Instead of smiling, Eric frowned and bowed his head like a man defeated.
Shit.
No.
It couldn’t be.
I’d worked so hard.
This performance, this outfit, my hair—they were all just as hers had been that night. He’d found her so irresistible, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from taking her life, and he was meant to find me just as irresistible tonight.
How had I failed?
My fingernails cut into my palms.
How could he not remember her? How could he not remember killing her? Day by day, even when Eric fucked me, it was all I could think of.
My sister’s body on the floor. That fae bastard bent over her, taking a lock of hair like the sick fuck he was.
At last, Eric left the prince’s side and looked up at me.
He nodded.
And that was the closest thing to joy.
I’d waited ten years for this. Ten years of blisters and rage. Ten years of this cold deadness inside. Ten years when no joy or pleasure had been able to reach me.
Tonight, it would end.
And I was going to savour every gods damned moment.
3
I had a whole sketchbook full of him. The angled planes of his cheeks. The proud line of his so very fucking regal jaw. The red hair streaked with creamy white. I’d drawn it a hundred times so I wouldn’t forget. I’d nursed my obsession, my rage, my hurt, and my desire to destroy.
It still hadn’t prepared me for the sight of him on his throne, now brought into a large, private room.
I waited in a curtained alcove, ready to make my entrance.
“An intimate performance”—that’s what I’d told Eric to say. Those exact words. The advertisement was also a seduction. While “intimate” might seem innocent, merely referring to the fact it would only be him and me, we all knew what it really meant.
I’d been doing it for years. Private performances that became very intimate indeed.
Sometimes just nudity, but other times, I let them fuck me hard, fast, slow, however they wanted. I didn’t take pleasure from it, but I took a healthy chunk of extra cash and pretty gifts from it. They all went into my costumes and gilding myself with jewellery and expensive treatments for my hair and skin.
My body was my work, my tool, and tonight, my weapon.
I waited until he shifted in his seat, signalling restlessness. My aerial silks had been secured to the rafters, ending a foot in front of him.
And above, next to their knots, sat an iron dagger.
The iron made my slumbering magic cringe into an even smaller ball, but it would do worse to a fae.
Another object I’d traded my body to get.
Such things couldn’t be bought in any regular shop. Not when iron was banned in Albion. But there was a market for everything, if you only knew where to look.
And I’d had ten years to search.
It hummed in my veins now. Something close to true feeling.
When he shifted a second time, nostrils flaring as he went to rise, I sauntered out from behind the curtain.
Under a sheer robe, this costume was black. Better to hide the inevitable blood. Where the white one had covered me from neck to ankle and wrist, this one was cut high over my hips and scooped low at the neck and back. Practice in front of a mirror had told me that when I hung upside down, it teetered tantalisingly close to exposing my tits. Only a thin strip of fabric covered my pussy.
Perfect for an intimate performance.
And perfect to distract him while I pulled my blade across his throat.
I let that thought curl my mouth as I approached, keeping my eyes on him.
He watched, sitting back in his throne now, chin lifted so he looked down upon me.
When I ended him, I would make him gaze up at me. I would make him see the look on my face as I did it. Let him witness my joy, at last.
Zinnia hadn’t deserved to die like that. My sister—my dear, sweet sister. My only family.
But he deserved this.
I stopped in the space between his parted legs, not touching. Not yet.
Seduction didn’t start with touching.
“Your Highness,” I purred and bowed into his space, giving him an excellent view of my cleavage.
His feline eyes might’ve unnerved me if I hadn’t spent ten years drawing them over and over and over. Thank the non-existent gods for preparation.
I kept my gaze on his and was rewarded by the sight of those odd pupils expanding.
Success.
I slid the tie of my robe between my fingers, the well-practiced gesture snaring his attention. “Perhaps Your Highness would care to…？” I finished the sentence by canting my head, one eyebrow rising as I offered him the end of the tie.