The slap happens before my brain catches up to what I’m doing. My hand reaches up and connects with his cheek, the sound loud in the quiet room. A sharp crack that echoes all around us.
My breath catches as his head turns slightly with the impact.
For one terrifying second, the room goes utterly still.
Then his hand closes around my wrist. His touch is not crushing, but it’s not gentle either.
He steps in, forcing me back until my spine hits the wall beside the window. One arm cages me in, palm braced against the wall just inches from my head.
His voice drops, low and lethal. “Don’t.”
My pulse screams to run, but I don’t. “Let go of me.”
“Don’t hit me.” His eyes lock on mine. “Ever.”
“You don’t get to do this to me,” I counter, chest heaving. “You don’t get to isolate me.”
His grip tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but I know he’s there.
“I never did anything to you,” I repeat. “I didn’t betray you. I didn’t ruin you. I don’t deserve to be locked away from my family.”
For a moment, something flickers across his face.
I can’t place it, but it doesn’t feel like anger. It looks like pain, but that doesn’t make sense.
Before I can overanalyze it, the look slips from his face.
“This is the way things have to be.” His voice is quieter now. “You’re safer here.”
“From what?”
His gaze searches my face, jaw clenched. “From everything that would lead you to hurt me.”
The words land heavy.
“But the thing is, you don’t get to make that choice for me.”
His gaze doesn’t waver as he stares at me.
The room feels too small.
I can feel his breath on my skin, feel the tension coiling tighter with every second he doesn’t move away. My wrist is still trapped in his hand, my body pressed against his, and of course my heart beats faster. My damn treacherous heart . . .
This is the danger.
Not the guards.
Not the snow.
This.
I swallow, needing to pull myself together. “Let go.”
His jaw flexes, and for a heartbeat, I don’t think he will, but then his hand releases my wrist. He steps back abruptly, making his arm drop from the wall.
I watch him as he drags his hand through his hair. It almost looks like he wants to say something but is refraining.
“You want to go to your parents’ house?” he says, voice rough. “We’ll discuss it when the roads open.”
