Graham’s hands curled into fists. Not because of the insult. Because part of him knew that Charming believed every word. And Raveena—his Raveena—had let him believe it.
"Don't worry, wolf. I won't bar you from the queen's bed once we wed." Charming waved a bejeweled hand at the king's bed, then sat his bare ass down on the sheets as he toweled himself dry. "I prefer maids to these royal ladies. Common women will bop on top of you all night long. A noblewoman will expect a chap to do all the thrusting until they reach a climax. I don't have to tell you how hard it is to get a woman off. It can take some of them ten, twenty minutes. Who has time for that? Am I right? Well, I suppose men like you do. So after she's with child, have at her."
The red drained from Graham's vision. It was replaced with a clear view of the situation. Raveena would walk circles around this man. She wouldn't even have to run. The Snow Queen would eat this golden prince alive with silk-gloved fingers and a smile that could freeze rivers.
Charming didn’t see it—couldn’t see it. Too stupid. Too arrogant. He thought bedding the queen meant ruling beside her.
Fool.
Graham knew better. He knew how to make Raveena kneel before him. How to make her beg him. How to get her to concede. Because she knew, without a single doubt in that beautiful mind of hers, that his every move on the game board was to get her the win. The orgasm. The prize.
This boy might be a prince. But Graham was the king. A king without a crown. For his queen to have the ultimate prize, she would have to marry this idiot.
Graham was going to have to let her.
"You almost had me near the end of our bout." Charming tugged on his shirt—crimson velvet embroidered with gold that caught the firelight like a smug smirk. “That move near the end?” He mimicked a feint with his hand. “Could’ve taken my head off.”
Graham still hadn't moved, still hadn't spoken a single word. Not that Charming had noticed. Graham stood with his boots planted squarely on the queen’s side of the threshold, arms crossed, spine rigid.
“But then,” Charming continued, buttoning his cuffs, “you dropped to your knees.”
He turned then, fully dressed and insufferably pleased with himself. His polished boots stopped just shy of crossing into Raveena’s rooms. He stood toe to toe with Graham, not that it made them equals.
“There’s been talk that you might’ve thrown the match, let me win. You and I both know no true warrior would ever show his neck to a lesser opponent.”
Graham’s jaw flexed. His fingers twitched once—just once—where they rested on his biceps. A wolf would have snapped his teeth. Graham didn't even blink.
Charming chuckled, mistaking the silence for surrender. He turned, smug and satisfied, unaware how close he’d walked to the edge of something deadly. But the prince didn't get too far.
A guard stood in the outer door to the king's chambers. The man was dressed in the gold of Charming's lands, but he was followed by men in the ice blue of Thornhall.
"Your highness, you must come," said one of the golden guards.
The golden guards led Charming away. The Thornhall guards stayed behind to face Graham.
“What?” Graham barked.
It had to do with Snow White. Had they found the princess? Had they been wrong? Had it been foul play?
“The queen. She’s gone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Raveena stirred as the creaking groan of iron wheels slowed beneath her. Her head pounded a sharp, throbbing ache behind her temples. Her mouth was dry with the bitter aftertaste of magic.
The carriage door opened, spilling pale moonlight inside. Flame-red hair filled her vision. Her captor's serene face came into view. The girl didn't look entirely human. Her chin was too sharp, her ears a bit pointy. There were slits at her neck like gills. Most telling, she smelled like the bitter magic of a witch and the salty depths of the sea.
"Siren," Raveena guessed.
The girl kept her mouth shut. It was good that she didn't speak again. Not when the first song still rang in Raveena's ears. At least she was awake now and under her own faculties. But how long would that last?
Princess Aurora stood beside the redhead, who Raveena had to guess was the Sea Princess Ariel. So she knew the players. Now she just had to figure out the game.
“Where am I?” Raveena asked.
“The Forbidden Forest,” Aurora answered softly, as though not to disturb the monsters sleeping within.
Raveena turned in a slow circle. Her skirts rustled against the frost-laced underbrush. The air here was damp, dense. The trees loomed like watchful sentinels. Icicles hung from twisted limbs that clawed at the moonlight as if trying to snatch the stars from the sky. Somewhere in the distance, an animal called out. It was a sharp, keening cry that scraped down her spine like a blade. Another call answered, lower and closer, and then was abruptly cut off.
