would she have reacted? Accepting at first, angry afterward?
So vulnerable, his little Moon. What kind of life had she led? Had someone hurt her? Had a man betrayed her trust?
Proving his worth wasn’t just important, he realized. Proving his worth was imperative.
“Valerian?” His name drifted from her lips, a husky entreaty...a confused plea.
“Breakfast awaits.” His harsh tone would have sent anyone else running for cover; his need for this woman was so great he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to keep his hands to himself. “Come.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he’d used the wrong word, considering their conversation. If “wrong” now meant “right.”
She bristled. “Are you secretly a tease?”
At any other time, he might have laughed at the intended insult. “No, Moon. I’m a warrior determined to win the war rather than a single battle, and that is hot, hard truth.”
“You mean cold hard truth.”
“No, it’s definitely hot.”
Her mouth opened and closed and, in her delightfully stunned state, she offered no protest as he linked their fingers to lead her through the commons, the central meeting point for the barracks.
Several couples had decided to camp there and now lay intertwined out in the open. Unlike the frantic moans that had rung out last night, silence reigned.
“You nymphos need a sexual etiquette coach.”
He stopped only long enough to pierce her with a hard stare. “Nymphs. Nymphs.”
Eyes full of innocence, she said, “Nymph... Ohs.”
Frustrating female.
“So, what are we going to do about Joachim?” she asked. “Don’t tell me we’ll deal with him when he wakes up. Give me an answer this time. I hate not knowing our plan.”
We and our, she’d said. Not I. Not your. But we and our.
He liked that she considered him a partner in this. “Worry not. We will do whatever is necessary to remain together.”
“Whatever is necessary.... Are you talking about—” she gulped “—committing cold-blooded murder?”
“Yes.” He kicked a pile of clothing out of the way and turned a corner. “But I would swing the blade, and you would merely watch.”
“Yeah, because that’s the problem I had with the plan.” She sighed. “Is cold-blooded murder not a crime here?”
“The strong govern the weak. If the weak refuse to obey, they must be pruned from the vine. In what way would it be crime?”
“And you wonder why I want to go home,” she muttered.
He wished he could wipe her memory of the surface world! “You will never be harmed here.”
“Because you plan to protect me. Yeah, yeah. But I’m sure I’m considered a weakling to the rest of your world. At least physically. So what’s to stop the strong from attempting to govern me when you aren’t around?”
“You are my queen. You govern others. They do not govern you.”
A fresh, warm scent wafted to him just before the dining hall came into view, the table piled with food. The male centaurs and Minotaurs he’d hired from the Outer City had prepared a feast to welcome the new additions to the household.
Shaye’s stomach growled, and he experienced a flicker of guilt. He hadn’t fed her dinner.
He would have to take better care of her in the future. His woman should never go hungry.
“Usually at this time of day, my warriors surround the table,” he said. Now he and Shaye were alone. Even the servants were gone. “You’ll have to wait to test your power.”
“One, I’m not your queen yet. Two, I don’t want to order anyone around.”
His pulse leaped. She’d said yet! “You order me around all the time.”
“Supposed queen, remember?” she said and fluffed her hair. “If you don’t like my rule, you can cut me loose.”
He snorted.
She eased into the chair at the head of the table and eyed him. Expecting him to balk, he was sure. When he didn’t, she shrugged and filled a plate with food.
As she swallowed a bite of coconut cream, her eyes closed in sweet surrender. “Oh, wow. Who prepared this? Surely not your army. They may look like beefcake, but I seriously doubt they know how to cook it.”
“As if I would allow my men to cook,” he said, filling a plate of his own before taking the chair beside hers. “They would inadvertently poison us.”
She popped a grape into her mouth. “So...you’re a chauvinist. Your men belong on the battlefield but never in the kitchen.”
“Not even close. Food can mean the difference between life and death.” He leaned back and bit into a strawberry. How he would have loved to trace the fruit over her lips and lick the juice away. “The kitchen is a battlefield in its own right. My men simply have no real talent for it.”
“Perhaps they’re too much like you. Arrogant, bossy, pigheaded, stubborn, half-witted, spoiled, demanding, self-absorbed and morally corrupt.”
When she paused for breath, he grumbled, “Is that all?”
“No. Horny. Overbearing. Mean.” She paused, tapped a finger against her lips before nodding. “That’s all.”
“‘Mean’?” He frowned. “I’ve been the epitome of nice, catering to your every whim.”
“Did you not steal me from my home? Have you not refused over and over again to return me?”
He tossed his arms up. “This again.”
“This always.”
“Perhaps I can give you something better to think about.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on her thigh; she sucked in a breath.
What she didn’t do? Rebuke him.
Slowly, languidly, he slid his fingers higher. He stopped only a few inches away from the center of both their worlds.
“Shall we bargain, sweet Shaye?”
The pink tip of her tongue swiped over her lips and almost proved his undoing. “I’m listening.”
“Give me time.” Would she find ten years objectionable? Five? Probably. He sighed. “A year. A mere blip in a lifetime. If I fail to win your affections, I’ll return you to the surface.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
