Watching Elizabeth with my brother has been more trying than I ever expected. Last week, I had to watch her through an entire round of fielding, trying not to stare at her tits and ass in her athletic dress, and trying not to run my Blade through Titus’ gut every time he spoke to her or insulted her. The past few days have been no easier, either. We’ve brushed shoulders or exchanged a handful of flirtatious words several times, and yet here I sit in the dining hall while she is at my brother’s side, listening to another of his inflated stories. I grip my fork tightly, trying not to watch.

I’m grateful that propriety keeps my brother from putting his hands all over Elizabeth, as doing so--in public, at least--would mark her as impure and invalidate their union to come. Remembering that I laid my mark on her ass sends a thrill through me, one that nearly satiates the growing desire to act out and feed the darkness. It has been rising in me again. For a few days after I punished Elizabeth, I had a calm and peace like I’ve never known, like I could imagine a life where I wasn’t compelled to inflict violence. Punishing her bought me more time than violence ever has, but I feel the need growing again, rising up in me like something black and hungry.

Still, it’s a small comfort to know If Titus knew what I’ve done with her already, the marriage would be called off.

Dirk still hasn’t gotten back to me about any legal means of stopping the arrangement, even though he’s supposed to be a legal expert. I’ve taken to my own studies at night, pouring over centuries of legal documents to search for some loophole or kink in the system. If I wasn’t sure of my intent before I started searching, I am now. If anything, devoting so much energy to the hunt for answers has emboldened my purpose more, even though every avenue I look down seems to create a bigger and bigger wall between Elizabeth and I. Either no princes have stepped in to invalidate the arranged marriages of their brothers before, it it hasn’t been written about.

Elizabeth smiles politely when Titus finishes his story. As usual, he laughs the loudest at the supposed punch line. I watch her carefully, noticing the way her demure eyes dart to me regularly, or the way her hand shakes slightly when she raises her knife to cut into the meat before her, or even the way she flinches back if Titus moves closer. She’s afraid. Afraid of this place, of these people, of me, most likely.

Yet, if she was truly afraid of me, the signals she’s sending me are highly misleading.

“Roark,” says my mother from the head of the table. “Roark,” she says more firmly.

I look up, only now realizing everyone is turned toward me expectantly.

“Lady Catherine asked you a question,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Pardon,” I say, setting down my napkin. “It seems I’m all out of answers today.”

The screech of my chair is almost deafening in the silence that follows, but I don’t fail to catch the hint of a grin on Elizabeth’s face before I turn to leave the dining hall.

I couldn’t take more of it. I feel the familiar heat of need growing inside me by the minute, so my tolerance for petty aristocratic bullshit is at an absolute low. My mind flashes with images of people I’ve hurt, of the blood I’ve spilled and the pain I’ve caused. The gruesome images only drive the hunger on, intensifying it until I can barely stand it.

But for the first time, something unexpected happens. The bloodlust moves from my chest to my stomach, and then lower… and lower still.

The images of blood and faces contorted in pain fade in my mind, replaced by the perfectly round and white ass of Elizabeth and the sight of me bringing the paddle down on her. The damn woman is going to make me start a civil war and I barely even know her.

I pass out of the innards of the palace where only royalty and those with express permission from royalty are allowed to enter, and I step into the main entry, which is surprisingly busy for this early in the afternoon. Men and women--half of whom are likely just here to complain about something or another--bustle and shove their way toward the waiting area where a team of bored men instruct them to wait their turn.

I’m about to head outside for a breath of fresh air when I see Dirk jogging up to me.

“I thought I told you to bury your face in a book until you found something of substance,” I say.

He comes to a stop, expression grim. “You could say I found something, I guess. But you probably won’t like what I found.”

“Try me.”

“The only way to nullify the arranged marriage between Prince Titus and Princess Elizabeth is if Prince Titus issues a blood challenge against you and loses.”

“You’re sure?” I ask.

“You think I’ve spent the last several days sitting on my thumb? You know how many virgins I’ve let slip by because I wanted to do this favor for you?”

“Okay, okay. But what if I were to issue a blood challenge to him.”

“It’s not the same, not unless you’re planning to actually kill the man. But the last time a prince killed his brother was in the seventeen hundreds, and it led to a civilian uprising that ultimately sent him to the dungeons where he died a few months later.”

“Encouraging,” I say. “Though I don’t recall asking specifically about Prince Titus and Princess Elizabeth. I was asking hypothetically.”

“Right,” says Dirk. “And I just gave up some of the sweetest pussy in the Shrouded Kingdoms for your hypothetical question. Like fuck.”

“Eloquent as always,” I say, smirking.

Dirk shrugs. “You don’t pay me for my pretty tongue.”

“You sure?” I ask.

He barks a laugh. “Fair enough. Maybe you do.”

“I need you to do me another favor. Tonight.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Send a message to Princess Elizabeth. Let her know I’ve cleared the guards between her room and the exit. Tell her the only thing between her and the escape she craves is me. If I catch her, she knows the price. If I don’t, she earns her freedom. I’ll even escort her through the city walls and get her a car to take her home.”

Dirk frowns “So you want me to tell Prince Titus’ bride-to-be she can try to escape?”

I nod.

“And this has nothing to do with the question you had me spend days researching, right?”

“Right.”

Dirk licks his lips, showing a rare flash of nervousness. “You know what you’re risking, don’t you?”

“Yes. If my brother catches wind of this, he’ll be sure to leverage every ounce of power my mother has to get back at me. It could start a civil war.”

“And you’re sure you want this?” he asks.

“I’m sure.”

I wait in the darkened hallways of the palace just after midnight. I have bribed the guards into taking an early night like I promised. The hallway I’m in overlooks the exit from Elizabeth’s staircase, so I’ll know if she plans to try escaping. The challenge will be running the length of the long hall and descending the stairs quickly enough to catch up to her.

My mind wanders while I wait, specifically over how I should interpret her decisions. If she stays in her room, I first thought there was only one clear meaning: she’d be telling me she had no interest in repeating our encounter from the night she tried to escape. What if she denies my offer because she thinks it’s some sort of trap? Or a test?

If she does try to escape, I’ll be equally in the dark. She might truly believe she could get past me. If she really wants her freedom from this place--and who could blame her for that--I just offered her the only real way to get it. As plausible as it all is, the hunger in me only wants to accept one outcome, one possibility, and one motivation. She will try to escape, and she will want to be caught.

If I catch her though, I’ll never know the truth, so I decide to take an immense risk--an intolerable risk. If I’m wrong, the entire kingdom may pay the price, but the alternative is unacceptable. I’m going to let her go if she chooses to go. It’s the only way to know if she wants to be caught. If she lingers or comes back to wander until I find her, I’ll know her true intentions.

Elizabeth emerges from the doorway of her tower about an hour after midnight. She wears a thin dress that has me urging to get her back in the dungeon and see what’s underneath, but not yet, not by force. I need to know she wants it without a doubt, that she wants me and not Titus. If I’m going to go forward with this and risk destabilizing one of the strongest kingdoms in the Shrouded Kingdoms, I had better be damn sure.