Confetti shoots off in my mind, and I just want to rub it in Roman’s face that I didn’t lose after all. I won.
And tonight, Prince Ravar will announce it. And then, I’ll fucking kill him to celebrate.
“You’re too generous, my Prince,” I coo.
“And you’re too salacious.” He takes a step toward me like he just can’t help himself.
But. He pauses stiffly.
It seems he can.
His throat bobs, and he stifles a breath and a noise in his throat that sounds like barely contained vomit.
“Tonight,” he confirms as he takes a step back. “I wanted to have a talk with you first,” he declares, motioning toward his room, and at this point I am very assured he’s no longer thinking about sex. He may never think about sex with me ever again.
As it should be.
I smile sweetly and sway my hips this way and that to really stir up that pheromone smell the boys were ranting and raving about not so long ago.
The Prince’s bedroom consists of one thing and one thing only. An enormous circular bed with black satin sheets perfectly fitted across the fluffy mattress.
No quilts but endless pillows adorn the bed. This space isn’t for sleeping, clearly.
Not one chair can be found in the spacious room. A fireplace flames with heat from the wall directly across from the bed, but other than that, there’s nothing else to see here.
I make myself at home and sit comfortably on the plush mattress.
He winces.
Oh, I am just killing him right now.
Just to really—literally—rub it in, I fall back against the smooth sheets and stare up at his glittering black ceiling.
“You wanted to talk?” I ask in a sultry voice.
“Yes,” he coughs, and I’m very aware of how much space he’s keeping between us.
I roll over and keep going until I pop back up and face him, my scent almost getting the best of me in this moment, but I’m too good to gag at my own smells.
At least…I think I am. My stomach turns, but I swallow the thick, sickly sensation down.
“I wanted to know about your life. Your family are white wolves?” His hand half covers his mouth in a less than discreet appearance of subtlety.
“Yes. From the Upper Realm. I lived in a quiet forest south of the regal Kingdom of Minden.” I keep the pretty smile in place, but I’m suddenly aware of how careful I should tread. I haven’t won yet. And now he’s quizzing me rather than eating up the pretty words I always feed him.
“What does your beast look like, Cersia? Is she as beautiful as you? Does she have an angry streak in her?” The depths of his inky gaze are intently held on me, and I shift as I cross my legs casually.
“I-I don’t know really. My father died years ago, and I never learned to use that side of myself.” It’s the truth. Mostly.
“Because…you’re afraid or because someone didn’t want you to?”
My lips part, and I don’t really want to admit to either, but one of those two truths is safer than the other.
“I suppose, I am afraid.” The weak wane of my smile is honest.
I hate how real those words are. But admitting that my father feared for me to reveal the beast inside myself, that’s too much to tell anyone.
I’ll die with that secret.
