13
Valentina
A Few Weeks Later
Flashbacks of the tattoo artist inking my chest keep popping up. I breathe through it, relieved that Fiona's coronation is over. The Underworld filters out of the aisles, disappearing through stone corridors in waves, while the chanting fades.
When it's time to exit, Brax puts his hand on the back of my waist. I lean into it, then shake it off.
It's been a few weeks since the night I went to his apartment and let him push me against the wall. Too many days have passed since his knuckles scraped down my thighs and his mouth brushed my jaw. And every night, I replay how I allowed my carefully constructed control to shatter in his hands.
But I was reckless and can't go down that road again. I'm his mentor, and I'm fighting an uphill battle for my seat at the table. I'm not naive. Hundreds of others will kill for the spot. So I have to stay focused. Otherwise, the scar on my chest was all for nothing. So I don't allow myself to climb back into the danger zone and forget the only thing that matters, which is my seat.
Plus, I'm pissed at Brax. Sean, too, but Brax is the one I'm in charge of, and he could have allowed the entire coronation to go up in flames.
What was he thinking?
He splays his hand on my back again, but there are too many people around us for me to get away from it. We turn down the main corridor. The flames flicker gold against the wall. Small, almost-invisible crowns carved into the corners of each block serve as a reminder that this corridor belongs to royalty.
The crowd turns a corner, but I turn the opposite way, then shake off his grasp and speed up.
"Slow down," Brax mutters behind me.
"Try harder to keep up," I snap.
"Try walking like a human and not like you're racing to murder someone," he fires back.
I am racing to murder someone. He just doesn't realize he's first on the list.
The massive, royal skull on Fiona's chamber door comes into view. I push it open, and as soon as Brax steps inside, I shut it. The heavy wood slams with a hollow thud, shaking the sconces.
Brax removes his skull mask, then slinks toward me with his brows shot up. "If you wanted me alone this badly, you could have just asked."
Tingles race down my spine, and anger churns hot under my ribs. "How could you let Kirill and Sean fight before the wedding?"
He blinks, then gives me a slow once-over as if we're having a different conversation entirely. His gaze trails over my throat, the exposed line of my shoulders, the hem of my dress, then back to my face. It's the same heated focus from his apartment. It burns there, infuriatingly unbothered.
He carelessly shrugs. "The king wanted to box. You stand in front of him and tell him no next time. I'll watch. Could be fun."
I stare at him, disbelief warring with the urge to strangle him. "This isn't about fun. You could have ruined the entire coronation!"
He leans back against the nearest column, arms crossing over his broad chest, smirk deepening. "You sure? Looked pretty fun to me. Two guys working out their issues with gloves instead of knives. Seemed like the upgrade option in your world."
"You think this is a joke?" I step closer, the fury I've held in since I interrupted their brawl unravels.
His jaw ticks. "He asked who wanted to fight. Sean jumped in before I could."
I hurl, "He's the king. You don't let him do anything that puts him at risk. That's your job. If you fail, do you know who they'll punish?"
"Let them punish me," he arrogantly asserts.
My voice rises. "You idiot! They'll punish me too!" Tears well in my eyes, and I turn, blinking hard and hating how emotional I get ever since they branded me.
His voice softens. "Shit. I'm sorry."
I get control back and glare at him. "You're sorry? You almost cost me my seat. Everything I've clawed my way toward for years could have gone up in smoke because you decided to play gym coach while the king traded punches with the queen's brother!"
He pushes off the column and closes the distance between us in three long strides. His height and bulk crowd my space. The heat of his body hits me like a wall.
