the air in my lungs.
