Page 157 of Settle Down, Princess

“Good,” I replied primly, “because that will not happen.”

“But this…” His eyes fell to the knife, caressing its form almost as tenderly as he did my body, but rather than be jealous of a weapon, I realised what it was. The weapon wasn’t his erotic focus, something I confirmed when I lunged forward, pulling another blade from his belt. His eyes shifted to my hand, not the knife itself. It was me wielding it that he needed. The son of the Raven of Khean doesn’t live as long as Silas had without control though, so he shook his head and looked down at me. “It’s not something I need—”

“Liar.” I shifted restlessly in front of him, unable to bear another politely phrased falsehood. “Liar.” I lifted one blade, holding it before him and watched his eyes widen. “You want to see me wield this more than you want your next breath.” But how? Wives spoke of their husbands’ predilections quietly in court, discussing which maids they chased, the… supports they brought to bed, but none spoke of a knife as an erotic tool. “You want me to…” I moved slowly, not wanting to startle anyone while I was wielding a knife in close quarters, my entire focus narrowing down. “To cut you free of this very expensive tailored shirt.”

I slid the knife between the nearest button, watching Silas’ stomach muscles begin to bunch and tighten, right up until I cut the button free.

“Gods…” he hissed. “This shirt cost me several gold pieces at my tailor’s—”

“You don’t care,” I stated, staring into his eyes.

“Not really, but…” Silas’ hands went over mine, shifting the alignment of the knife sideways. “Keep the point away from anything you don’t want to cut.” His thumb brushed across the tops of my knuckles. “Only shift the angle when you intend to cut something.”

Is that what he wanted? I asked him that mutely with my eyes, but that wouldn’t be the way it worked. The only way I’d learn was to ask.

Or for Arik to step in.

“If this is what we’re doing, ground rules need to be established.” He shook his head. “That should’ve been done a long time ago, when heads were clearer, but…” His hand slid down my back, the caress curiously comforting. “There’ll be no deep cuts, but certainly some blood. Do you get squeamish?”

“Too bad if I did,” I replied sharply. “Who has to deal more with blood than a woman?”

“But this isn’t the same as your moon times,” Roan said. “Lass, he wants you to hurt him.”

“Not hurt,” Silas corrected from between gritted teeth. “It’s not the pain that matters, it’s…” Now it was he that mutely communicated, his eyes pleading for me to understand, and I think I did.

There was an impulse, hot and reckless and wild, that ruled us all if we let it. The same urge to shove the ruins of my wedding dress aside and step free, I was willing to bet burned in Silas. What did he have to be cut free of? His father’s regard? His role as heir? I didn’t know, but I dropped the knife to hang from my hands, forced to move towards him with my torso only.

We were like the long trailing branches of the weeping willows, the same breeze that moved me shifting him as well. It was like some kind of strange armless dance, our mouths getting closer with each pass.

“The freedom that comes with that pain.”

It was just a guess on my part, but when I met his gaze, he nodded.

“Everything I have is yours,” he told me, “but… If you can give me that, I’ll find a way to bring you the world and deposit it at your feet.”

“The world?” I made a show of nodding, then sheathed one knife before using my free hand to push him backwards, not stopping until he sprawled across my mattress. For a moment, I just stared–at the splendour of him, of having the Raven’s heir brought so low. I liked it a lot I decided, climbing onto the bed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“But Jessalyn—” Roan said.

“There’s no catamounts here,” I told him, glancing back over my shoulder. “No monster to save me from, though I do like that this is now your first impulse.” I caught the concern in Roan’s eyes and smiled slightly in response. “Protect me, Roan, from every other danger, but not you.” I stared back at Silas, running my thumb along the hilt of my knife. “Not us. The girl you met in the stews of Stormare would’ve fainted clear away at the thought of touching a man….” I smiled as I considered what I had been about to say. “Touching a man at all, let alone with a knife, but now…”

I glanced at Arik.

“I can assume that Silas’ word in this is not to be trusted, that he’ll ask for things in the heat of passion that he shouldn’t?”

“You assume correctly,” Arik said, nodding slowly.

“Roan seems horrified by the thought of this—”

“Not horrified,” the man protested, stripping off his armour and then flopping down on the bed. “I’m obviously a man of simpler tastes. I like blood fine on the battlefield, but not in my bed.” He glanced over at Silas. “Why the hell do you want women hurting you anyway? Don’t we get enough of that shit in our day-to-day life?”

“You’re right.” Silas’ jaw muscle flexed as he stared at the other man. “You are a simple man. I know you saw a thing or two, running around with Weasel when you were lads, but… I’d be willing to bet you’ve never experienced the terrible intimacy that comes from torturing someone.”

Roan didn’t answer, but the flick of his eyes, the way his muscles tensed, made clear this was a topic he wasn’t comfortable with.

“I’ve played my part—”

“Not the same.” Silas’ chin jerked up as he smiled, eyes shining as he stared at the other man. “Not the same as being brought into your first interrogation as a child and then forced to watch your father’s men butcher a man oh so slowly before the knife is handed over to you. Dissociation, that’s what they call it, when you get out of your head and go somewhere else.” Those green eyes flicked back to meet mine. “Somewhere quiet and still.” He let out a long breath, his whole body sinking into the mattress. “Somewhere blissful.”

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