Page 36 of Cruel Crown

When I stormed out of Daphne’s room, I couldn’t bring myself to go to my own. I tried to think about my next move.

“Did you ever wonder why I didn’t want you here in the first place?”

It couldn’t mean what I thought it did, right?

But that little confession made me want to change my plans, and I needed to figure out why Damian watched her like a hawk, what he had on her, and why when I had her cornered, she wanted to run.

So instead of going to my room, I stood in the shadows, waiting to see if she would try to see someone or if someone else would come to her room. For the first time since getting here, I was glad for the lack of light, which made me blend in much easier.

When her door opened, adrenaline coursed through my veins. Over my dead fucking body if she was on her way to see someone. I would kill them. I didn’t care about the repercussions.

It was too dark for me to see her since there was barely any light down here. Instead of coming to the stairs where I was hiding, she went toward where the torch was lit and grabbed it, carrying it deeper into the catacombs.

Keeping my distance, I followed the glow of the light, waiting to see who the fuck she was meeting up with.

She came to a halt a few minutes later, and then she pulled a door open. From where I was standing, the doors seemed to go on forever. When I heard the door shut, I followed to where she had disappeared. I was in the dark, so I reached back to pull out the Zippo. I flicked the dial and saw white in front of me.

I kept moving my hand, marveling at the gold trimming on the door. With my other hand, I reached out, trying to scratch it. Before going through the door, I walked back to get another torch.

When I made it back, I had a better view of what was in front of me. When you’re in the business, you make it your mission to know things of value—from art to flesh.

There’s a market for everything, and the more you know, the more power to you.

The only reason I knew about this place was because of the night I’d spent with Daphne in London. The object she was after was one of the four crown jewels stolen from Russia. In my search, I came across what was called the eighth wonder of the world, and if I was correct, I was now staring at it.

With my free hand, I pulled the door open, hoping it didn’t make much noise. The last thing I wanted was Daphne on her guard.

The room was dimly lit. The glow came from the chandeliers at the top. My eyes quickly scanned them, noticing a ladder that was around seven feet in height reclined against the wall.

The arches, gold designs, and angels were enough to render me speechless. They might have replicated the Amber Room, but you couldn’t replicate art; the second version was never as good as the first.

Then my eyes found her, and for a second, I lost my ability to fucking breathe. There were many layers to Daphne that somewhere along the way, I forgot there was femininity in her. She was more than a broken girl with no soul.

She had a blindfold over her eyes; that’s why she hadn’t seen me come in, and I could see the wireless pods in her ears. But the reason I couldn’t fucking breathe that was another stab from how little I actually knew about her was that she was dancing.

I always thought she had the body of a warrior, but I never thought she had one of a dancer until now when I watched her do a pirouette. Her movement was smooth and graceful, but when she raised her foot and kicked, it was with the force of a soldier.

Moving back, I leaned against the wall uncaring about the painting on the ceiling or the baroque style of the room. My eyes were only for the woman who was in front of me.

With one arm raised and the other down, she brought her torso down and then her leg up. Slowly, with precision, she brought her torso up again and walked on her tiptoes before laying them flat again. I watched as she started to move with more speed and do a flip. She was doing something between ballet and fighting.

I pulled her lighter from my back pocket, and even though it was too dark to see what it had engraved, I ran my thumb through the carving of the ballerina.

No one needed to tell me that it was given to her, that she was supposed to be what the engraving portrayed. Moments like this were when I knew more things about her than anyone else. My fury came back, and this time it wasn’t just me being mad at her because she had left me to die. Somewhere along the way, that didn’t matter; it was just another move in the game of chess we’d been playing. I had made the first move in Chicago and she made another in Colombia. Now the only thing that mattered was that I was going to show her that the queen would not trump a king—at least not me.

The reason I was angry as I watched her was that as a little girl, they demanded everything from her. Making her a killer wasn’t enough, so they forced grace, patience, and rhythm through ballet.

She was crafted into a perfect weapon. At least I had a somewhat normal childhood if you didn’t take into account the shit I had to watch, but my petal, because she was fucking mine, she never stood a chance.

If one thing was fucking clear, it was that she was good at learning things, so if I had to teach her to fucking worship me, then I would.

Pushing off from the wall, I made my way to her. She was so engrossed in what she was doing, she didn’t even feel me.

She was ready to do another turn when I grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back to me, grinding her arse against my hard-on. There was no way I was going to watch her and not get hard. She could fucking breathe in my direction and I was done for. That’s how much power she had over me.

Daphne went still as soon as I touched her. I brought my hand up, skimming her stomach and the curve of her breast, something I never got to play with much, and then I rested it above her heart. It was beating wildly, barely contained, playing her fears to the beat of my lust.

Still holding her waist, I moved my other hand higher and removed one of the headphones, then the other, and threw them on the floor.

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