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His eyes sharpen on me. "So you've been asking questions. I should have known not to leave you alone."

"Is that forbidden?"

"No," he admits. "Completely expected, actually."

His shoulders gradually relax as the wine and food work their magic, the constant tension he carries easing visibly.

"I secured the French maritime corridor today," he says eventually, slicing into the perfectly cooked veal. "Beaumont's support was the final piece. Having you translate the nuances in Paris proved invaluable."

The praise warms me more than it should. "Does that bring you closer to what you want?"

"Luca still controls the northern shipping lanes, but now I have the whole of the south." A smile curves his lips, transforming his face. "The Ravelli shipments are effectively split down the middle."

"And the throne?" I ask, reaching for my wine. "Is it closer?"

"Every day," he confirms, his eyes meeting mine across the flickering candles. "But I'm beginning to realize that the throne itself means nothing without the right queen beside it."

Heat blooms in my cheeks at his words, direct yet somehow more intimate than any touch that's deprived me since the night he took my virginity.

"Is that what I am to you now? Your queen rather than your captive?"

"Perhaps you're both," he replies, his honesty disarming me. "Perhaps those categories matter less than they once did."

I find myself laughing, the sound surprising us both. "Dante Ravelli, admitting something that matters more than power?! I never thought I'd see the day."

To my astonishment, he laughs too. It's a genuine sound, rusty from disuse but startlingly beautiful.

"Well, certain priorities have become... clearer recently. Since Paris. Since… the other night."

I feel my core heat at the memory, but I do well to stop the rush.

Before I can respond, he rises, coming around the table to stand before me. His hand extends, an invitation rather than acommand. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

Chapter Fourteen

Francesca

Dante leads me back to our bedroom, a bottle of wine in hand that he'd selected from the dwindling collection in the kitchen.

He pours the drink, and he disappears into the bathroom for a moment.

As I sip the wine, I wander toward the dresser on his side of the bed. My attention catches on a drawer slightly ajar, revealing hints of something that makes my pulse quicken.

I pull the drawer open wider, breath catching at what I find.

An assortment of implements designed for pleasure and pain. Restraints in buttery leather, vibrators in varying sizes, blindfolds of black silk. Clear evidence that Dante Ravelli's desires run darker than even I imagined.

"Curious, princess?" His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes heat pool between my thighs as I turn around with a breath caught in my throat.

I lift a pair of velvet-lined cuffs as he moves behind me, close enough that I feel his heat but not quite touching.

"You don't seem as shocked as I thought you would be."

I turn to face him. "Please. My education wasn't limited to economics and art history, Dante. My father ensured I understood all aspects of power, including those exercised in bedrooms rather than boardrooms."

His eyes narrow. "Understanding theory and surrendering control are very different things, Francesca."

"Who said anything about me surrendering?" I counter, stepping closer until my breasts graze his chest through my thin dress. "Perhaps tonight it's your turn."