The king sets his hand back against the edge of the pool and removes his right hand to wrap my other leg around him.

My gaze moves between his eyes, his dark, fathomless eyes. “You can’t make someone love you,” I say.

“I don’t need you to love me.”

I’m sure that buried beneath all the king’s narcissism and conceit, there’s a man that wants companionship, affection—acceptance. That’s what all humans want. But perhaps I give the king too much credit.

He leans in slowly, watching me, daring me. At the last minute I turn my head away from him.

“You don’t get to have me,” I say. “Not after you’ve taken everything from me.” I don’t know when the evening became so serious, and now the wine has loosened my lips. I’m saying things I shouldn’t be saying. Not if I’m supposed to be seducing my way into an advantageous peace treaty.

“Is that a challenge?” King Lazuli’s gaze dips to my breasts, and his knee rubs the fabric of my bikini bottoms against me. He knows what he’s doing—I’ll give him that.

“No, I’m just stating a fact.” I have to coax my voice to sound normal.

“Just like you hating me is also you stating a fact.”

“Exactly.”

“Good,” he says. “Now I know that you have absolutely no idea what a fact is.”

My mouth drops open, and he uses that opportunity to lean all the way in and kiss me.

He was right earlier when he said he didn’t play fair. His lips press hotly against mine, and his tongue caresses the inside of my mouth. I use my own tongue to shove his out, but this is where I make a critical mistake. Kisses are just as much a battle as they are a joining of desires, and in my ignorance I’ve unknowingly deepened the kiss.

The king reciprocates with force, his tongue scorching my mouth. I’ve never been kissed this way before, like I’m some desperate desire of the king’s. He rubs himself against me, and I can feel him harden.

No. This can’t go any further.

I push him away from me, and I scramble to get out of the pool. My exit is not very graceful, but that’s the last thing on my mind.

I’m breathing heavily when I turn to face the king. He’s treading water, studying me with a predatory look in his eyes. Or maybe it’s lust I’m seeing. It doesn’t matter.

“Scared?” he asks, taunting me.

“Yes.” I sway on my feet, feeling lightheaded.

His tone changes. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. The wine’s no longer a pleasant buzz, but something more insidious. I feel my stomach cramp and nausea rise. “I think I drank too much.”