Page 94

"Hunter. Damon," I say quietly. "You’re dismissed."

DK looks like he’s about to lunge over the table. "You’re not seriously–"

"Out."

Hunter touches his sleeve, grounding him. DK glares, then shoves back from the table.

His chair screeches against the stone, but thankfully, they leave without another word.

Arianette watches them go, confusion bleeding into unease. She knows something’s wrong. That instinct she has, sharp, animalistic, raw–it’s starting to stir.

I rise from my seat. Graves is already there, silent and waiting by the arched doorway to the adjacent den. Hexley stands, motions to her. "Come now, girl."

She hesitates, looking to me again.

"It’s alright," I lie. "Just follow us."

The den is dim, old, lined with wood panels and shelves of untouched books. A faint fire burns in the grate. There's a chaise lounge in the center, dark leather and velvet, like something stolen from a Victorian parlor.

"Remove your bottoms," Hexley instructs. "Then lay down."

Arianette stiffens. "What?"

"Don’t make this harder than it has to be," he sighs. "It’s not a request."

She looks at me, panicking now. My jaw is clenched so tight I feel the bones creak. I don’t appreciate another man–a non-Baron and even worse, non-Royal, acting as if he’s the one with power.

Graves turns his back out of some misguided sense of decency. Hexley doesn’t.

Her hands shake as she reaches behind her to unclasp the skirt. Layers of tulle and silk whisper down her legs. Her corset stays on, tight and unforgiving, but now the lower half of her is covered in silk panties. She's trembling.

“Those too,” he says gruffly, gesturing to the panties. Slowly, she pushes them down, bending forward as she does. Her breasts spill from her top, both tantalizing and obscene. Once she’s bare, he points to the chaise. “Arrange yourself.”

She lies back slowly, covering herself with one hand until Hexley barks, "Move it."

I step forward, placing a hand on his meaty forearm.

"Enough," I say, voice low but sharp. "If anyone checks her, it’ll be me."

“And why should I allow that? You could be covering for your men.”

“Because she’s your niece,” I snap. “And although the Royals are lax on many things, I’d think you'd like a little decorum.”

Hexley pauses. His expression is unreadable for a beat. Then, he gives a grunt and steps back.

I kneel beside her. Her eyes are wet now, lashes spiked with tears she hasn’t let fall. "I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"It’s customary,” I explain. “It'll be quick. Just... breathe."

I watch her chest rise and fall with a quick inhalation. My fingers touch her thighs, smooth and supple with a vitality I haven’t known in years. She flinches, her legs pressing together involuntarily.

"Spread them," I say, trying to make my voice softer than what this moment deserves.

She obeys, just barely. Her skin is so soft it makes me furious. A child. Not in age, no, but in experience. Groomed to be bred like livestock.

I use two fingers to push aside the soft hair thatched above her sex, noticing the slick pink just underneath. Without warning, I press two fingers inside.

She cries out, jerking under my hand. Her back arches. It's instinct, not desire. She trembles violently. God, she's tight. Not just inexperience, but untouched. Utterly. No one else has been here. There's no denying it.