15. Briar
“I’d like to visit the library.”
Killian snorts.
“You. An intellectual.”
“I have a century of learning to catch up on, and it’s not as though I had access to books while I was in an enchanted sleep.”
He doesn’t respond to that. Merely strides beside me, his bright white boots scuffing on the flagstone. I’ve seen the ensemble on other guards, of course, but it didn’t occur to me that he might have one, too, until he appeared wearing it.
I hate it and love it at the same time. The cap tames his wild hair. I prefer it corralled in a loose topknot, but I can’t deny this looks almost as good. The gold trim is ridiculous. It doesn’t belong on a rough character like him. And yet, the uniform gives him the air of a lion on a leash.
An illusion of control. The instant he decides not to go along with the pretense, your head would be in his jaws.
I shiver at the thought of him catching me. Ripping me apart in ways I can barely imagine. I know what sex is. How it works. With all the attention I attracted growing up, my parents were both strict and protective.
They wanted me to marry the prince, and they encouraged me to resist so they could extract as many concessions as possible from the royal family first. Tonight, I shall meet the descendants of the duke my foster father became, a title my brother inherited while I was trapped in an enchanted slumber, followed by his son, and now a son after that. Which makes them my great-great-nephew’s family.
The idea of meeting my own family’s descendants makes me feel unmoored in time. A bit lost, frankly.
“Penny for your thoughts, Highness?”
“I was thinking about tonight’s presentation ball.” I flash him a smile. “Will you be attending me this evening?”
A subtle dig. My maids are my attendants. He is my guard. It’s the kind of insult any denizen of Belterre Castle would pick up on.
Killian doesn’t react.
“If I must,” he mutters, then quickly resumes his stoic mask. “A public ball is the ideal opportunity for someone to make an attempt on your life. I will ensure your safety. No need to worry your pretty, empty head about it.”
I cast him a narrow glare. “Empty?”
The barest, calculating smile tugs at the corners of his lips. I bite back my own. The lion tugging at his leash, letting me know I do not control him.
I like this game.
Attendants open the heavy carved oak double doors to the grand library at our approach. I have spent more time in this chamber than any other during my time at the castle. As much as I could get away with. Prince Alistair’s library never fails to awe me into rapt silence.
Light streams through huge stained-glass windows depicting the history of Belterre. The fae race we first worshiped as gods, until they realized humans would out-populate them and tried to constrain us with magic. At the end of the ensuing war, they retreated to the sky and left behind the monsters. Some say it was a punishment. The rest of the panels depict the heroic knights of yore battling the fae beasts to drive them out of Belterre, and the happy ending of a prosperous people.
Outside, a large shadow wings across the line of windows, a stark reminder that I am responsible for ruining all this peace and prosperity, however unwittingly.
Below the high windows are long, high shelves of books. Larger tomes rest upon shorter shelving in the center of the room. Tables for study are placed strategically around the room. Scribes in long gray robes scurry around like oversized mice.
I make my way to the section labeled History with a long brass plaque and grasp the ladder with both hands. Its wheels squeak faintly as I move it down the line to where I left off this morning, when I was called away to prepare for my presentation ceremony.
“Allow me.”
Killian stops the movement with one hand placed casually on the rung.
“I have managed for ten entire days without your assistance, Sir Ironheart.” My pulse quickens at his nearness. Still gripping the sides of the ladder, I squeak my way down the line. His arm falls away. Disappointment curls like smoke around my heart.
Not here. Not now.
A wicked idea pops into my head. Or, if it’s going to be here and now, it has to look like an accident.
I stop at random, somewhere in the vicinity of the place I started this morning, but I’m no longer focused on the books. I sweep my skirt aside and place one toe on the lowest rung.
“You shouldn’t be climbing.” Killian’s alarm is real, and I experience a pang of guilt for what I’m about to do. “I’ll call for a scribe to fetch the book you want.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for yet. I was browsing this section earlier, before you came riding in on your black stallion. I was raised on a farm, Sir Ironheart. I know how to climb a…”
With each sentence, I haul myself up another rung until I’m near the top. I glance down to make sure he’s hovering anxiously at the bottom, steadying the ladder with one conveniently outstretched hand.
Pressing my palm to my chest, I gasp, “A century ago, they didn’t tie the laces so tight. I feel…faint.”
Then I topple off the ladder straight into his arms. Killian grunts on impact. I cling to his neck and blink up into his scowling face.
“You saved me,” I breathe, fluttering my eyelashes.
“Cute, Briar.”
He drops the arm beneath my thighs without making the slightest attempt to grope my ass. Alistair wouldn’t have passed up such a golden opportunity, not that I’d have given him one. Once I’m on my feet again, Killian rubs his injured arm. Guilt flashes through me.
“Did I hurt you?”
“It’s fine.”
“The healer said it would help to have someone massage the scar tissue,” I lie, my pulse racing. “Let me see.”
He jerks away.
Killian’s hard glare bores into me, but there’s fire glinting within the steel. When I smile, I see the clash within him. This time, it’s me yanking on the leash, pretending I’m in control.
I’m not.
He manacles my upper arm and forces me down a row of shelving. The instant we’re out of sight, he pins me to the stacks. Ridges of unyielding wood bite stripes of pain across my back. His good hand rises to my throat.
I swallow. My knees weaken. He’s so close I can make out the striations of dark blue and gold in his gray irises, despite the low light.
“Whatever game you’re playing, Princess, stop now. You won’t win.”
Need pulses low in my abdomen. I squirm, but there’s no escaping his unyielding hold. I bring my hand to his wrist and clasp the back of his gloved hand. His index finger brushes my lower lip.
I bite down, hard.
White leather tastes of polish and has the texture of overcooked meat. Killian growls and pins me to the shelf hard enough to knock books to the floor. His mouth crashes down on mine, and he notches himself expertly between my thighs, the layers of skirts and jackets and pants proving to be no barrier to his hard shaft rocking against my intimate parts.
I moan and tug his hair at the roots.
Just as abruptly as it started, he releases me and turns away.