19. Killian
Briar strikes Alistair and a hush falls over the room. No doubt he deserved it.
Before I can blink or think, I’m halfway across the room, hugging the edge of the dance floor. I’m so focused on my quarry that I startle when Alistair grabs my shoulder, scowling, and says, “Let her go.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing important.”
“It is important. I’m the one you tasked with protecting her. Your own lecher of a father tried to put his hand up her skirt at dinner. Do you know how lucky he is to be walking around without a stump right now?”
A dark glare flickers over the prince’s features, there and gone.
“I wouldn’t have been able to save you from yourself if you had harmed the king, Kill. You know that. But why are you so protective of Rose all of a sudden?”
For fuck’s sake, this man.
“I quote, ‘my bride had better be alive and untouched the day after tomorrow.’” I throw his words back at him and hold his eye. “I thought that applied to everyone, including your sire.”
Alistair is a messed-up asshole of a prince but he comes by his messiness honestly. Or did. There was a time when I believed he was a better man than I. Our stations in life are as opposite as one can imagine, but we came from similarly shitty circumstances. Me, a whore’s son, abandoned like Briar at birth. He, a king’s son, raised in an atmosphere of luxury without love. Neither of us knew love, nor believed it had any place in our lives.
Then Briar happened. She made us both want things we never had before. Turned us into a couple of lovesick saps feuding over a woman. Part of me is disgusted with us for letting a female come between us.
The rest of me wants to kill him for even thinking about touching her.
“I can’t control my father,” he growls, barely audible. People around us strain to overhear. Fucking gossips.
“You can’t control yourself, either, apparently. What did you say to her?”
“Why do you care?”
I raise both hands, gloved palms out. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
His possessiveness of Briar is turning Alistair into a worse version of his father. Maybe that’s her curse. To bring out the true nature of all those around her. The ones who fawn over wealth and beauty turn obsequious to the point of ridiculousness. People who covet beauty or power will go to unimaginable lengths to control her.
She is a mirror to the ugliness inside us, and her beauty compels us to look. We can’t tear ourselves away from our own self-loathing.
Alistair can’t bear to see himself as anything less than perfect. He’s relied upon me for years to maintain his image of the strong, capable prince, but Briar saw right through that fa?ade. She sees us both for what we truly are.
I shake Alistair off and stride away. “You have a mess to clean up. Go explain yourself to your nobles. I have a princess to protect.”
Briar
I hate it here.
But where else can I go? The castle atop Thorn Mountain is the only place I can think of, but it’s full of monsters.
I fight my way to the edge of the dance floor holding back tears of raw emotion.
Finding a quiet place to be alone for a few minutes proves to be almost impossible. Everyone wants to congratulate me or touch me or stare at me in awe, and I don’t have the heart to refuse the ones who offer congratulations upon my upcoming nuptials. It’s not every day that a legend comes to life and is set to become your next queen. They mean to be kind, however misplaced.
Alistair knows I don’t want him. I didn’t think he cared.
I can’t let him hurt Killian. I don’t know how I can prevent it. It wouldn’t matter whether there was any truth to his accusations—and there is—Alistair is determined to believe the worst of us.
How did I find myself in such an impossible position? The prince is right. If I didn’t try to think for myself—if I could will the interior part of me out of existence—everything would be fine. I would forget the dark knight. Be satisfied with an endless array of silk frocks and Alistair as my husband. I’d slot right into my assigned role as fairy tale princess without question and live happily ever after.
But I can’t. To do so would mean suppressing everything that makes me human.
A glimmer of light from a transom window over a plain door that blends into the woodwork reminds me that a storeroom existed there a century ago. I’d hidden inside to escape for a few minutes back then, too. The storeroom is unlocked, to my great relief.
Inside, the air is stuffy but the silence and darkness soothes my stomach and frayed nerves. A shaft of light beams in through the thick wavy glass of the transom. I lean against the wall and breathe.
Dampness trickles down my ribs.
Twisting, I can barely make out a spot on my bodice that appears to be a spreading bloodstain.
Whether he intended to or not, Alistair pinched my stays hard enough to pierce the skin. At least the mark blends in with the red, pink, and white design of my gown. I can laugh it off as a drop of spilled wine.
But here in my sanctuary, for a few precious minutes, I don’t have to pretend.
Until the door creaks open and I’m momentarily blinded by the intrusion of bright light.
“Briar?”
“Killian?”
Relief cascades through me. The one person I wanted to see. No games this time.
“Are you alone?” he asks, angling his body through the opening and closing the door behind him. Shutting out the world. Protecting me.
Still, I hesitate to throw myself into his arms the way I want to.
“Are you?”
He nods, and his hair, half-corralled in a loose knot, gleams in the low light. His white cap is in both hands, a prop to keep them from wandering to me.
The moment electrifies. If we’re caught like this, there will be harsh consequences for us both. This is worse than what we did in the hall, where anyone could have seen us.
We can either save ourselves and return to the ball now, or throw ourselves upon the pyre and go down in each other’s arms.
I know which fate I’d choose, but it’s his fate, too. I wait, poised on a knife’s edge.
Killian advances. He lifts one hand to my cheek. I turn into his touch, taking comfort in it.
“He hurt you.”
