Page 15 of Crowned In Venom

I should walk away.

Should leave her in this bed, should pretend I do not care whether she sleeps soundly or is haunted by her dreams.

But I do not move.

I watch.

I study.

Her breathing is even, steady. Too steady.

A woman who has been enslaved for years does not sleep like this.

Not unless she has trained herself to.

Not unless she is pretending.

The thought makes my lips curve.

Clever thing.

I lean down, bracing my hand against the mattress, bringing my face close to hers.

Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath against my cheek.

Close enough that if she is awake, if she is only pretending, she will betray herself.

Nothing.

She does not stir.

Does not flinch.

If she is pretending, she is very, very good at it.

I let my fingers drift down, just barely grazing the curve of her exposed shoulder. A test.

She does not react.

But I do.

The briefest brush of my skin against hers is like a whisper of fire beneath my fingertips.

What is this?

I pull back, exhaling through my nose.

This is nothing.

It is only the allure of something forbidden. A game of power I am used to playing.

I turn away, stepping back from the bed.

I will sleep in the chair across the room tonight.

Because I do not trust her.

And because—gods help me—I do not trust myself.

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