“You saw me and you didn’t say anything?” He would have known at that point she’d been there the whole time, witnessed it all. Yet he sent his father away before he knew they had company, so that wasn’t for her benefit—but then why?
Zryan doesn’t answer, only angles his head and examines her with that predator’s gaze, face more serious now. Realization dawns on Astrid.
“You didn’t trick him. You’re trying to keep the information from your father. Youwantthose conscripts to escape.”
“The conscripts have already escaped, and I don’t see the harm if we happen not to find them.” He runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time, she thinks she sees a glimmer of the real Zryan. He’s frustrated. Strangely vulnerable. “You shouldn’t know any of this.” He lowers his head, sighs. “Yet I couldn’t let you leave here thinking the worst of me.”
His words melt away the last of her doubt like sunlight on snow. He cares what Astrid thinks of him. Cares enough to reveal that he’s trying to help the conscripts this rebel rescued, even if he can’t help the rebel himself. The cruelty, it’s all a show. A deception, so his father won’t learn the truth: Zryan doesn’t agree with what the king is doing. Still, there’s the question of who’s behind the assassination attempts—and she needs to know.
“You’re certain this guy isn’t the killing-princesses type of rebel, then?” Astrid asks.
Zryan’s shoulders tense, and his eyes lift to lock on hers. “If he was here to kill you, I would have taken great fucking pleasure in slowly cutting him into tiny pieces while you watched.”
The way he’s looking at Astrid stirs something primal inside of her. “Good,” she says, voice rougher than usual. “But I wouldn’t have just watched.”
His mouth curves wickedly. “I know.”
A beat passes. Another, while they stare at each other. “What are you going to do now?” Astrid finally says.
He moves, quick as a whip, eating up the space between them and bracing a hand above her head. “Don’t,” he says hoarsely. “Don’t ask me that, not when you shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to lie to you.” Astrid feels the caress of his palm along her ponytail. “Do you know how bad it would’ve been if my father had caught you?”
Oh Goddess. The king. How long did he give his son, ten minutes? She needs to get out of here. She tries to move, but he lifts his other arm up, trapping her against the wall.
“What are you doing here, Astrid?”
Hearing her name in that accent, thatvoice, makes her brain short-circuit. All she’s aware of is the wisp of his breath on her face, the usual scent of ocean winds mingling with the sweet smell of pear. She bites her bottom lip, and his gaze drops to her mouth and stays there. Slowly he brings his eyes back up to meet hers. He leans in a little closer.
This is bad, very bad. She needs to go and needs to go now. She attempts to slide past him again, but he’s immovable.
“Get out of my way.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re down here.”
She clicks her tongue. “I thought it might have been another assassin. I wanted to see for myself, alright?”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” He pushes off the wall and crosses his arms. “You’d be well within your rights to know, if that was the case.”
“That’s very magnanimous of you.”
“I’m a magnanimous kind of guy.”
She points at the two fingers, still taunting her. “Clearly.”
The ass has the audacity to smirk, but it falls from his face when the door handle rattles. He’s up against Astrid and pressing her back into the buttress in an instant. She can feel every hard edge of him plastered up against her, and the whimper that leaves her mouth is mortifying; more mortifying is the fact that he hears it. His gaze tears from the door to her face, his pupils dilating.
“If you could refrain from making noises like that when we’re in such close proximity, Dimples, I’d be grateful.”
Heat licks over her skin in response. “If we weren’t in such close proximity, I wouldn’t make noises like that. Is this necessary? They can’t even get in.”
The door handle rattles once more, someone calls Zryan’s name, but Zryan ignores him.
“It’s not necessary at all, apparently I just can’t help myself. Though I think you like being this close to me.” He smiles at her. A genuine, full smile that shows off his straight white teeth. His incisors are a little longer—sharper—than the usual. She shivers lightly as she imagines them scraping along her throat.
“By the feel of things, I’m pretty sure it’s you that likes being this close to me.” She raises a brow and smiles back, unable to help herself.
His eyes flare, the smile on his lips waning. “You are so beautiful,” he says, quiet as a prayer. “But when you smile like that, you could bring me and my entire kingdom to its knees.”
She swallows, unsure if she still knows how to breathe.
