Page 81 of Court of Treachery

“Lech,” she called, hating the jealous roar, hot and angry, that raged through her. He was an expert at taking off dresses, was he? She bit down on the questions that longed to unleash from her tongue. It was none of her damn business. She didn’t even want to know. She didn’t care. Harper shoved aside the lies to herself and pushed that frustration into the dress.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

Harper scrabbled at the buttons again and swore. “I can’t get them. I have to change.”

“We don’t have time.” The smile faded from his voice. “He’s ordered us to be there presently. If we’re late… Well, he does not wish for today’s entertainment to start without you, he said.”

Harper stilled. Her own amusement drained as reality seeped in. They were not in the elven court of Tournai, at Dimitri’s apartments, relatively free. They were in the heart of the mountain at Afnirheim, captives of Saradon, with no chance of escape.

“Are you decent?” he asked. “Nothing on show you don’t want me to see?”

Harper snorted. “After what we just did? Modesty would be hypocritical.”

Dimitri strode in, a hand shading his eyes. “Turn around, back facing me. I’ll do it.”

“Oh, give over.”

He lowered his hand and threw her a wicked smile. “Certainly, if it means I get to devour you—visually, of course.”

She slapped his chest half-heartedly. “I think I’ll find a way to manage without you, on second thoughts. Go away.”

“You want to go out there half-dressed? I think not. I’m your only option—lucky me. Turn around.”

She stuck out her tongue, but did as he asked, clutching the dress to her chest as the back gaped open. “I… Well… Hurry up then. D-don’t touch me.” Again. She did not have the self-control for that. Her cheeks burned and she angled her face away, not wanting him to see if her cheeks had reddened, betraying her.

Dimitri snorted and lowered his hand. “That’s a little difficult, but I’ll do my best. Do you know, the blush on your cheeks when you’re embarrassed is adorable.”

She whirled on him and froze as his hands caught in the fabric and threatened to tug it aside with the force of her movement.

“Careful, princess,” he teased. “Else I’ll be showing you just how well I can undress you—again.”

Her belly swirled at the dark promise in his voice. Wrath spiked. Wrath at herself, at how good that little coil inside her felt. The worst thing was that she wanted him to make good on that promise and undress her—and make the world and all its dangers disappear for a few more blessed moments coupled with him.

She stepped closer, her hands crossed over her chest to hold up the dress. So close that with a heaving breath, she would press against his smart jacket. And how she hated herself as much as him for wanting it for real. Even if it was to pretend of an escape for a few scavenged minutes. Harper glared up at him, her smile all teeth. “Try it. I dare you. And see which part of you I skin first.”

He laughed with delight. “Oh, I do so like your bite, huntress. But beware—you might know how to skin a rabbit. But I, darling, am awolf.” The smile he returned was all teeth too—but not the stinging bite of hers, the promise of something far more dark and sensual.

And with that, he dared to grasp her waist in those big, warm hands of his, and spin her on the spot until her back pressed against him. She stiffened. His head lowered, and she stifled a groan at the feel of his breath upon her ear, and then the slightest graze of his lips as he opened them to speak. Harper squeezed her eyes shut, glad he could not see her face. Glad he could not know how much his touch and that promise of somethingmorebetween them ignited something inside her she did not dare to face.

“Now, huntress, are youquiteready?”

A little sound escaped her, and her cheeksburnedwith the shame of it, as he squeezed her waist ever so slightly and then stepped back.

A soft chuckle emerged behind her.

Gods, she wanted to stab him. Stab him good and hard for making her feel this way in the middle of the maelstrom ofeverything.

Harper did not dare speak. She could not. She straightened, forcing her breath to even out, cursing the warmth flaring low in her belly, and bared her back to him wordlessly.

Dimitrius took that for permission. His fingers were silk at the base of her spine as he captured the fine fabric. With every touch, her skin pebbled as he gingerly lifted each button and loop, pulling the dress across her skin as he fastened each one by one from the base of her back to the crest of her shoulder blades. When he was done, he smoothed the fabric across her shoulders and down her back with a whispering touch, then stepped away, at last ceasing the sweet agony of temptation.

“There. All done.” He sounded… regretful.

Harper released her breath and filled her voice with cold indifference, the only weapon she had, drenching the fire within her that longed to rip it all off and succumb to temptation. But she could not hide any longer. Not if Saradon summoned them. “Thank you. This will do, I suppose.”

The rich, mid-blue fabric complimented her pale skin, and the light embellishments of silver threads at the neckline, wrists, and hem were muted enough to not draw attention to her. It was a pretty dress, sitting just off her shoulders and sweeping down from her waist, over her hips to tumble to the floor, but it belonged on someone else. An elven lady, not a glorified pauper.

“Stop worrying. You look perfectly presentable. If I may?” He gathered up her hair, tucked each side behind her ears, and arranged the rest in a cascade down her back. “I ought to havebrought some hair adornments, but alas, it will be fit enough for now.”

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