Page 25 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“No,” Viridian orders, voice blunt, like a dulled sword. “No wine for her.”

“Why not?” I challenge, defiance brewing within me. Who does he think he is? “You’re not my keeper,” I snarl. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

To my dismay, I don’t get a rise out of him. He simply says, “It’s for your own good.”

I roll my eyes with a huff. The arrogance of the male, thinking he knows what’s best for me.

“As if you care,” I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

Viridian ignores me, but his hands curl around his fork and knife. I can’t help but notice the way it makes the muscles in his forearms flex.

A blush rises to my cheeks. I hate that he has this effect on me.

Guilt grips my stomach. How would Loren feel if he could see me now? Blushing in the presence of the enemy?

I know there’s still one more course, but I’ve suddenly lost what was left of my appetite.

“Am I excused?” I keep my eyes trained ahead of me, though I don’t look at Viridian.

His eyes flick up to me. “Yes.”

I press my hands to the table as I stand, sliding the butter knife toward me. Slowly, I wrap my fingers around it, and tuck it to my body. I bow, clutching my skirt to obscure the knife.

Then I turn around and make for the door.

My skirts swish with my movement, further concealing the silver in my grasp. I slow my strides, so I don’t give myself away, and briefly make eye contact with the closest guards.

They merely dip their heads in return, just short of a bow. Completely normal, the way they would to a guest.

I’m only a few paces from the exit.

So close now.

“Stop.”

I freeze. My heartbeat accelerates, but I breathe, forcing myself to calm down.

I hear the chair slide across the floor behind me. Footsteps follow.

Viridian grabs my arm and spins me around. In a whirl, I collide with his hard, muscled body, my palm to his chest the only thing between us. My other hand has the butter knife to his throat.

The guards quickly draw their swords.

No doubt aware of the cool metal pressed to his jugular, Viridian’s eyes glint with amusement.

“Do you really think I would be so much of a fool as to let you leave with that?”

I play innocent. “It’s just a dull butter knife.”

His face is inches away from mine now. “We both know how much damage you could do with that, Little Fawn.”

His pet name for me has me wrinkling my nose. Who is he to call me “little” and compare me to a weak, feeble creature? Still, I don’t acknowledge it, merely to deny him the pleasure of a response.

Instead, I tighten my grasp around the butter knife. “You don’t know me.”

“Perhaps you’re not so hard to read.”

His hand clasps around mine and squeezes, hard enough that I’m forced to let go. The butter knife falls to the floor with a clang.

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