Kassandr took the small pot of honey, leaning over the table to drizzle it over her bowl ofkasha.“As I have said.” Rurik reached for the bowl of blackcurrants next. “It is for your safety,moya koroleva.[*1] Until you meet the high prince and have his protection, none may enter your chambers but myself, Rovgolod, and Alasa.”
He spooned the blackcurrants over herkashabefore nudging the bowl closer. “Eat.” Rurik leaned back in his chair, and Saga could finally breathe.
Begrudgingly, she took a tentative bite. The sweetness of the honey contrasted with the sour berries, all mixed with the chewy, nutty grains. It was nice enough, but still…it wasn’t home.
“What about you?” Saga asked after swallowing. “You’re not safe for me, either.”
Kassandr cocked his head to the side. “If you wish for me to apologize, I’m afraid I will not. I took you to keep you safe. Here, you are under my protection.”
“Here, I am caged!”
The words came out louder than she’d expected, echoing off the timbered walls.
A frown marred Kassandr’s stupidly beautiful face. “I am sorry you think that, Saga. Perhaps, in time, you will see truth.”
Saga trembled with rage as she stared at the man before her. But her anger quickly fizzled to despair. Because with those words came the realization—this sculpin truly thought he was doing the right thing.
“I must return to Íseldur,” she said quietly. “I need to find my sister.”
She could feel Kassandr’s assessing gaze upon her, but the irritating man ignored her pleas. “The high prince is wishing to meet you. I have told to him you are ill from sea voyage, but with each day, he grows more…eager.”
“You mean,” she seethed, glaring at him, “the high prince wishes to see his new pet.”
Kassandr’s expression hardened, and he leaned across the table, taking her hand in his. “You are no one’s pet, Saga.”
His thumb smoothed along the scarred back of her hand, and for a moment, she was back in a rain-swept garden, letting him hold her, kiss her, comfort her. But the moment passed, and Saga jerked her hand out of his grip. “You took me from my home, against my will. Keep me in a locked room. Just what do you think that makes me?”
He pursed his lips, gaze skimming over her reverently. “You, Saga, are a queen without her throne.”
Words escaped her, and Saga stared at him blankly.
“You are fierce,” continued Kassandr, “and beautiful, and one day, I will see a crown upon your head. But first, we must plan. We must be clever. First, you must come to speak with high prince. Explain to him about the Urkans. You will need to be convincing to get them to act. My father will be upset, but perhaps his anger can be tempered.”
Saga struggled to comprehend, a thousand questions battling for dominance. Explain what about the Urkans? And what, precisely,did his father need to be convinced of? But the words that fell from her lips were “Tempered how?”
Immediately, she regretted her question. And when Kassandr’s gaze shifted to mischief, she wanted to snatch it right back.
“Saga Volsik,” he said, “rightful queen of the Kingdom of Íseldur, most beautiful woman I have ever met, I ask for your hand—”
Saga leaped to her feet, her chair toppling back behind her. “I hate you!”
Kassandr cocked his head to the side. “Ty pytayesh’sya menya soblaznit?[*2]” he said with a sly smile.
“What does that mean?”
His smile remained, yet something flashed behind his eyes. “It means I wish for you to become my wife.”
“I willnevermarry you!”
“If you marry the heir to Zagadka, none will act against you in violence—”
She picked up the bowl of blackcurrants and flung it at him. Kassandr dodged it with irritating ease, and the bowl smashed against the wall, dark berries smearing the weathered planks.
“You missed,” he said with a smirk that snapped something deep within her.
Before she knew what was happening, Saga was around the table, the knife from her bodice gripped in hand. She was a being of pure emotion, fueled by a week’s worth of pent-up rage. She wanted to show this arrogant man he could cage her, he could take away her freedom, but he wouldnevercontrol her. Saga drove the knife into the flesh of his shoulder.
She’d expected a reaction. A cry of pain, perhaps. But Rurik’s face flickered with amusement. And then his hand wrapped around her own, pushing the knife even deeper.
