Page 32 of A Game of Veils

I narrow my eyes at him. “Not that it’s any of your business how I spend my time with my future husband, but seducing my way into his favor isn’t part of my plans.”

Raul gives a dark guffaw. “That’s not what I’m hearing. It seems the two of you were very friendly this morning.”

Prince Neven reported his observations as I figured he would. “Whatever you heard is the full extent of our ‘intimacy’ so far.”

“Which I’m sure you eagerly encouraged.”

“A strange assumption from someone I’d imagine is quite familiar with His Imperial Highness’s inclination to take whatever he wants without asking.”

That last remark appears to draw Raul up short. He studies me even more intently, with a glint of interest that unnerves me. “Are you saying you don’t welcome your betrothed’s interest?”

It takes all my willpower not to grit my teeth. “I’ll welcome the joys of marriage once the marriage has taken place. I didn’t welcome you in here at all. You can leave of your own accord, or I can yell for the nearest guard to escort you.”

A deeper smolder comes into the prince’s eyes. He takes another step toward me, bringing him close enough that he could touch me if he reached out. Close enough that a musky amber scent that must be his seeps into my lungs with my next breath.

“Ah, but what would the guards think if they found the visiting princess consorting with one of Marclinus’s foster brothers in her dressing gown?”

I glare at him. “That you’re an asshole who doesn’t respect people’s personal space, presumably.”

“The visual could change so easily, though.” With another step, the heat of his brawny body grazes my skin through the silk. His voice drops lower with a husky note that sends a shiver straight to my core. “All I’d have to do is steal a kiss, and they’d be wondering why you look so ravished with a man other than the one you’re meant to marry.”

Something about the claim sets off a pulse of attraction that condenses between my thighs. Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice and the fact that he’s waiting for my response rather than simply manhandling me like Marclinus did. Maybe I’m simply pissed off about the imperial heir and that’s addling my good sense.

Either way, I still have enough sense to ignore the twinge of desire and ease backward. As much as I hate to retreat, staying where I was feels too much like an invitation.

“You think very highly of your skills,” I say.

“With good reason.” A grin crosses Raul’s face, turning his handsome features so stunningly gorgeous that for a second I can’t breathe. “Which I think you already suspect. I haven’t set a finger on you, and you’re already wet.”

Heat flares in my cheeks. I will it down as well as I can and reply evenly. “I just came out of the bath, in case you forgot.”

“Oh, I know the difference. In case you forgot what you saw last night, I have a gift for knowing exactly what people are hiding within their clothes.”

I don’t know if I’m more pissed off at him for intruding and provoking this reaction or myself for responding to his innuendo. “I’ve already told you what I want—for you to get out of my room.”

“I don’t think you’ve given my offer full consideration.” Raul lifts his hand. “Why don’t we both find out how much you mean that?”

I brace myself to strike out at him if he’s going for a grope, flimsy robe be damned. But the gesture he makes is so tender, almost innocent, that it startles me.

He simply strokes the backs of his fingers ever so gently across my cheek.

My pulse stutters. A shock of warmth blooms in my face and washes straight through the rest of me.

Including my sex, with a pooling of arousal.

I can tell Raul has picked up on that fact from the triumphant edge to his grin. With a flare of frustration, I pull farther back, out of his reach—and my gaze snags on the paler marks crisscrossing the knuckles on his raised hand.

My medical understanding—and the concern that comes with it—kicks in instinctively. “What happened to your hand? Where did all those scars come from?”

The question comes out soft with a compassion the man in front of me hasn’t earned, but he jerks his arm to his side as if I’ve insulted him.

“What do you care?” he retorts with an edge of a snarl.

I gaze back at him, confused by the shift in his attitude but recognizing that I’ve hit on a vulnerability.

As much as this man is trying to hurt me right now, he’s been hurt himself, for years longer than I’ve had to endure in this prison of a palace. He’s aiming his rage at the wrong person, but I can’t say it isn’t justified.

I wish a few more people in this place were angry.

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