style="font-size:15px;"> She looked over her shoulder, and lust hit him square and hard in the stomach. Her eyes were like no one else’s.
And it didn’t matter how many women he had undressed in the past, because they hadn’t been her. Because it wasn’t now.
Dammit, he had to get a grip.
When he had the zipper lowered all the way he took a step back, forcing his hands down at his side so he wouldn’t grip the sides of the bodice and pull it down, past her hips, to pool on the floor. So that he didn’t lose hold of his very tenuous control and do exactly what he had threatened to do earlier.
“Go now,” she said, the words quivering.
“As you wish, Princess. But there will come a time when I don’t leave once your clothes come off.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to add that. Didn’t know why he always felt the need to get in one more hit. Perhaps because he was powerless, as was the situation in many ways. She was too. Which was perhaps why she felt the need to lash out at him.
It was why he kept striking out at her.
“Not a day sooner than necessary,” she said.
“Get your sleep. Tomorrow you have yet more manners to learn.”
“Will you make your best effort at getting me to bite you again?”
“No. Tomorrow I’m going to teach you to dance.”
FIRST, THEY HAD cut her hair. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a haircut. For years she had allowed it to grow, hanging thick and curling past her waist, restrained most commonly by a braid. The palace stylist had taken it up to the middle of her back. It felt strange. A weight removed she hadn’t been aware she’d been carrying.
After that, they had done her makeup. Entirely different from the way she had been taught to apply her own. But the woman had dusted the corners of Zara’s eyes with gold powder, after rimming them in black, giving a different twist to the look Zara was accustomed to. A sort of marriage between Tirimian standards of beauty and those here in Petras.
Her gown, the third piece of her early-morning makeover, was another example of that.
Unlike the frothy confection she had worn yesterday, this gown was sleek, hugging her curves. Gold beadwork stitched onto filmy fabric that ended at her knees, turning to sheer netting past that point that was also made to glitter with the same golden details.
Her newly cut hair had been styled into glossy waves. She had never imagined her hair could look quite like this. Usually it looked much more...natural. Rough-hewn. Usually she looked much more rough-hewn.
She had the distinct feeling Andres would see it as a victory.
The thought would have irritated her more if she weren’t so fascinated by her own reflection. Sadly she didn’t have very long to linger over the stranger in the mirror. She had to go down to the ballroom because Andres was intent on teaching her to dance.
Just thinking of him made her stomach tighten, and the feeling only increased as she made her way down the stairs, down the corridor that would lead her to the ballroom. In theory. She had never been in the palace’s ballroom before. She had been given rather simple directions, and since she could easily find her way through a forest, she imagined she could navigate her way through a castle.
She paused at the ornate double doors that separated the corridor from the room, and her, presumably, from Andres. This was her last moment to take a breath of air before he was standing in front of her, tightening her lungs.
She breathed in deeply, then took a step forward, grabbing hold of the handle and pulling, the heavy door giving slowly. She slipped through the open space and stopped, taking in the grand sight before her. The ceiling was high, domed, with beautiful, detailed paintings stretching over the width of the room. The walls were papered a pale blue with crushed velvet flowers, each segment of wall divided by golden molding.
She would blend in with these surroundings. A strange thought. But it was true. Now she looked as though she belonged here. Felt as though she might. She was born to this. Would have lived in it if not for the men who’d overthrown her father.
This would have been her birthright. And in reality, she would very likely have been sent to marry a prince. A prince like Andres.
This could have been her fate no matter what. To be here. To be with him. Set to be his wife. Such a strange thought. But comforting in some ways. Was this what her parents would have planned for her? They certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to stay in the woods for the rest of her life.
She had been... She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. It smelled familiar here. Of ancient stone and wood. A palace. It reminded her of her home. Her first home. Of her parents and how they had cared for her.
They had loved her. So very much. This was the sort of life they had wanted for her. The woman she was now, in the dress she currently wore, was what they would have wanted her to be.
Had she been brought up in the palace, she would be tamed already rather than being something he saw as a feral animal.
Zara swallowed. She should not care about that. What he thought of her. She wasn’t actually going to marry him. She would find a way out of this. Find a way to make it work for everyone.
She was not ready to be married. Least of all to a man who had as little choice in the matter as she did.
She had been forced into too many things. Had been forced on too many people. Was it such a bad thing to wish she could be chosen?
She shook off the thought, walking deeper into the room. It was silly to worry about things like that. Being chosen, and wanted. Those were luxuries for people who didn’t have to worry about survival, or about duty.
It would not have fit into either versions of her life.
Andres chose that moment to walk in the doors opposite her. She would have expected to be used to him by now. Would have thought that every time she saw him the impact of his appearance would lessen. If anything, she felt it harder, deeper, every time she saw him. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and she could have almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Her in a ball gown, him in a suit, so early in the day, in an empty ballroom. Two strangers who were being ordered to marry each other, neither of whom wanted to.
She would have laughed, but she couldn’t possibly. Not when she could scarcely even take a breath. If she had felt tense at the mere thought of seeing Andres, then actually seeing him ratcheted her tension up to impossible degrees. She couldn’t figure out why. Yes, he was handsome, but she had no interest in being touched by him. Being kissed by him. Or any of those other things.
She had never much minded being innocent for her age. A side effect of being kept separate from everyone else was most certainly innocence. There had been no boys to hold her hand, kiss her, during her teenage years. There had been no one to talk to her about relationships. Everything she knew she had gathered by listening and observing. And that—up until now—had been enough. Now she felt out of her depth. Confused and, worst of all, curious. Curious about what it would be like if he made good on any of his threats. Curious about what he looked like beneath those suits.
