He took the bait.
Oh, this was going to be so easy. So perfect. I would bathe in his blood and finally, finally feel something. I wouldn’t even care when his guards came in and cut me down.
It would all be worth it.
Slowly, he wrapped the tie around his hand, over and over. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his dark claws, currently retracted to small points that looked no more threatening than sharp fingernails.
Much as I wanted to make him pay by making it slow, I would need to strike decisively. If those claws ripped out my throat before I landed a killing blow, this would all be for nothing.
The bow pulled loose and he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, in fact, until he’d pulled it off the robe entirely and had the full length wound around his knuckles.
I swallowed, something trickling down my spine.
Maybe he wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate as I’d thought. Taking the tie—it was a possessive act, an arrogant one. One that said he didn’t need my invitation and he wouldn’t stop at its boundary. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.
His golden eyes on me, hard and dark, said the same.
But I looked up at him from below my lashes, gave a coy smile, and shrugged the robe off my shoulders. It fluttered to the floor, pooling around my feet.
I held still, body tight as he took it in with one slow sweep of those odd eyes. If he decided to take me now, I wouldn’t even get my hands on my dagger.
“I designed this choreography for Your Highness. When I heard you’d agreed to let us come to your palace, I knew I had to create something truly special just for you.”
None of it was a lie. Not technically.
I took a step back and mounted the silks, glad to be out of his reach.
Here, the nervy tightness left me. Here, there was only room for precise movement, for muscles to pull and bunch in the illusion of effortless grace.
I sank into the performance, not quite losing myself in it. Not when every nerve was aware of him. So close. So fucking close.
His hands rested on the arms of his throne, a tumbler of amber liquid in one. The tie from my robe lay discarded across his lap. He followed my movements with hooded eyes. Lazy and bored, half-drunk. I’d seen dozens like him. The bored and wealthy, only interested in entertainment and pleasure. It worked well for me.
When I stretched and danced low on the silks, their lengths wrapped around my ankles and wrists, his eyes fixed on those bindings. I’d had other patrons who liked to tie me in them and fuck me while suspended. No doubt, he was imagining doing just that. His pupils had blown wide, and every breath came as a deep rise and fall of his chest.
Distracted. This was my time.
I worked my way up the silks, posing as I wrapped them around me, noting the point that would have me stopping level with him. I wanted to hold his gaze as I sliced his throat.
When the blood sprayed, I wouldn’t blink.
Once I reached the top, I pointed my toes and spread my legs, doing the splits in mid air. While that sight kept him occupied, I reached up onto the beam. There was a moment’s relief when my fingers closed on my dagger’s leather-wrapped hilt. If someone had found it and removed it…
But they hadn’t.
It was mine.
And in about ten seconds, so too would vengeance.
“For Zinnia,” I whispered and let go.
I wheeled through the air as the silk unwrapped. On a stage, this move drew a gasp from the crowd as they feared I wouldn’t stop. I always did, though, exactly where I intended to, and this was no different.
Jolting upright, I landed and straddled him. His hooded eyes drank up every motion, making my skin prickle. His body was as solid as it looked, powerful like the beast he was. This close, I could smell honeyed whisky on his breath, feel the heat of his skin, taste the coppery victory of the blood I was about to spill.
I smiled as though this was the seduction he expected and let my gaze lower to his lips like I was going to kiss him.
They curled.
Heart pounding, its throb echoed in my temples and throat. I raised my dagger to one side, ready to slash.
Without dropping my gaze or his smirk, he closed his hand around my wrist.
My heart stuttered, but I didn’t have time to worry or even think. I dropped the blade and caught it in my other hand.
A swift stab upwards and this would be over.
I thrust, biceps springing.
He grabbed that wrist.
No.
Tighter than his grip on me, something seized my heart. Something cold and dead. Something that squeezed. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shake him off, couldn’t think straight.
I could only stare into those golden eyes with their slitted pupils and think how much they looked like a cat’s staring down at its prey.