“You live. Comfortably. Protected from everyone who wants you dead.”
“That’s not—” Her voice cracks. “That’s not enough. There has to be more. You don’t keep someone alive, don’t refuse your rivals, don’t risk political pressure just to be charitable.”
Smart. Too smart for her own good.
“You’re right,” I admit. “There is more. But we’ll discuss that when you’re ready to hear it.”
“I’m ready now.”
“No. You’re not.”
I step back, creating space between us. She doesn’t move, just stands there with her book clutched to her chest like a shield, eyes bright with anger and fear and something else she won’t name.
“Go to bed, Elena. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Stop dismissing me like—”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat firmly. “When you’ve had time to think about what I’ve told you. When you understand what staying here means beyond just surviving.”
She opens her mouth to argue. Closes it. Some calculation happens behind her eyes—weighing whether pushing now gains anything or just exhausts us both.
She turns and walks away. Quickly, shoulders rigid, spine straight despite how shaken she clearly is.
I watch her go until she disappears around the corner. Watch the space where she was, still feeling the phantom warmth of her pulse under my thumb.
The war has begun.
Not the one with the Volkovs or the families questioning my control. That’s just politics and power, manageable through violence or negotiation.
This war is internal. Between what I should do and what I want to do. Between strategic necessity and dangerous desire.
Marriage solves the external problem. Makes her untouchable by binding her to my name, my protection, my authority.
But it doesn’t solve the internal one.
Because marrying Elena Lawrence won’t be strategy alone. Won’t be a cold alliance built on mutual benefit.
It will be possession. Claim. The culmination of something that started the moment she raised her paddle at that auction and refused to back down.
I told her we’d talk tomorrow. That’s a lie.
I already know what I’m going to do.
The only question is how long I wait before telling her.
How long before I make her understand that protection comes with a price.
That price is her.
Chapter Thirteen - Elena
I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and the memory of last night pressing heavy on my chest.
“People are asking for your death… you’re under my protection now.”
The way his thumb dragged across my pulse point, deliberate and possessive. The heat that bloomed where he touched me. The certainty in his voice when he said I wasn’t going anywhere.
Something is changing. I can feel it in the air, in the way guards watch me differently now, in the tension that’s been building since that conversation in the hallway.
