Page 89 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

I exhaled sharply. I didn’t want to be nice. I didn’t want to give this man one second of satisfaction. But I needed something from him.

I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat and looked up at him through my lashes. “You flatter me, your highness.”

My gaze darted to the key. It looked like it had been sewn into the leather. Getting it wasn’t going to be as simple as stealing it. The entire hilt’s design would need to be taken apart.

“You are quite bold, my lady,” he said with a seductive laugh.

Startled, I looked up. “Your highness?”

“My eyes are up here.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It was time to bet. “I apologize,” I said, acting embarrassed. “I was simply admiring the hilt of your sword. That red star, it’s unlike any I’ve seen before. Not part of the sigil for Ka Hart.”

Imperator Hart’s eyes narrowed quickly on me, then he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No, it is quite unique. A rare find. It has been passed down for generations in my Ka. An heirloom of Lumeria Matavia.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “Most heirlooms of Ka Hart are green, are they not?”

“Ah.” His eyes were alight with mischief. “Are you accusing me of stealing a possession of Ka Batavia’s simply because it is red?”

I forced a laugh. I hadn’t said anything even close to that. For him to have suggested such a thing on his own—his words felt like a confession. “I would never even insinuate. Merely curious. I have an interest in ancient artifacts. Perhaps, because it is red, I am drawn to it.”

“You would be,” he said, voice suddenly filled with a deadly edge.

I sat back, my veins rippling with his unspoken threat.

Before I could hide my discomfort, he gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I hear you slayed an akadim.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks to your…tutoring?” He squeezed my hand in his too tightly. Enough to bruise. Enough to make it so I’d be unable to pick up a sword for a day. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them back.

“My apprentice has well prepared me for the Emperor’s task.”

He looked me up and down, bringing his other hand forward and sandwiching mine between his. The pressure was temporarily relieved, but now there was no escape from his touch. Every inch of my hand was against one of his. I’d have to boil my skin after this to get the smell and feel of him off me.

“Despite his many shortcomings and failures,” Imperator Hart continued, “he is a good fighter. But, of course, he has to be. It was destined. I made him, after all. And I taught him everything he knows.”

My blood was boiling.

You taught him nothing but fear and hatred. You taught him to second-guess himself, to see himself as unworthy, when it’s you who’s unworthy, you sick fuck.

I managed a polite nod. “I know that you are yourself a most accomplished soturion.”

“Were I not destined to be Arkasva Hart and Imperator to the north, I would have been an arkturion,” he said proudly.

“Would you have preferred that?” I asked. My hand was growing sweaty inside his. Disgust rolled through me. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Instinct was going to override my social cues soon, and I was either going to pull away my trapped hand or slap him with my free one.

His eyes darkened, his aura swirling with that hurricane-like force that had terrified me as a child.

“It is treason in Glemaria to suggest I could be anything other than Arkasva.”

My shoulders tensed. “I apologize, your highness. I meant no offense.”

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly. He released my hand so violently it fell on the table, and with one swift move, he stood, his posture expectant as he waited. There was no doubt on his end I’d follow his orders.

The Moriel-fucking bastard was right. I walked to his side.

He took my hand again, leading me onto the dance floor past Meera dancing formally with Aemon, past Morgana being twirled by Dairen, and past Tristan and Naria, their bodies pressed close.