He scoffs. “Is that so?”
“It is. You were right when you told me humans keep their women as property. It’s one of the most backward and suppressive human traits, in my opinion, and one I want nothing to do with.”
“Money is supposed to help?”
I nod. “As an unmarried woman, I have no wealth of my own. And even if I were married, I’d have an allowance like I had from my father, but no wealth would be mine. Perhaps when he died, I could be a wealthy widow. Regardless, marriage is not in the cards for me.”
“Why is that?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, my heart plummeting at the question. “I’ve…given up on love and matrimony. I’ve had my share of romance. Played the game of courtship. And…I lost.”
He eyes me again from the side. “That’s why you want to move to your childhood country alone?”
“Yes. I want independence. Freedom, just like you. I want to be free from my father’s clutches and his designs for my future. I want to be free from needing to marry just to live a comfortable life. I want a life of my own on my terms.”
“Is that your greatest treasure then?”
I pause my brushing. “It is,” I whisper. “Which is why you can now understand why your tricks never would have worked on me. There’s nothing in the world—no gratitude great enough—that could make me sacrifice my chance at freedom.”
“Then in turn, you must see why I can’t break the curse myself,” Elliot says.
I recall what he told me about the first option to break it.Of the four things I stand to lose, if I sacrifice the one I value most, I will be returned those which I value less.
Elliot continues. “Sacrificing my wolf form means losing my freedom. There’s nothing worth sacrificing for that. Not even if it means my life.”
I return to brushing. “I do understand. We…understand each other. Which is why this alliance of ours will work. We both stand to lose on one side and gain at the other.” That last part isn’t entirely true, but I keep that to myself. For if my scheme fails and the curse remains unbroken, I cannot return to my old life, to my father. I must assure my success either way.
If the king dies, I’ll still need those twenty thousand quartz rounds.
My heart sinks at that. I may not know him well, but I don’twantthe king to die. More than anything, I want this plan to work, for Imogen to break Elliot’s curse and give us both the freedom we crave.
But if it fails…
I force the thoughts from my mind, redoubling my focus on his hair. That’s more than enough to consume all my attention, for the brush seems to be doing very little to help. I consider giving up on the back and move to the front to assess if it’s any better. Leaning forward, I lift a tangled lock from his forehead. “Saints, Elliot, have you ever once brushed your hair?”
“No. I never needed a brush as a wolf.”
“But you groomed yourself in your own wolfy way, did you not?”
His frown tells me I’m right. “Yes,” he bites out.
Rifling my fingers through his matted strands, I shake my head. “Damn it to hell, this is impossible. I might have to tell Foxglove to just cut it all off at the scalp. In fact…” I smooth his hair away from his forehead, then bend down closer to study how it looks. I squint, trying to imagine him with such a short style. It would be ideal if he could keep the top long while trimming the back to his nape so at least some of the sun-kissed gold at the bottom half remains. I lean to the side and gather the back of his hair, then assess him again. Cocking my head to the side, my haphazard updo tumbles loose over my shoulder. I release the king’s hair, preparing to collect my own, when he leans slightly forward.
And inhales.
I freeze, caught off guard as he breathes in deeply, lips just inches from my neck. Then, like it had been the most normal thing in the world, he leans back in his chair.
My heart hammers in my chest as I struggle to compose myself. Straightening, I say, “What was that?”
“What was what?”
I give him a pointed look. “You can’t go round smelling people like that.”
His eyes take on a distant look. “Your hair smells like the wind. Mountains, snow, and trees.”
A blush burns my cheeks, and I can only pray he doesn’t notice. “Well, I was outside much of yesterday,” I mutter. “But you must take better care next time. That isn’t proper. Perhaps with Imogen…during courting…but with me…well, it’s like I said about the staring.”
His gaze slides to mine and there it locks, burning like the heat flooding my face. A corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk, but he doesn’t avert his gaze the way I taught him.
