Antoni swallows, struggling against the effect of the truth-telling serum. “Yes.”
Dante reclines in his seat and rubs his lips. “What do you think, Justus? Do you believe he can be an asset?”
“Perhaps evaluate his worth by sending him out with an obsidian sword?”
“NO!”What the actual fuck, Justus?“He’ll just give away your locationandget himself killed.”
Dante claps his palm over my mouth. “Did I tell you that you could weigh in?” After a beat, he lowers his hand and flutters his fingers. “Take him away. I’m done with him for now.”
Cato marches over to Antoni’s chair and pulls it out. “Shall we escort Fallon back also?”
“No. I’m not done with her.” When Dante’s fingers fuse once again with my thigh and draw the fabric up, I stiffen.
Justus must sense I’m a heartbeat away from taking the wooden box and bashing Dante’s skull with it because he claps his hands. “Everyone, out!”
I begin to tremble, not with distress, like Dante surely assumes, but with adrenaline.
This is it.
The moment I end the cruel ruler’s life.
“If you defile her, Regio—” Antoni tears his arm from Cato’s grip.
“You’ll kill me? You’ve already mentioned it. I took note.” Dante drags the fabric of my dress higher.
I think of Lore, of how furious he’d be, and the contemplation of my mate’s ire centers me.
“Let me make something clear to you, Antoni. Should you come out of this war alive, Fallon willneverbe yours.”
Antoni’s entire body shakes. “You think she’ll be yours if you rape her?”
“I had no need to resort to rape the first time she spread her legs for me.” Dante tips his head to the side, sending his long tresses spilling over his shoulder.
My muscles are so tense that the disgust that rolls through me at the memory of my deflowering doesn’t translate into a shudder.
I can feel Antoni call to me with his eyes, but I don’t look up. I don’t look anywhere but at the hand stroking my thigh against my fucking consent.
Antoni turns very quiet. He must assume I’ll lay back and let Dante have his sordid way with me. Perhaps he thinks I still harbor affection for the Faerie King. “Fallon?” he croaks my name as though a vine were digging into his Adam’s apple.
Dante inches the silk higher. “For fuck’s sake, get him out of here.”
Still, I don’t react. I will not react until I reach his bed.
I pull my shoulders back, about to suggest heading there now, when Dante says, “Justus, stay behind. And shut the door.”
I look up so fast that my vertebrae click.
Justus doesn’t meet my panicked stare as he closes the door. He’s the picture of serenity while my pulse pounds out of alignment. I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. Dante may simply be seeking a private conference with his general.
“Something on your mind, Your Majesty?”
“Many things, Rossi.”
“Shall I step out to give you two privacy?” I hate how thready my voice sounds.
“No.” He glides his hand through my hair, and I bristle at his touch but steel my spite, honing my disgust into a weapon that will better serve me than an impulsive reaction. “Feed me salt, Fal.”
My blood pounds hard against my eardrums. “Aren’t you immune to the condiment?”
