Page 51 of Gemini Queen
His head cocks and his eyes narrow. “Well, but that isn’t exactly true, is it? There would still be Queen Messalina to contend with. Admittedly, she’s a bit long in the tooth, but she could still conceivably spawn another Aquarius brat.”
“That’s out of my hands.” I shrug. “You help bust me out of this prison, and that’s me renouncing my power in front of the whole witching world. That means I renounce the fucking throne, and the Senate can start the abdication process. I never wanted a crown and I still don’t.”
He cocks his hip and taps one finger against his chin. Which distracts me, and not in a good way. With his streamlined build and his aristocratic face and his arctic coloring, he really would be beautiful if he wasn’t such a shit.
“You’d actually renounce all that power?” He sounds nothing but suspicious. “Willingly?”
A combustible memory explodes in my head. The memory of what happened that night with my mom in Vegas. There’s a Gemini casino on The Strip that’s still in the red because there isn’t enough money on the planet to sanitize the ugliness of those eighty-seven deaths. Remembering those deaths—and my own role in causing them—is like poking a bad bruise. My mind flinches away from the pain.
Yeah, no. The witching world’s way better off without my ass parked on the throne. A Gemini queen’s plenty capable of causing her own extinction event.
“Trust me,” I say bleakly. “All I want is to disappear. And this time, I’ll stay gone. Me keeping quiet about you and Ronin? That’s just an added bonus.”
Of course I would have done that anyway—kept their secret—not for his sake, but for Ronin’s. I feel like I owe Ronin for what my brother did to his sister.
But that’s something Vasili doesn’t need to know.
The Goblin King’s watching me with narrowed eyes, trying to spot the lie, but I’m not telling one. I just hold his stare and let him read the truth. His pale gaze drifts over me, pausing on my breathless lips, my heaving chest under my half-open shirt, my bare thighs pebbled with goosebumps under my short skirt. When his gaze returns to mine, his brow furrows. I hold his stare, my own brows lifted in challenge, the hint of a smile I can’t explain tugging at my lips.
He doesn’t want to believe me, but I can tell he does. It’s like a silent communication passes between us.
That’s right, Goblin King. I’m your fucking queen, at least until I’m off this rock. And you’re going to give me what I want.
Abruptly he steps back, fingers spreading wide in a dismissive flick. That awful feeling of being pressed under a sheet of glass in a display case releases its grip. Before I can hide it, my body slumps in relief.
“Truly, I must be demented,” he mutters. “But, for some inexplicable reason, I find I actually believe you.”
Cautiously I step clear of the pillar toward those double doors. Now that I’m not in active terror of imminent death, the frigid cold’s creeping through the flagstones to numb my stocking feet and nipping at my exposed skin. Sliding a wary glance at Vasili, I edge toward my escape route.
“Wait.” He slips sideways to block me, and I scowl at him in annoyance. He’s barefoot and shirtless, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t he feel the cold?
“Make it snappy,” I say curtly.
One silver eyebrow climbs above a glacial eye. “For someone who’s planning to abdicate, you’ve certainly mastered the knack of a royal’s imperial manners. You’re an absolute brat.”
“Pot, kettle.” I push out an impatient huff, and for a nanosecond he almost smiles.
Encouraged by this no doubt fleeting hint that he’s actually human, I chafe my arms and press one cold foot atop the other. “C’mon, it’s freezing. Let’s do whatever this is we’re doing inside.”
His hint of humanity disappears with a pop.
He looms over me like a hooded cobra and hisses, “I may have agreed to help you escape this island, but don’t imagine for one moment this fleeting arrangement means I’m going to start kissing your royal ass. You’re a freshman at this Academy, I’m the dominant male in this institution, and we’ve certain standards to uphold.”
Translation? He intends to keep hazing me. Yay.
“If you wanna bully me, bad boy, you’re gonna have to catch me.” Despite having a pretty healthy sense of self-preservation, the prospect of fighting him gets my blood up. My fingers start tingling and my ponytail floats around my shoulders. “And don’t expect me to make that easy.”
A soft laugh explodes from his lips in a cloud of frosty vapor and his pale eyes flash platinum. “Consider that challenge accepted, little queen.”
And for some fucked-up reason, I too chuff out a laugh.
A pucker appears between his brows like I’ve perplexed him. Frowning, he reaches to catch a floating tendril of my hair between two fingers. And because it’s weird and I’m curious, I don’t stop him. He steps in close and I tense up, ready to knee him in the balls and break his fingers if he tries anything.
But he only lifts my side ponytail and bends to take a sniff.
A low rumble of warning rises from his chest, accompanied by a sudden rush of dark spicy scent. He smells like caramel and sandalwood, with a smoky undertone of vetiver. Yeah, he’s definitely Mogadon, because of the way he’s scenting. Which explains some of that testosterone and aggression, because those are racial traits, even if his are off the charts. Mogadon scent when they’re feeling aggression, territoriality, or arousal.
And suddenly he’s rubbing his face in my ponytail and scentingme.
