Page 41 of Spearcrest Prince

He steps back, just out of reach. He flips through my sketchbook and turns it around to show me a page. “And who’s this, trésor? Tell me. I’ll use my listening skills while you answer.”

I tear my eyes from the green spell of his to look at the page he’s showing me. A sketch of Noël’s face. Even though I drew it from memory and imagination, it captures his likeness almost perfectly. That’s how deeply his face is imprinted into my subconscious.

I ignore Séverin’s question and step towards him. “Give me my sketchbook.”

“No, I want to look. Who is he?” He flicks through the pages to another sketch of Noël. “Is he yourboyfriend?”

“Give it back.”

“Or what, trésor?” He tilts his head, flashing his teeth in a grin. “What are you going to do?”

I cross my arms and fix him with a firm look, hoping my calm will dispel his strange bout of mischievousness. Somehow—I can’t quite fathom how—this is about yesterday. This is about Séverin on my bed, pinning me underneath his body and asking me, in a low, husky voice, for a kiss. This is about all the things we did, all the things he wanted to do.

All the things wedidn’tdo.

“I’m not going to let you kiss me again, if that’s what you’re trying to achieve.”

His playful grin flickers but doesn’t disappear. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”

“No. I’m sure.”

This time, he’s the one who steps closer. He closes my sketchbook, holding it behind him. His eyes glower, and his voice becomes imperious.

“I think,” he bites out, “I can get a kiss from my own fucking wife.”

My heart seizes in my chest, like a struck animal curling in on itself. “I’m not your wife.”

“But you’re going to be.” His grin grows more dangerous, more satisfied. Whatever attack he thinks I levelled against him last night—this is his retaliation. “Unless you break off the engagement.”

“You’re the one who’s so desperate to get laid,” I point out. “Youbreak the engagement.”

His eyes narrow. “Let me make something clear. I can get laid anytime I want, regardless of this engagement. As for you, I can—”

I lunge into him, sidestepping him swiftly. I grab my sketchbook from behind him and yank it out of his hands. Dashing away from him, I make a run for the hill, hoping I can lose him in the castle ruins.

“You little fucking shit!”

His angry yell is right behind me. The stamping of his footsteps sounds far too close for comfort as I scramble up the rough stone steps up the hill. I’ve almost reached the shadowy walls of the castle ruins when his hand fists into my jumper.

He yanks me back, dragging me off my feet. My heels dig into wet grass and soft earth, finding no purchase. I fall hard on my ass. He laughs out loud, a wild sound of triumph, but before he can reach for me, I roll out of his way.

Hauling myself up, I dart into the trees.

I run away from him, adrenaline pumping through my body. I know I’m being reckless and irrational. There are going to be consequences for this, but it’s too late to stop.

My shoulder smashes into the low branch of a pine tree, and I stop to catch a sharp breath.

A weight slams into my back. My sketchbook flies out of my hands, and my body crashes to the ground. Mushy grass and spongy moss cushion most of the impact, but my thigh collides with the root of a tree protruding from the ground. An explosion of pain bursts in my leg. My chin and cheek scrape against the ground as I drag myself away from the weight on my back—the weight of Séverin.

I’m almost out from under him when he grabs me and flips me around. I kick out without even looking or aiming. My heart is one erratic drumbeat; adrenaline is a deafening rush in my ears. Séverin dodges my first kick, but the second catches his shoulder.

“Fuck!” he bites out.

He throws himself down on me, straddling my hips so I can no longer kick him. I try to push him off, but he grabs hold of my wrists, pushing them down into the cold forest floor. I squirm and buck, but his weight settles on me, pinning me down so that I’m all but powerless.

And that’s when something hard presses against my belly, and I freeze.

I find myself in the same situation as that night he came to my room—and yet, somehow, completely different.

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