I nod.
“I’ll kill him.”
That’s what I needed to hear. A simple declaration that he’ll take care of me. I take two steps forward and bury my face in the crook of Killian’s neck. His uniform smells comfortingly of starch and the scent of shaving soap clings to his skin. Buttons dig into my forehead and braid sticks to my cheek, but I don’t care. I need to feel his warmth.
He strokes his thumb along my ribs. If not for the corset it would probably tickle, but all it does is reinforce all the barriers between us. They’re not just fabric, thread, and boning.
“Please don’t.” I inhale raggedly. “We’re in enough of a predicament without committing regicide.”
It’s the first time I’ve alluded to the fact that I want more from him than furtive stolen kisses. The precise contours of what a future with him might look like remain vague, but I’m reaching for it with all my strength.
“Alistair’s not king yet.”
“But he will be.” Soon, if the king’s cough is any indication. A pang of guilt hits me over the way I stabbed him with my fork. But he should have kept himself to himself.
“I don’t care, Briar. The next man who lays a hand on you loses it. Damn the consequences.”
Killian tips my chin up and kisses me softly. I lean into him, all my fears fading as I cling to his solid warmth—until he finds the damp spot on my ribs and pulls back.
“What’s this?” He lifts his thumb to his nose and sniffs. “Blood?”
He possesses the heightened senses of a hunter. He can detect the small amount of blood that made it through the corset to stain my gown even though it’s not enough to do more than create a small damp spot.
“Alistair pinched me.” I can’t help the slight whine that creeps into my tone. “I don’t think he meant to hurt me.”
I’m not entirely certain about that. He was certainly angry enough to have done it intentionally.
Killian rubs his fingers together, his brows pinching as he examines it. A knot of anticipation tightens in my belly when his fingers flex like he’s envisioning strangling his own friend.
“He did, though. Unforgivable. Let me see.”
Killian whirls me around, unfastening the dress with surprising deftness. Hot jealousy flashes over me as the gown sags from my shoulders. How many other women has he undressed with the same brutal efficiency?
The corset loosens and I inhale a deep breath of stale closet air. He takes my shoulders and turns me so the shaft of light falls over my ribs.
“It’s minor.”
“I could have told you that without you undressing me.”
“I needed to be sure.” He edges the corset aside, and apparently satisfied that it’s only a small wound, gently tugs the laces back into place. Not as tight as before. I’m about to tug the cap sleeves of my dress over my shoulders when his hot, open mouth lands in the center of my spine.
Tingles erupt over my skin. I take half a step backward, pressing my back against his front. Killian’s greedy mouth moves to my shoulder. His teeth close over the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. The tingles transform into furious flutters in my stomach. Even through the many layers of our clothing I can feel him straining.
My dark knight skims his palms up my waist, hooks his thumb into the neckline of my hideously overdone gown, and yanks the entire bodice down. He captures my aching breasts in his rough palms and squeezes through the cups of my corset. Moaning, I reach up to wrap one arm around his neck and find his cheek scraping against mine. Our breaths mingle on an exhale.
Distantly, the vibrations of an orchestra reach my ear. We’re hidden in this tiny closet. I’m safe with him. This is okay. We are meant to be together.
Killian nudges my nipples free of their prisons and pinches. I squirm.
“Like that, Princess?” he growls roughly. His teeth close on the rim of my ear. All I can do is nod in affirmation. I cannot summon words through the haze of sensations.
“Take off your dress.”
Obediently, I shove it down over my hips and kick it away. My knight follows it down, finding my center. A low moan gusts out of me as he reaches the aching nub at the apex of my sex and rolls it hard. My knees crumple. Killian braces me upright with his free hand on my breast, worrying the tight bead in the center with his thumb.
“I can’t—” I pant.
“You can. Let go, Princess.”
He strokes the little bead at my core mercilessly. This is the revenge he promised. My punishment and my reward for going down on my knees for him earlier. I clasp one arm around his neck, working my way beneath his collar, hating all these layers of clothing between us.
“You love it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”
His rough voice scrapes my ear. He nips me there. I buck against his hand with a needy whimper. So close.
“Dirty little princess. Sneaking away from a ball in her honor to let a filthy knight put his hands all over you.”
“Please, Killian?—”
He senses what I need and gives it to me. I explode against his hand. Can’t drag in enough air to fill my lungs. Relentlessly he strokes my soaking wet center, dragging out the longest orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
I have to push his hand away when the pulsing fades and his touch becomes too much.
But Killian isn’t finished with me yet.
He scoops me up and carries me over to a large box draped in a rough wool blanket not unlike the one I clutched around me the night I was awoken from my slumber.
Tonight, I feel like I’m finally waking up in truth.
Killian’s gray eyes meet mine. The shaft of light from the transom barely reaches this corner of the storage room. He shoves my knees apart and stares hungrily at my exposed center. I feel the intensity of that look everywhere. In my abdomen. Sizzling up my skin. Tingling against the underside of my breasts. It steals my breath.
“Gods, every single part of you is fucking gorgeous, Briar,” he says. “You have the prettiest little pussy.”
He licks straight up my center. Stars burst behind my eyes and explode in my lungs, and a single word bursts past my lips in a startled gasp: yes.