Page 170 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Kyrith said that you don’t have any sense of humor. Now I get it,” I push.

“Kyrith would never dare.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

He just glowers at me, and it takes everything to keep my face blank.

“Good. Sinceyoudon’t want it,” I say, deciding to empty his glass, hoping it will numb me sufficiently.

I’m about to reach for the full one still sitting on the counter when he grabs my wrist. The very wrist his lips had been on just an hour ago. When I saw that gold in his eyes that I know, deep in my bones, means something more.

I felt it back then in that dungeon, and felt it at the fountain, clearer than ever. Something that horrifies him. Somethingabout me.

I know it. It isn’t just in my imagination. It’s a clue. A lead.

He says with a growl, “That’s enough.”

I try to wrench free, but he holds me.

“You say that very often, you know?”

His eyes flare. “I mean it.”

“I’m not a girl anymore.”

“You are aslave,” he says, baring his fangs. “My slave, that is.” His voice is sibilant. I feel the leashed rage underneath like a pulse.

“Yes, I know I’myourslave,” I reply, unfazed, right into his face, looking deep into those surreal eyes as if I might drown in them. His absurdly stunning face. The face that has the lethal, gentle beauty of snow.

I want to sayyou could have me, you know.You could haveeverythingif you just say it, and I hate that.

I hate that I’m his slave.

Hate that he doesn’t let on anything.

I tear free from his grip and sink onto my knees. “Is this how you want your slave,my lord?Your Highness?” The mocking sounds bad, even to my ears.

He goes utterly still. I glance up at him, daring the gold in his eyes to return. Or the blue.Anything. But instead, the violet-gray only darkens. A storm is gathering, ready to break loose. I have no clue what I’m doing when I put my hands on his pants. When I let my fingers glide upward to undo his belt.

His hands close around my wrists again, stopping me like he did at that party.

The way he says “Get up” feels like a slap. No.Worse.A part of me wishes he would just slap me.

“Isn’t that what you did last night?” I taunt.

There it is—a flicker of that furious red that announces doom. Finally. I almost feel triumphant.

“Get up, Melody.”

Again, he looks like he’s restraining himself. I feel it, the tension. Fight it when he yanks me up as if I weigh nothing. When he holds me tight as I try to wriggle free again. I hiss at him, baring my teeth the way I did at the fountain. More red is bleeding into his irises now, and I feel some revolting satisfaction in having finally pushed him over the brink. At least there’s that. Just a little more, I know.

“That’s enough now, Melody. I warn you.” His voice is laced with a growl, the silken menace unmistakably announcing coming violence.

“Yeah? I think you should just discipline me,” I whisper right into his achingly beautiful face. I’ve probably gone insane. But a dark part of me is sick of these rules. Sick of being told what to do. Sick of all the selective truths and no one telling me what’s really going on.

For a sliver of a second, I think he will—discipline me. That I’ll pay for this when he says, “This is the last time I’m warning you.”

He lets go of me, but his whole unholy essence whispers around me, sizzling in the air, remnants of power flickering along my veins.

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