Unfastening the frog at my neck, I twirled my cloak from my shoulders, tossed it to some cushions in a manner I hoped appeared rather dramatic, and whirled on him remembering every detail of the night before. And in doing so remembering he’d told me if I wanted something, I should tell my husband.

Therefore, I told my husband what I wanted.

Lifting my chin, I declared, “If you wouldn’t mind, my king, I would like a little alone time to rest my eyes prior to taking a wander with Elena and Farah.”

“You ran from me.”

“What?”

“You ran from me.”

My frame jerked as I belatedly caught the look on his face.

No.

The look in his eyes.

They were aflame.

Literally.

Tiny blazes danced in his eyes.

I knew what that meant.

Oh faith.

“I didn’t run,” I told him with more bravado than bravery, also openly lying since I did just that. “I simply made my way back to the tent…quickly.”

“I thought we learned a lesson last night, Silence,” he said quietly.

And I was glad he did.

So very glad.

For if any fear was striking my heart, the reminder of that wiped it away.

“We most assuredly did,” I snapped.

He took two steps toward me which, with the wideness of his gait, placed him right before me.

He then lifted his hand as if to cup my face.

Which made me wrench it away so he would not touch me.

I was about to move bodily from him when he caught me with both hands on my jaw, his movements so swift, from such a large man, it was astonishing.

It was then I was on the verge of pulling away when I felt it.

Not his touch.

The atmosphere of the tent.

It was oppressive.

Not with heat.

With air so heavy, it felt suffocating.

I lifted my eyes to his and all my breath left me at what I saw.

“Suffice it to say,” he started in a sinister whisper, “if I do not wish you to run from me, if I do not wish you to avoid me, I absolutely do not wish you to evade my touch.”

I should fear him. He could break me in two.

And from what I’d witnessed from him, if given reason, he would.

But in that moment, I didn’t fear him.

My eyes might not be afire, but my blood was for who was he to tell me I could not run?

And if his touch was unwanted, who was he to tell me I could not deny it?

“After last night,” I began bitingly, “I never want you to touch me again.”

His brows rose in studied nonchalance. “No?”

“No,” I spat.

“Shall we test this assertion, my Silence?” he asked.

“No,” I denied. “You shall take your hands off me immediately.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

Then he released me.