The honesty in his voice hurt worse than any pretty lie. My traitorous body was limp from his ministrations, vulnerable. But my heart was wounded.
“You hurt me,” I whispered.
“Princes and kings do as they please with little regard for how it affects others. But no one dares to wear their disdain so openly,” he went on. “What iswrongto the commoner is not usually applied to royalty, or even nobility. By precedent, I shouldn’t care that I hurtyou…but I felt like I’d swallowed poison. I sought counsel, and it was made rather clear to me that, of all the idiots who’ve ever lived, I am king among them.”
He took his hands from me and my eyes opened. His head was lowered.
“I’m tired of precedent,” he said. “I want to see what you look like, now that our child is growing. I want to lie with you again.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Counsel. Of course. Not me, but counsel. And who changed your mind? Your mother?”
“Quinn.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “Right before he thoroughly trounced me in the sparring ring. He said it was a favor to you.”
Despite myself, heat flooded my cheeks. Why on earth would Quinn fight to help our marriage? It certainly didn’t serve him to do so.
“He also said I didn’t deserve you.” Nicolas turned away, lowering his voice. “...With such contempt.”
“Why would he…?”
Nicolas’ eyes shut, his hands flexing on his knees. “Quinn has strong opinions on duty and honor. It’s his job to be protective of you, Alana. When he heard how I’d failed you as a husband, he took it upon himself to correct me.”
“With his fists?”
My idiot husband made a wry smile. “He took care not to bruise my face.”
“I might have saved us all some time if I’d throttled you myself.” I scoffed. My arms folded over my chest, and I took a slow breath. “I don’t forgive you.”
“I know,” he replied. “Quinn said I should…grovel. That I was a lowly worm, and should consider myself lucky if you’d even meet my gaze.”
Damn me for laughing.
As Nicolas slid from his kneeling position to the floor, lowering himself until his forehead touched the ground, something dark and satisfied curled in my belly. Here was the King of Antier, penitent before me. With his gaze fixed downward, he opened his mouth.
Damn me.
“Look at me when you speak,” I ordered.
Nicolas raised his head, hesitating. His throat bobbed, and he tried again. “I’m sorry.”
I stood slowly, circling him. He was perfectly still, tracking me only with his eyes. My body hummed with morphing anger.
“Stay there,” I commanded.
His gaze darkened.
I crouched in front of him and lifted his chin with a finger.
“You want to see how I’ve changed? You want to lie with me?”
“Yes.” The faintest shame crept into his voice, like he anticipated some punishment or sharp reproach.
“Then understand this: what I’m about to do isn’t love or reconciliation. I’m taking what I need.” I pulled the pins from my hair and let it fall. “Do you accept that?”
His shoulders sagged. He had to clear his throat before speaking. “Yes.”
“Good.” I turned toward the bed. “Undress me. Carefully.”
The sound he made was unholy, but he obeyed. That malevolent satisfaction grew headier inside of me as his fingers fumbled with the laces.
