“Yeah, yeah.” I could go the rest of my life without hearing these official missives. Particularly when they involve illicit business. I step out of my room and follow Marco through the palace. We pass the king’s private dining room and continue on, eventually stopping in front of an ornately carved door.

Marco opens it. “This is where I leave you.”

If I speak, he’ll surely hear my fright, so I nod instead and step inside the room. I glance behind me in time to see the door close and Marco’s form vanish from sight. It might as well have been the iron bars of a cell slamming shut.

I am trapped.

I turn my attention to my surroundings. I’m inside the king’s richly decorated sitting room. It’s beautiful and lacks for nothing, save the king.

I step up to a window. Below me, lamps cast the king’s estate in shades of amber and orange. The city beyond lies in darkness. My hands slide along the windowsill. The greatest irony here is that the king lives in the light, the innocents in the dark. The king belongs to those shadows that lurk outside the light. As do I.

“You’re still in my dress.”

I swivel around, startled to find the man himself leaning against an open doorway, hands tucked in his pockets. He still wears his dinner attire, only now his suit jacket is gone, and the cuffs of his sleeves have been rolled up past his elbows. Aside from his swimsuit, this is the most casual I’ve ever seen him.

“I knew you’d come for me,” I respond, touching my sternum in a poorly masked attempt to hide my cleavage. It only serves to draw the king’s attention to my chest.

There they linger. Seconds tick by, and neither of us moves. I don’t know what’s passing through his mind, but terror and excitement consume mine. I’m incapable of moving, even if I tried.

The king’s gaze flicks back up to mine, his dark eyes intense in the low lighting. Pushing away from the wall, he prowls forward. The trance is broken. Something’s changed, and things I know nothing of are about to happen. With each step the king takes, I can see a little more of that fire burning in his eyes.

What have I agreed to?

Taking my hand, Montes leads me to a fainting couch. I allow him to guide my body onto it. The entire time I watch him like he might tear my throat out if I look away or move too quickly.

The king kneels next to me, a hand dropping to one of my ankles. It slips under the silky seam of my skirt and glides up my calf. Over my knee.

My heart’s in my throat; I can feel it pounding there, cutting off my breath.