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My question hung in the air between us, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of Cyloe gnawing on her macabre prize upstairs. I kept my gaze fixed on the dancing flames, but I could feel the intensity of his stare boring into me.

“Because,” he began, his voice low and measured, “beneath all that anger and violence there’s so much more to you that you try to hide from me. But I see it.” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “You have only ever shown me your worst, thinking thatit will scare me away, that it will make me match the hate you have for me. But it doesn’t. You remind me of a woman I knew once, both of you infuriating and beautiful, refusing to conform to what the realms want women to be. There is a depth and complexity in you that intrigues me—calls to me. You and I are not so different,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips.

I raised a brow, trying to hide the surprise of hearing the words fall from his mouth as if he had read my mind. “That’s a fucking terrifying thought.”

A thin chuckle slipped from his lips as he leaned forward. “We’ve both been shaped by our pain, our anger. It is what drives us, what fuels our every action. We live by our own set of rules and ethics. We are not afraid to kill or hurt whomever we need to get what we want, to protect what we love.”

“And what exactly do you love?” I asked, turning to face him.

His eyes met mine and I searched them for any hint of deception or manipulation. But all I saw was sincerity and a glimmer of something that almost looked like longing.

“I love my realm, my people.” He held my gaze as he spoke. “I was raised to become only two things: the High Priest of The Silliands, and a weapon.”

He paused, letting out a deep breath as he pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over his brow.

“One day, love, when you are ready to know my story—when you are ready to care—I will tell you. But I will not give that part of myself to someone who is not willing to give it back. I am willing to wait for you, to fight for you to want that part of me. I can drown the emotion I have coiling in my chest for you. I can kill those feelings and pretend that they never existed. But I will not do that unless you tell me to—unless you tell me you know for certain you will never want me.”

I swallowed hard, my defenses slowly crumbling. “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am sure about what I feel. And I think, if you are honest with yourself, maybe you feel it too.”

Silence fell between us as I held his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

“And if I do?” I finally whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

He stood, slow and deliberate, as his eyes stayed locked on mine, darkening with every second that passed. I lifted myself from the couch, sucking in a sharp breath as desperate energy buzzed over my skin.

“If you do.” The words fell from his lips in a low growl, rough with restrained desire as he took a final step toward me. “Then I will worship you with every fiber of my being. I will fight for you, bleed for you, burn the fucking world to ashes for you if that is what it takes, love. This hunger I have to taste every inch of you, it will drown me—will suffocate me.”

My chest heaved as his scent flowed from him.

I was going to regret this.

“I’ll destroy you,” I breathed.

“And I will beg for it.”

Before I could think, we were tethering, landing in my bedchamber as our heavy, lust-filled breaths filled the room. We stared back at each other, his eyes burning into mine, daring me to make the first move.

Desire simmered beneath my skin, mixing with the rage that always boiled just below the surface when I looked at him. I wanted to taste him, to dominate him, to make him beg for me and scream my name.

I wanted to fucking kill him.

But something in that smile, something in the dangerous way he looked at me ignited a fire in my core.

My fingers slid to the hem of my tunic, slowly pulling it over my head and letting it slip to the floor beside me. A lowrumble sounded from his chest as he watched my thumbs slip into the waistband of my leathers. I pushed them down, taking my undergarments with them and kicked them off me so I stood wholly naked in front of him.

I would let him look at me, let him take in each and every scar the hands of his people bestowed upon me.

The hands he had delivered to me on a fucking platter.

My breath shuddered at the thought.

He had done that for me.

His eyes broke from mine and roamed over my body, devouring each inch of me with his gaze. And for a second, I thought I saw him wince at the scars—thought I saw pain flashing in his eyes right as the veil of darkness slipped back over them.

Slowly, I walked backward until my legs brushed against the side of the bed. I lowered myself onto it, the fabric kissing my skin as I dragged my body across the sheets before lifting my legs, my hand slipping between them.