“You said you wanted to discuss the Heart of the Queen,” Mr. Bordeaux says, breaking the silence as I pick at the leafy greens on my plate.

“Yes.” Liam darts his gaze in my direction. “I’m ready to sell.”

I have no idea what they’re talking about. My attention swings to Mr. Bordeaux as he takes a sip of wine, the motion nonchalant except for the harsh grip of his fingers on the glass.

“You surprise me, Chancellor.” He sets the wineglass down, tongue darting across his lower lip. “What changed your mind?”

“I guess you can say my priorities have shifted.” Liam’s answer draws my gaze back to him. “I’ll accept your previous offer if you grant me weekly chess sessions with Novalee.”

“You’re willing to part with the Heart of the Queen for a few games of chess?” Skepticism laces Mr. Bordeaux’s tone.

“Yes, along with the twenty million you agreed to pay the last time you put the offer on the table.”

“Where will these sessions take place?”

“In my penthouse.”

“Absolutely not. The library will do for a game of chess.”

“Fine,” the chancellor says through gritted teeth. “But I want permission to touch her.”

The room falls quiet as the two men stare each other down. I hold my breath, afraid to move.

Because the thought of being in Liam’s arms again so soon has me on the edge of my seat, antsy with hopeful excitement.

“You seem to care a great deal about our lovely queen.”

“Don’t you?” Liam challenges with an arch of his brow.

The strength of Mr. Bordeaux’s stare touches on me like an appraisal, as if he’s calculating my worth in the ten long seconds he takes to reply to the chancellor.

“She’s proven her obedience.” From the corner of my eye, I spy the edge of his mouth curl. “And apparently her value.”

“Do we have a deal, then?” Liam presses, voice bold except for the small waver I’m hoping the man sitting at the head of the table doesn’t notice.

“Bi-weekly sessions and ten percent off the price.”

“Five percent,” Liam counters.

“Seven percent.” A lengthy pause ratchets the tension. “And no sexual contact.”

A telling tick goes off in Liam’s jaw. He wants the physical connection between us as badly as I do. “No deal, Heath. At a minimum, I require permission to kiss her.”

“Desperation does not suit you, Chancellor.”

Liam’s brows narrow. “Don’t mistake my affection for desperation.”

“I stand corrected. Bi-weekly sessions it is, kissing allowed. Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll accept your terms if you give me twenty minutes alone with Novalee first.”

A pause of silence, and then hope pumps through my veins as Mr. Bordeaux stands, his chair sliding soundlessly across the floor. “Come find me when you’re finished.” He exits with the same brusqueness I’m coming to expect from him.