“Well, she tastes like one.” He laughs and looks into my face as he brings a hand down to the neckline of my dress, his rough fingers brushing the bare skin above my breasts. He suddenly crushes his cold lips onto mine, and I squirm against him, trying to push him away with my hands on his hard chest.
His tongue is pushing insistently against my lips, but I press them together tight and a low, jagged growl vibrates from his throat, the sound muffled and hot against my skin. His hand tugs down on my neckline, my dress tearing easily under his strong grip, exposing the tops of my breasts. His hips press into me, pushing me painfully harder into the wall at my back to keep me trapped.
He brings his other hand down from the wall and grabs the top of my thigh, dragging my leg up towards him, his hand near my breasts dips into my cleavage, his strong fingers cupping me. A thumb traces a nipple. My body responds involuntarily—a physical reaction I have no control over. I let out a gasp.
A flutter starts in my stomach and drops between my legs, a heat pulsing deep inside of me. The sensation is purely mechanical, my body reacting despite my mind screaming in protest.
“You’re hard for me, Little Princess,” he groans onto my lips, and he kisses me again, his mouth exploring me, and as he gently nips my swollen bottom lip, another small sound escapes me, that feeling between my legs deepening.
His hand drops my leg and starts to bunch up my dress, exposing my bare legs.
Suddenly, his weight leaning against me releases, and I let out a low breath as he is jerked away.
“Enough!” Prince Kiernan roars.
I look up at him, panting rapidly. His gaze is feral, lips pulled up in a snarl. He holds the black-haired Fae by the neck and shoves him against the wall. Their shouts are jumbled as I try to clear my head of what has just happened. I hold my arms across my chest, attempting to keep the broken neckline of my dress up to cover myself.
I can hear punches being thrown and cries of pain. Out of nowhere something hard hits me; it could have been an arm or an elbow, I can’t tell. I’m thrust forwards towards the wall, and my head hits it with a crack. A white-hot explosion of pain rips through me, incinerating every thought. I don’t even have time to scream before the kingdom ceases to exist and I black out.
Chapter Six
Prince Kiernan
I crack an eye, and the sunlight streaming in from the parted curtains has me groaning in protest. I stretch in the bed, my muscles tight and burning as I rise onto my elbow, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. My hair is a tangled mess, and I rake my fingers through it without much success.
My mouth tastes like arse, and the room reeks of sweat and stale Fae Wine, the sour tang of sick making me heave. My bedroom is a disaster—clothes discarded in a path from the door, as if I shed them without thought on my way to the bed.
By the look of the sun, it’s late in the morning, maybe even coming up for midday.
Shit!
I’m due to meet up with my father and the Thorn Guard General today over lunch to discuss the Equitae. I can’t afford to be late again.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, another groan escaping as my head pounds with a wicked headache. When I look down at my hands, the knuckles are swollen and bruised, with a few cuts and splits across my fingers. I flex them both, and the pain is vicious, sharp enough to make me wince.
I rise and stumble into the bathroom, bracing myself over the sink to look into the mirror above it.
I look like hell.
My hair sticks up at odd angles, sweat dried into my fringe so it’s plastered to my brow. Dark shadows hang under my bloodshot eyes, and dirt is smudged over my cheeks. I quickly wash up and scrub out my mouth as I brush my teeth, getting rid of that Gods-awful taste. There’s a shadow of stubble, but I don’t have time to shave. I walk back into the bedroom and through to the huge walk-in dressing room, picking out a semi-formal robe and trousers to pull on over a white shirt before sitting on the stool to tug on some black boots.
As I walk into the main room, I notice two discarded blankets on the sofa. Last night starts coming back to me in fragments. Finding Liff and Xavier at Madame Eden’s, already drunk. I stayed for a few too many, and then we left, stumbling out into the night. Then seeing Alaya with that stable hand, his dirty hands clinging to her waist like he had some claim to her. The rage that surged through me—why did I get so mad? I hit him. More than once. The satisfying crack of his nose under my fist. He definitely deserved it.
Oh Gods.
What the fuck have we done?
She ran. The memory sharpens—we chased her, the thrill of the hunt making my blood sing, my adrenaline flowing hot and fast. I remember the rage burning through me that she looked so comfortable in his company, so at ease in a way she never had with me. I wanted to teach her a lesson, to remind her who she belonged to. Then Xavier took over, and when the haze of Fae Wine and fury wore off enough for me to see clearly, he was there, pawing at her, his hands all over her. I could see exactly where it was going, and something in me snapped. A wave of protectiveness tore out of me, and I grabbed him from her and beat the shit out of him.
At some point, she got hurt. I’m not sure when. I panicked when I saw her crumpled on the ground—not moving—but shewas breathing. It just looked like she’d blacked out. And then … we left her there. Just left her lying in the dirt like she was nothing.
I hiss through my teeth and drop my head into my hands.
Why didn’t we bring her back?
Why did I let it go so far?
A pit of guilt grows in my chest; a dull throb of self-disgust that makes me feel nauseous. I feel a deep need to go and check on her, to make sure she’s all right, but I just don’t have time—not unless I want to face my father’s wrath again for what feels like the fifth time this week. I’ll drop by her suite when we’re finished with the meeting.
