it would not be until they’d had children. Children who would also look up to him, idolize him. Love him. Depend on him as he had done with his parents.
Children he wouldn’t deserve. A wife he could never hope to deserve.
He would ruin things. For all of them. And in the years while he waited for the killing blow, he would drive himself crazy. Knowing it would come eventually, but never knowing when.
He was feeble. His spirit so corrupt he knew that he could never be the kind of man that she needed.
He wasn’t Kairos. Who would lay down everything, personal happiness, individual goals, everything, to serve his country. To serve a wife he didn’t even love. Andres could never be that noble. He had never managed to keep the love of another person. Not even his parents. His behavior always ruined it in the end. He had no control. He never had.
The past few weeks had been a game. And he had been indulging himself. But it had to end.
He had to show her now. Because it would be better to destroy everything before the wedding. Better now than years from now. So she knew where things would end. So she knew what to expect.
They had to marry; there was no question of that. But...he could not have her loving him.
He stopped at the edge of the ballroom, scanning the crowd. And then he saw her. A blonde woman in a red dress, her curves barely contained by the tight, silken material. She was exactly the kind of woman he would have put the moves on in the past. Exactly the kind of woman he would choose to spend a few hedonistic hours with once boredom set in at a party like this.
And for the first time in years he let himself remember that last Christmas party. His mother had given him another chance. Had allowed him to come down from his room.
This time as they’d sat at the table, a family, pretending to have unity for all the world to see, his actions had not been beyond his control.
He had been angry. Angry for the years he’d spent locked away. Angry at how long and hard he’d tried only to fail time and time again. To get lost in the endless cycle of trying to please someone who professed to love him and failing at every turn.
So he’d chosen to fail that day. Had thrown his dinner plate on the floor and smashed it to pieces. Had made his mother cry again. It had felt good to accomplish what he’d set out to do. To fail spectacularly on purpose, rather than to try and fall short.
And then she’d left after that. God help him, he’d been relieved. Because after that he’d never had to try again.
He looked up, saw his fiancée sitting at the table, her posture stiff, taking tiny bites of her dessert, trying to enjoy it, trying to listen to the conversation around her. She did not fit in, his Zara. She did not have that cultured manner of those raised in nobility. Did not have the social graces she would have learned had she been raised in the palace life.
She was utterly unique. Utterly her.
He drank in the sight of her. Pale skin, dark hair, in that pink and gold dress that made her look like something out of a fairy tale.
But he wasn’t the sort of man who deserved a fairy tale.
He took a step forward. Then another. Then, he began to make his way toward the blonde. Toward temptation.
He was not going to wait for hell to come up and grab him. He would walk and willingly. And he would do it now.
ZARA HADN’T SEEN Andres for at least fifteen minutes. He had slipped out of the ballroom at some point when she wasn’t looking, and she hadn’t seen him anywhere since. She knew he wasn’t in the room, because she felt the change.
Perhaps that sounded ridiculous, but she could feel his presence. Because it carried such weight. That connection they shared. Years of being alone had made it stronger, she was convinced. Or maybe it was so for everyone in love.
Though when you were the only one in love, perhaps it wasn’t.
She had been sitting at the table in utter silence, trying not to look as distressed as she felt, and probably failing miserably. She took a deep breath, standing, deciding that she was going to go find him now. She wasn’t one to wait. She wasn’t one to play games. And just because he seemed to prefer to operate with a thin veil of deceit between his words and his feelings did not mean she had to do it. She was going to force him to confront this. To discuss it. Because he was telling her lies, she was certain.
He felt more for her, for what they shared, than he claimed. She knew he did.
She strode through the ballroom, quite amazed that the crowd of people parted for her as they seemed to do for Andres. She really was a part of this place now. She was one of them.
Her happiness was dented by the situation she was in. It was very difficult to feel happy when your heart was ground to dust. Another new discovery. Though a rather logical one.
She left the ballroom, exiting the main double doors out the back, and finding herself in the corridor where she and Andres had first made love. She didn’t know what had led her here, but now that she was here, she knew it had been for a reason. This would be where he’d go. She was certain of it.
She rounded the corner from the ballroom, headed toward that alcove where they had first found their passion. And then she heard voices, rustling.
She stopped. Listening for a moment.
Her stomach twisted, sank deep down, terror gnawing at her insides, and still, she walked forward. Because she had to. Because he was there. She knew it.
She took one step, then another, headed toward the alcove. And when she rounded the corner, everything stopped.
It was Andres. And a woman. The woman was wearing a bright red dress, a crimson stain against Andres’s black suit. She was crushed hard against his body. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, his lips pressed hard to hers. He shifted, angling his head, and she saw his tongue slide against hers.
A cry escaped Zara’s lips and she clasped her hand over her mouth. The blonde jumped as though she’d been scalded, but Andres moved slowly, fluidly, raising his head in a lazy, laconic fashion, one eyebrow lifted.
“Zara.” He said her name so blandly. As though he wasn’t surprised. As though he wasn’t sorry. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly,” she said, her tone vibrating with rage.
“I was a bit bored of the party.”
“Is that what you do when you’re bored at parties? Come out here and have women up against walls?”
“Don’t be dramatic. Obviously I wasn’t having her. Yet.”
The blonde made a coughing sound, her expression irritated. “I didn’t sign on for drama,” she said. “Just a little bit of fun with the prince.”
“Sorry,” Zara said, not feeling sorry at all. “This prince comes with drama. A rather large amount of it. In the
