Page 13 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

Yet as I sit down beside her, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of guests blissfully ignorant of our silent war, I find that I am already entertaining that thought.

She’s not what I’d expected; looking like a queen in that dress, commanding attention in a room full of powerful men. I see the hungry way they look at her, and it pisses me off.

I turn to look at her again, and that light graze on her cheek catches my eye. I lean forward and draw my hand to her chin, frowning. Her brow furrows, and she’s about to say something when I pull away from her.

“Hmm,” I say, then I scan the crowd until my eyes fall on her father. I gesture for him to come closer, and that look on his face tells me he knows what this is about.

Gabriette takes this in with a curious look on her face, then I pull her to her feet and walk to meet her father half way. The coward looks like he’s about to piss himself—good.

“Mikhail, what—”

Before she can finish the sentence, I rear back a fist and land it squarely against his nose. The satisfying crunch of his bones breaking sends me on a high, and I land another one.

He cries out and holds his nose, and I can hear the sounds of weapons being drawn. I wipe my knuckles on my pants and I turn back to look at Gabriette, who’s wearing a look of absolute disbelief.

“You touched what’s mine, so I gave it back to you ten times over,” I say, and he glares at me while on his knees. “Stop looking so fucking surprised. Your ring left a mark, asshole.”

With that, I pull her back to the table, but not before she looks back at her father. “What was that for?” she murmurs when we’re seated.

I draw my hand to her chin again and caress the light cut on her cheek where her father struck her. “Your father put his hands on you in my home,” is all I say before I turn away from her again.

It’s not like I was fighting for her honor, but more for mine. Then I hear her silently murmuring to herself in Italian, and I decide not to intrude on that moment.

When the time comes for us to step onto the dance floor, I stretch my arm out toward her and she looks at it like she’s about to handle a live grenade but eventually takes it.

“You’re too kind,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but I can feel her trembling under my touch.

The sound of the melancholy waltz played by the band on the dance floor set a somber mood. I look into her eyes; those gorgeous pools of amber and notice she’s scared, but there’s something else. I feel the ripple of a shiver shoot through her and I frown.

She’s terrified, and yet she fights back. It makes no sense.

“What’s on your mind, Gabriette?” My voice is colder than I intended. I’m accustomed to obedience, not questioned or tested in my authority.

But this woman challenges me, and the strangest thing is, I find myself enjoying it.

“How I can sneak the knife from the table and imbed it in your neck tonight while you sleep,” she retorts, the corner of her mouth curling into a smirk. “You know, foreplay.”

I chuckle at this. “Oh, claws are out once again,Malyshka. Will you drag them down my back tonight?”

She bristles. “You fucking wish, Baranov—”

“Oh, but you’re my wife now. I am entitled to that sweet pussy of yours,” I say, and feel her gasp. “But then again, I won’t take if you’re not willing to give.”

“You took me,”

“Semantics,” I say, rolling my eyes while we dance. “Duty is duty. If my father asks for an heir one day, you won’t have a choice.”

She’s silent after this, and it surprises me because my tone was quite cold. Then she sighs and shakes her head.

“We’re both prisoners here, Mikhail. The difference is, you hold the key to both our cells.”

“Is that what you think?” I challenge her, my grip tightening just a fraction. “If you believe I’m a prisoner, you’re even more naïve than I thought.”

Her eyes narrow. “And if you think I’ll be a submissive little wife, you’re even more delusional than I imagined.”

She’s quick-witted, and the fire in her retort takes me by surprise. The other women I’ve known were submissive, falling in line with my every command. Gabriette, however, is a riddle, a spark in an otherwise darkened room.

“Having second thoughts?” she taunts with a sweet smile teasing her lips when I don’t answer.

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