He gritted his teeth, jaw twitching. The prince’s smug wink. His cheap jabs. That ridiculous victory.
“Are you still brooding over the match?”
“You let him touch you.” Why hadn't he at least broken one of the boy's fingers when he'd had the chance?
“It was once,” she said. “And it was not memorable.”
"I hate that his bony ass stank up your sheets."
"I didn't take him tomybed. I’ve never had anyone in my bed but you.”
Graham wanted to believe her. Gods, he almost did. But a small, cruel part of him whisperedliar, and he didn’t silence it. He just didn’t say it aloud.
Raveena had had her husband for three years. Likely other lovers. She'd had them before Graham. It wasn't frowned upon for future queens to kick up their skirts for a bit of fun. Not before their unions, not during their reigns. Graham was certain that when he and Raveena were together, there had been no one else. That same certainty escaped him now.
Graham turned away from her. He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift. He was tired. Not in body. His body had found its relief, its center. But his mind was fraying.
He was sick of secrets. Sick of plots and masks. Sick of silent wars waged in ballrooms with fake smiles.
He was a soldier. And he wanted clarity.
“I’m not going to kill her.”
Raveena blinked her eyes open. Her gaze was slow to focus.
“Snow. I’m not going to spill her blood. I know you want her gone. I know she’s a threat. But murder…” Graham exhaled. “I’ll take her. Kidnap her. Smuggle her into one of the border realms. Somewhere in some faraway woods. She likes nature. She might even be happier.”
Raveena said nothing. She propped herself up on one elbow, eyes dark.
“If she’s gone, the crown stays on your head. There’s no need for you to marry that simpering fool. No need to risk the people turning on you if she claims her birthright.”
Raveena’s lips parted—whether to argue, to thank him, or to scheme, Graham couldn’t tell. Before she could speak, a knock shattered the hush.
A low, irritated growl rumbled from Graham’s throat. “I'm busy,” he barked.
Corwin’s voice answered, muffled through the wood. “I’m not here for you, Wolf. I’m here for the queen. She’s needed.”
Raveena sat up, the sheets sliding from her bare shoulders. “What is it?”
“We’ve received word from the castle.”
A pause.
“Snow White went missing.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was still the musk of sex on Raveena as she entered the chamber. She hadn't had time to go back to her rooms and change. She didn't plan to be away from her lover too long. Why bathe off what she fully intended to put back on her skin, in her mouth, in every orifice of her body?
The moment after she finished playing the part of patient stepmother to her stepdaughter's tantrum, Raveena would be returning to her lover to pick up where they left off. This time, she would demand that Graham claim her in the remaining orifice he hadn't touched since his return.
He'd been the only man to ever enter her backdoor. Hell, he was the only man she ever let take her from behind. Her wolf was the only person she trusted to be that close to her while she couldn't see him. Just thinking about it made her ache to be filled by him. She needed to get this over with quickly.
Raveena’s hand drifted to her throat as she walked, fingers brushing over the faint ache blooming just beneath her jaw. She winced. A bruise. The ghost of Graham’s grip from when he’d pulled her to him—mouths clashing, breath shared, a kiss less about affection and more about possession. She’d grown used to concealing such marks. Her magic responded before she evencalled on it, pooling at her fingertips, ready to smooth over the evidence like always.
But as she passed a mirror in the corridor, something made her pause.
The bruise wasn’t just a smear of shadow beneath her pale skin. It curved, perfectly placed, a dusky band that sat at the base of her throat like a necklace—no, a collar. She stared at it, pulse stuttering. It was almost elegant in its placement, like a deliberate brand. Not from a careless lover but a master who marked what was his.
