Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
My chest aches at the realization.
Is he a tyrant? I see flashes of it in him—the cold, commanding man capable of shutting off emotion and making ruthless, devastating decisions. I think maybe that's part of the darkness lurking in the depths of his obsidian eyes. But I don't think that's all of him. There's more to him, so much more. But he's buried it for some reason, choosing to believe this is who he is instead.
Why?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, "Why do you believe that?"
His expression hardens. "My father may be king, but I'm the one who rules. I've ruled for years. I don't make decisions from a place of emotion or kindness. I'm not a tolerant man. People do what I say, when I say, or they suffer the consequences. That's simply the way it is. If they don't like it, they're always free to leave. There are other kingdoms."
I don't believe what he's saying. I don't think he believes it either. He's convinced himself that he's a terrible man, but it isn't true.
A surge of defiance courses through me—determination to prove him wrong.
"Oh, yeah?" I challenge, courage welling up from some pit deep in my stomach. "Does that include me, Prince Troy?"
He swallows hard, staring at me, his jaw set, his eyes full of determination.
I pace toward him, curious how far he's willing to take this, how far he'll let me push him. He remains silent, the tension between us crackling like a livewire.
"Answer me, Troy," I demand, my heart pounding. "Am I free to leave if I want to?"
His silence speaks volumes. He wants to tell himself that I'm just like everyone else, that I haven't touched his heart and made him feel anything, but he can't.
I stand my ground, tipping my head back to stare up at him, defiance burning in my chest. "If I didn't like your rules and wanted to leave right now, would you let me?" I challenge him.
"No," he growls. His hands curl into fists, something dark and predatory flashing in his eyes. "You belong to me, Thalia."
"But this isn't your kingdom," I remind him, unwilling to back down from the intensity of his gaze.
"That changes nothing." He grabs my hands, encircling my wrists as if caging them in shackles. His dark eyes bore into mine, sending sparks of electricity surging through my veins. "You're still mine."
"You mean your prisoner," I push, refusing to relent.
"I mean mine," he snarls, his voice low and possessive. In a swift motion, he yanks me forward.
I topple into the hard wall of his chest, gasping in delight.
He wraps one hand around my throat, his grip firm and unyielding. The heat radiating from his body sears me everywhere we touch, igniting fires in my veins. His lips are inches from mine, his breath pelting them. "You run, and I'll chase. To the ends of the fucking earth if that's what I have to do, Thalia."
There it is. The proof I needed—perhaps the proof he needed. This man is no tyrant. He's a complicated tangle of ruler and ruled, as caught by the magic raging between us as I am. And as desperate to keep it alive as I am. Perhaps he does rule with an iron fist. But that isn't all of him. Not by half.
He won't let me go—not because I'm his captive or because he's a tyrant, but because he can't. Because he needs me just as badly as I need him. Because I make him feel alive too.
Desire rages in his eyes, blazing like black suns. I realize then that he wants me to run. He wants to chase me and force me to submit to his control over me. Another of his twisted games.
He crushes his lips to mine in a hard, dominating kiss that sets my entire body on fire. He consumes me, sucking on my tongue, biting my bottom lip. Ruining me for any other kiss.
"Run." The word is a predatory growl vibrating all the way to my core.
I don't think. I don't ask questions. I shove away from his body as hard as I can and flee, racing toward the pond as fast as my legs will carry me. My hair flies out behind me, branches catching in the strands, tugging at my clothing, scratching my arms.
I don't care. I run.
"When I catch you, you're mine, Thalia!" he shouts behind me, his voice taunting. I hear him running, too, his steps heavy as they rapidly close the distance between us.
Crap. He's a lot faster than I am.
"I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want when I get my hands on you. You can't stop me."
I sob in response—in ecstasy, in excitement. Even as I race away from him, I think I'm running toward him and the promise of pleasure waiting when he gets his wicked hands on me.