“Tell me how a decent man can be okay with leading a war,” I say.

“That’s not a question, and I’m not a decent man,” he says.

“You’re right, I forgot for a moment.”

The king presses in close to me so that my back is up against the wall of the pool. His hands rest against the tiled edge, trapping me between them. “Told you,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“Told me what?”

“I don’t think you really hate me.”

“That’s just wishful thinking on your part,” I say, but silently I worry that he’s right, that a few hours with him have weakened my long-held beliefs.

“Okay,” I say, changing the topic, “if you don’t answer the question I just asked you—”

“Statement,” King Lazuli corrects.

“—then you can at least answer this one: why do you like me?”

A sinful smile spreads along the king’s lips, and he shifts his body so that his slick skin rubs against mine. “You’re clearly new at this,” he says. I bristle at his words. “Attraction and chemistry don’t follow any logical rules. You’re not the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, nor the smartest, nor the funniest.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“But you are the girl I’ve altered a peace treaty for, and you are the girl I’m spending the evening with.”

“You’re evil and deceptive,” I say.

“And you’re a kindred spirit.”

That stops me. It stops me completely. I’ve never thought of it that way. That the two of us might be the same. The more I think about it, the more frightening similarities there are between us.

The king shifts against me, drawing my attention to the sculpted muscles of his chest and the arms that pin me to the wall. My eyes trail up and rest on his mouth.

The slow burn of the alcohol allows me to focus on only one thing at a time, and right now I’m focusing on those lips.

I blink slowly, the wine churning unpleasantly in my stomach.

“Are you going to let me kiss you?” the king asks.

“Does my answer even matter?” I flick my gaze up to his.

“No, not when you’re looking at me like that. But I still want to hear you to say it.”

“I won’t. Not for you.” Admitting I want him to kiss me feels too much like I’m betraying my nation.

He moves his left hand from where it rests to lift one of my legs. He wraps it around his waist. I swallow and fight the urge to close my eyes against the feel of his fingertips on the sensitive skin there.

He’s challenging me to stop him with his eyes. I don’t.