Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (38)

I crossed my arms. “Well?”

The demon prince studiously ignored me. He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over an armchair. His trousers sat low on his hips, and with the fire blazing in the hearth, I had a very good view of the lines of ink that curved over each finely carved muscle on his back.

Without speaking or looking at me, he moved deeper into his personal space. I trailed behind, too mad to focus on any details of his rooms aside from the deep merlot walls and black furniture and fabric. It was dark and sensual. Like other parts of the castle where the prince spent most of his time.

“Look at me.” My voice was low, soft. It sounded like a caress, though that was intentional. The softness was meant to distract from the underlying steel in the command.

Wrath turned with intention. There was something seductive in the way he moved; powerful and strong, yet fluid in all the ways he’d require for battle. Everything about his movements indicated he was a predator. But I was not afraid. Not even after his violent display. Wrath would never harm me. And I was almost certain it had little to do with duty.

Looking at him now, with the promise of unending punishment and not an ounce of regret in his glare, I understood what he did, why he did it, even if he didn’t yet.

He stood before a large bed, the silky sheets like an undisturbed lake behind him. An ebony fur throw covered the bottom portion. I thought about disrobing and tossing myself onto it, causing another ripple in the smooth perfection of his world. For a split second, I almost imagined I’d done that before. I cut that thought off before any sinful magic could take hold.

Wrath’s expression turned unreadable. “It’s late. You should leave.”

“We need to discuss what just happened.”

“I issued an order, Makaden ignored it. Twice. The consequences were made clear.”

I narrowed my eyes; his answer was a little too stiff and practiced. I stalked closer. “Is that all? You attacked him because of your order?”

“He chose to insinuate you should taste his cock. In front of my court.” His shoulders moved with the effort he was exerting to control his breaths, to remain calm. He shouldn’t have bothered. There was no quieting the storm currently raging in his eyes. “If I let his disobedience slide, I will be seen as weak.”

“That was my fight. If you interfere whenever someone says something unflattering, no one will ever respect or fear me. I will not appear weak for you to maintain strength.” I moved until I stood directly before him, the heat of our combined anger prickling my skin. I wonder if he felt that, too. And if it soothed him. “Was this a male pride issue? I highly doubt your hold on your court is so tenuous that one obnoxious noble could diminish your rule.”

“You know pride is not my sin.”

It was not the first time I’d wondered if that was the full truth, but I let it go.

“I want my own blade. Perhaps if I’m armed and can disembowel someone myself, you won’t act so overbearing in front of your subjects again. Because if you do”—I allowed just enough sweetness into my tone, making his eyes narrow with suspicion—“next time I will stick my dinner knife in you. Consider that a vow from your future queen.”

Wrath crossed his arms and stared me down. His eyes flickered with some emotion I couldn’t quite place; he was no doubt calculating a hundred reasons why arming me was a bad idea. Especially after my last declaration. I waited for the argument he seemed eager to give.

“I’ll see to it you have a blade of your own. And lessons.”

“I don’t require—”

“That is my offer. It will do no good to arm you only to have you injure yourself in a fight because you can’t wield it properly. Do we have a bargain?”

“Only one reasonable demand… and you’re agreeing with me? That easily?”

“It appears I am.”

I looked him over. “You already considered arming me.”

“I am the general of war; of course I considered it. We’ll discuss other training options in the morning. If we’re going to practice physical lessons, we’ll add blocking magical influence, too. Do you accept the terms of our bargain?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go back to your rooms. I’m tired.”

I let his poor attitude go without comment. He was still tense, his own anger not quite leashed. I considered leaving him to his own foul company, but instead I gave him a teasing half-smile. “I imagine so. Maiming is exhausting business.”

He almost returned my grin, but it never quite reached his lips. “Good night, Emilia.”

“Good night, my jealous, mighty tongue-slayer.”

“You say such horrible things.”

But the gleam of intrigue indicated he didn’t mind. Quite the contrary. I waited for him to turn and walk away, but he seemed rooted in place. Indecision scrawled across his features.

Belatedly, I realized I hadn’t taken myself from the room, either.

I held still as he angled my face up, his long fingers stroking the side of my neck in the lightest caress. I should have been thinking of the dagger he’d just held, of the blood that had stained his hands moments ago. Of the ruthless way he’d acted. These hands could remove a tongue without much effort, but they were also capable of tenderness. Of protection.

And, undoubtedly, pleasure.