“No one owns me, King Adrian.”
“I do not seek to own you,” he said but did not elaborate.
Again, I found myself wondering why he had chosen me. I turned to face him, my shoulder brushing his chest as I moved, glaring up at him.
“Do I have your word you will not retaliate?” I asked.
“I will not seek revenge against your people, but I will not promise to spare your commander.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “And if I ask you to spare him?”
I could not explain the look on Adrian’s face, but I thought that maybe he felt triumph at my question, as if he’d snared me into another bargain. He took a step away and sat in one of the folding chairs. He was relaxed, one large hand resting on the arm, his long legs spread wide, as if in invitation.
“Would you spare a man who tried to kill you?” he asked.
I hesitated but answered truthfully. “No.”
“Then why should I spare your commander?”
Because he’s an idiot, I wanted to say. “Because I asked you to.”
He stared, and my eyes wandered down his strong frame.
“You ask for much.”
“Think of it as a wedding gift,” I said slowly.
“A wedding gift,” he repeated.
“Do you not wish to please me?” I asked.
Adrian’s head tilted again, and his lips quirked. “Of course I wish to please you.”
I approached, driven by a need to extract my promise but also a curiosity—how close would he let me get? And if I could get close…could I kill him myself? I recalled Lord Cristian’s words, wondering if everyone in the kingdom had the same expectation of me.
Adrian watched me, eyes aflame as I settled my knee between his thighs.
“Then please me,” I whispered and gingerly placed my hands on his chest. He was surprisingly warm, and the muscles beneath my palms were hard. He still had not moved, had not placed his hands upon me, and the only indication that he was aroused was the hard length pressed against my knee.
I slipped my hands up his chest. If he would let me, I could shove my blade into his neck and jerk it through. My knives were sharp enough to cut bone if I got the angle right.
“Is that what you really want?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Yes.”
He smirked and lifted his head just an inch so that I could feel his breath on my lips as he spoke. “Because I think you want to kill me.” In the next second, he moved. One of his hands gripped beneath my knee, and the other moved around my waist as he stood, sealing our bodies together, trapping my hands between us. I gripped his shirt in my fists, and my leg hitched around his hip, his erection pressed against the softness of my body, a hard edge I wanted to ride, but I kept still, glaring at him as he spoke. “And if that is the case, I should warn you now that any attempt will be met with my wrath.”
“As if your wrath could be any worse,” I spat.
“Oh, my sweet,” he said and moved to grip my face. He was so quick, so fluid, I could not react, and as he spoke, his words whispered across my lips. “I could turn you in an instant.”
Then he tilted my head back, lips trailing along my neck. My fingers squeezed his shirt tighter. “And then what would you be?”
He waited until he drew back to look me in the eyes before he answered. “Nothing more than the undead you hate.”
I shoved against him, and he released me. We stared at each other for a moment, and I wondered what Adrian was thinking. Was he torn between fighting and fucking?
I was.
Instead, I came to my senses and returned to why I had come here to begin with.
“Do I have your word that you will not retaliate against my people?”
Adrian glared, as if now the question annoyed him. “We made an agreement,” he said. “I swore to protect your people so long as you agreed to be my wife. I will uphold my promise, even when others do not.”
I knew his final words were directed at me, but I had promised to marry him, nothing more, nothing less, and as much as I wanted to fight him—to kill him—I managed to contain my hatred and instead expressed my gratitude.
“Thank you.”
Adrian’s expression softened a little. He did not speak but bowed his head in acknowledgment.
“I…I should go,” I said and took a step away.
“I will escort you,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It is,” he said, “if I am correct in assuming your commander gave you that bruise.”