She is debating which book to reread in her bath when she stops dead in her tracks.
Samson?
Duke Samson Manchineel leans against one of the ticket windows, chatting away with an Arena worker as if they are old pals.
She glances at her escape options when he spots her and zeroes in.
His hand slicks back his perfectly windswept hair. “There she is!”
He advances on her as if they are long-lost friends. Only when he is halfway to her does he catch his presumption and respectively bows to his Queen.
“What are you doing here, Samson?”
What the actual shit are you doing here, Samson?
“After we announced our engagement to the public, I have not heard a word from you. It’s been almost a week. I hope you are not avoiding me.” He reaches out to clutch her upper arm, but she rolls her shoulder so he grasps the air.
She swallows, recalling their last interaction at her newly opened animal sanctuary. Samson’s theft of the would-be proud moment left her shattered into a million pieces. She would not have given him a second thought had her Council not immediately warmed to the idea and commenced planning his coronation.
Of course, I am avoiding you. If I could get away with drowning you in the South Sea, I would shove you off the cliffs this moment!
“Let me use the powder room, and then we can speak.” Fuming, she darts away before he can utter another word.
Once in the confines of the public washroom, she splashes cold water on her face and glimpses into the mirror. Deep blue eyes stare back at her, filled with terror and fury. The thought of returning to the Timber Province as Samson’s wife makes her want to end her existence.
How did he find me?
No one except Bertie knew about her fixation with the Beast, and he is somewhere in the Arena escaping his personal drama.
Are others watching her movements?
No matter what happens next, she adamantly refuses to return to that life where a male member of the Manchineel line rules her every move.
After ensuring she is alone, she locks herself in one of the private stalls. She settles on the floor, rocking back and forth to stimulate herself while considering all her solutions.
Returning to Scarwood is out of the question until she can undo the faux engagement and that subsequent mess. But there is Nellie to consider.
There is always the possibility of abandoning everything in favor of a cabin in the woods with her cat.
And then a thought strikes her.
She can turn invisible and slip out to the inn. Before running into the woods, a quick change into peasant clothes could guarantee anonymity. Then she can go home to the Ridge. Her father would talksense into the Council and Samson—whom he’d loathed for as long as she could remember.
Escape seems much more possible.
She quietly undresses until she is unnervingly naked. An annoyance of her power that always left her more vulnerable than she felt necessary. She crosses her arms over her bare chest, staring at her busty form in the mirror and wishing she was curvy in the right way.
If she looked more appealing, perhaps Rendel would not have been so cruel.
Perhaps Samson would have held more respect for her.
Perhaps Sigvid… she twists her head away from the mirror to hide the shame of her secret affection.
“Thordsson’s type will only destroy you. You are a conquest. Entertainment for his sick, twisted little mind.”her father's words sear through her mind.
She considers Samson standing outside, waiting to use her to take the Timber throne. Her skin crawls at the thought, urging the trickling sensation until her body is entirely invisible. Trembles shake her body as she slips back to the ticket booths.
How eerie this feels.
