“Um, sure,” is all I can manage after the exchange between Marik and August. I offer Barrett an apologetic smile.
The room is silent as Asmo stands and walks to the head of the table. August sits erect as Asmo passes behind his seat as if it’s against his every instinct to have his back to a predator.
Asmo looks like the biggest predator in the room. The cut of his suit is lethal as he walks toward me, fitted to every sharp angle and contour. His height and build are threatening, but it’s his eyes that promise death. They don’t leave mine as he stalks toward me.
I want to tell August not to worry; I’m the prey caught in Asmo’s trap.
He pulls my seat out and offers me his hand to help me stand. I ignore it and stand on my own with a drink in hand, heading toward the door and out of this pit of vipers.
Asmo catches up to me immediately and places his hand on the small of my back as he leads me into the hallway. I lead us to the same alcove as earlier, wishing I hated Asmo’s hand on my waist.
We sit, our backs to the window, thighs pressed together—just like with Koa. He doesn’t speak as quickly as Koa did, and as desperate as I am to fill the awkward silence, I don’t.
While I wait for him to say something, I turn to him and meet his gaze, staring at the thin green circling his pupils and the line of silver cutting through them. Mesmerizing.
“Well?” he asks me, not taking his eyes from mine.
I furrow my brow at his half-question. “Well, what?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Youaskedmeout here, remember?”
He chuckles and says, “I suppose I did.”
I imitate him and say, “Well?”
His gaze drops to my mouth briefly before he meets my eyes again and asks, “Well, how are you doing?”
This is probably the last question I was expecting. I stare at him for a moment before saying, “I’m—I’m fine, I guess.” He doesn’t respond, so I ask him, “How are you doing?”
“Kind of you to ask, Your Highness. I’m also fine.” Before I can respond, he quickly continues, “But I must admit that I don’t particularly enjoy being forced to remain on your grounds for the next few months.”
My eyes widen, and I tilt my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Well, this little contest to wed and bed you is quite trifling if you ask me,” he says, his black eyes boring into mine.
Wow. Okay, then.
My cheeks redden, but I’m not embarrassed this time. I’m mad. He’s looking for a reaction, and I don’t want him to get it. Instead, I take a slow sip of my drink and ask, “May I ask why you feel that way?”
He plays the game right back. He smiles and says, “You may ask.”
I wait, and I wait. I’m not going to repeat myself.
“I’m sure this is fun for you, to be fawned after by different High Princes, but we’re being forced to be here,” he states matter-of-factly. “Our courts want us to be chosen as the next High King. However, I’m in line for the throne in my own court, and I’m not particularly interested in sticking around for this.”
Not even five minutes ago, his hand on my waist and his eyes on my mouth indicated otherwise, but I refrain from saying that.
“Is that why you act like this with me? You don’t want me to choose you?”
He laughs at that. “Even if you did choose me, I would decline your offer.”
“Then leave,” I say, staring at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Why would I care if you stayed? All you’ve done is be rude to me.”
“You’re calling a little bit of verbal spat ‘rude?’” His eyes widen in shock as if I just told him the Mother Herself was coming down from the sky.
“Yes. I am.”
