Page 7 of Crown of Hate

“Far from it.” I steeple my fingers in front of me and think for a moment. “But I like her spirit. Life’s been too boring lately.”

“Christ, you’re not actually considering this farce, are you?”

“Marriage,” I muse, rubbing my jaw “Never gave it much thought before.” Not until the feisty little messenger walked right into my home with an offer wrapped in an insult.

On second thought, the idea of having a little wife doesn’t sound so bad. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Semyon’s smirk vanishes. “What’s going through that head of yours?” Worry now etches his face. “It’s a trap. They’ll use her to control you. Then they’ll fucking put you in the ground.”

“They can try.” I rise from my chair with a plan starting to take shape in my mind. “Akim and Boris want to play a game? Then game on.”

I’m already halfway to the door when Semyon calls out, “What’s the plan, then?”

“She’s waiting for an answer.” I wrap my hand around the doorknob, feeling the heat from my palm warm the cold metal. “It would be rude to keep the lady waiting.”

Alya flinches when I re-enter the living area. She’s still standing, still cautious. Apparently not cautious enough to know she shouldn’t have come here in the first place.

Her flowery scent hits my nose as I pass her. It’s a smell so delicious that the heat sizzles down my spine. I imagine waking up to that sweet aroma every morning. As my wife, it would be mixed with other, far more sinful aromas.

I nestle back on the couch, right where I was sitting before. “You can leave.”

“Um…” She threads her fingers together. “Akim expects a reply. What do I tell him?”

“Do you want to marry me?”

She jumps at the question, scarlet flooding her cheeks. “N-no. Of course not.”

Little liar. She can deny it all she wants, but I’ve bedded enough women to read her body language like an open book. The hitching of her breath, the blush staining her cheeks, the tension thrumming through her body—she’s anxious around me, yes, but it’s not only from fear. The little minx is lusting after me, whether she admits it or not.

Sure, she might not want a wedding, but I’d bet my fortune she’d enjoy the honeymoon.

My pants tighten at the thought.

While I’d like to tease her a little more, I have a different plan to set into action. “Then it’s settled. Tell him my answer is no.”

“So you’re going to keep coming after him and Boris?” she asks cautiously.

“Yes. They stole my throne, after all.” I don’t add that I’ll also be coming for her. I’ll make her mine. It’ll be my own way of saying ‘fuck you’ to Akim, and of besmirching the grave of Alya’s bastard father.

“I-I’ll be on my way then,” she nods, relief evident in the slump of her shoulders.

Turning around slowly, she ambles to the door, pausing for a moment before leaving, as if expecting some final word from me.

I can’t help but smile. She probably thinks this is the end of it, that we’ll never cross paths again.

The sweet little thing doesn’t know a lamb does not saunter into a lion’s den and walk out alive.

Akim Petrov insulted me.

Now it’s time to return the favor. With interest.

3

ALYA

It’s been an entire week since I delivered Akim’s message to Mikhail.

After I left Mikhail’s mansion, I texted Akim the reply. And thank fuck, I haven’t heard a peep back from him since.

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