Page 29 of Queen

“Go back to your room,cara,” I say, already turning away. “Before I decide your answer for you.”

She doesn’t move right away. But when she does, her heels click across the floor with a precision meant to tell me she’s in control. It’s a lie we’re both willing to let her keep—for now.

Emotional Erosion

It’s late when I go to her. Later than I should, but that’s deliberate. I want her tired, off-balance.

The guards know better than to ask questions when I tell them to clear the east wing. No one needs to see this part. No one except her.

When I open the door to what was once her suite, it’s already done—my men efficient as always. Every piece of clothing, every personal item, every reminder of the illusion of independence she’s been clinging to… gone. The room is bare, stripped down to furniture and walls.

She walks in moments later, stopping dead in the doorway. Her eyes sweep over the emptiness, and I can almost hear the crack in her composure.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Relocation,” I say, leaning against the doorframe like I’ve been waiting hours just to watch her reaction.

Her gaze snaps to me, sharp as a blade. “Where?”

I let the corner of my mouth curl. “My room.”

The glass in her hand shatters against the far wall before I even finish the words. The sound echoes, sharp and satisfying.

“You think you can move me around like a piece of furniture?” she hisses.

I take a step inside, slow and measured, my shirt undone halfway down my chest. “No,cara.Furniture doesn’t fight back.”

She’s breathing fast now, fists clenched at her sides, the pulse in her neck fluttering like a trapped bird.

“The only thing that’s going to break you now,” I tell her, closing the distance, “is the truth.”

Her chin lifts, defiant. “And what truth is that?”

I stop just in front of her, close enough that the heat from her body blends with mine. “That you already belong to me.”

Her laugh is bitter, sharp. “In your dreams.”

I cup the back of her neck and pull her forward before she can retreat, my mouth hovering a breath away from hers. “Every time you tell me no, every time you try to hate me, you prove it more.”

Her reply is cut off when I take her mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. She doesn’t yield—she pushes back, matching me bite for bite, anger and desire tangled so tightly I can’t tell them apart.

We stagger back against the wall, her fingers curling into my open shirt, nails scraping over skin. My hand fists in her hair,tilting her head for better access, my tongue claiming her like I’ve been doing it all my life.

She breaks the kiss first, breathing hard, eyes burning into mine. And then her hand snaps across my face in a slap that stings.

I laugh, low and dark, the sound vibrating between us. “We’re getting close.”

She shoves past me, heading toward the door, but she doesn’t make it more than two steps before she stops, shoulders rigid. I know she’s feeling the same thing I am—that line we keep toeing is getting thinner, sharper, more dangerous by the hour.

And I plan to cut her with it.

A Deal of Blood and Secrets

The moment Zina’s gone, I sit in the quiet, the taste of her still in my head, the lie I told her burning like whiskey in my chest.

The click of the far door breaks the stillness.

Vittore slips in, his movements neat, deliberate. Even after fifteen years as my consigliere, he still waits for my nod before shutting the door. That’s why I keep him—he knows when silence is worth more than breath.