American Queen

To my surprise, Melwas smiles widely. “You’ve got spirit in you. I like that in a woman.”

I think of Lenka and seriously doubt that.

“So if you were there,” I continue, “were you the one who gave the order? Did you personally shoot any of the civilians? Set fire to that boat?”

“Do you think I’m such a monster?”

I think of Lenka. I think of the treaty. I think of the mental chessboard my grandfather taught me to hold in my mind as I spied for him, and yet I throw it all out in favor of honesty. “Yes. Only monsters try to kill children, President Kocur, and a real man wouldn’t pass the blame onto someone else.”

Anger flashes quick on his face at the dig at his masculinity, and his shoulder tenses under my hand. “You test me, Miss Galloway,” he says, and his hold on me tightens. “Do you also test your hero in this manner?”

I lift my chin. “I don’t need to.”

“You know, if you were my wife, I’d make sure you never talked this way to me again.” He yanks me close to him and I stumble with a small gasp. “And I would enjoy giving you that lesson very much.”

Another yank and I feel him. Feel it. He’s hard.

If I ever wanted to know if there was something wrong with me, if I ever felt confused by the dynamic between me and Ash, all of that blurriness is wiped away. I see it clearly now, the difference between consensual power exchange and the actual violence men can do to women. I know immediately what Melwas means by teaching a lesson and it wouldn’t be playful spankings bounded by a safe-word and affection. All I feel at Melwas’s words is nausea and the urge to run.

I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let me, making sure I feel exactly how much stronger he is than me. “I didn’t mean to be ugly,” he apologizes suddenly, as if struck with a sudden mood swing. “Not to such a beautiful woman. Perhaps you could visit me tonight, and I could make amends.”

I refuse to struggle against his hold, even though the erection pressing into my stomach is triggering all sorts of instinctual alarms. I look him in the eye. “You know that won’t happen.”

He gives a shrug that is so very Slavic. “Maybe not tonight. But someday I’ll see what the great hero gets to enjoy every night.”

He’s jealous of Ash. It’s so obvious that I’m surprised I missed it, but it makes so much sense. Melwas fought in the same war, emerged as his fledgling country’s ruler, and yet outside of Carpathian borders, Ash is the one venerated like a saint.

“And your wife?” I ask, looking over to Ash and Lenka. Lenka is leading Ash through the steps, and they’re both laughing—the smile and color in her cheeks doing wonders for Lenka’s beauty.

I feel rather than see the irritation run through Melwas’ body, although I’m not sure if it’s at Lenka’s happiness or the fact that Ash is the one giving her the happiness.

“She has no say in these things. I’ve made that very clear to her.”

Poor Lenka. Does she pretend not to see Melwas with other women? Or is she secretly relieved that she alone doesn’t have to bear the brunt of his lust?

And then for no reason at all, I think of Embry and Ash under the mistletoe, Ash’s fist in Embry’s shirt and my heart pounding in the dark. Am I like Lenka? Standing passively by while my partner cheats on me?

The thought is like a tuning fork, humming along my bones, deep into my teeth, and all of my priorities fall right back into order, and I’m Greer Galloway again, the professor, the spy, the political princess.

“I suppose you have made that clear to her. And I will make it clear to you—I’m not interested. Tonight or ever.”

“A challenge,” he says, his accent growing thick. “I have not had a challenge in a very long time.”

“You will lose,” I say, and I say it with such certainty and calmness that it throws him. His grip on me loosens.

“May I cut in?”

I look up to see Embry next to us, unsmiling and warlike, all of the meanings of his interruption obvious.

Get away from her.

She belongs to someone else.

I’m not afraid of you, and I don’t give a shit about diplomacy.

I don’t think Melwas really gives a shit about diplomacy either, which he makes apparent by stepping forward and pointedly adjusting his tuxedo jacket to cover his erection. Embry sees this, his face contorting into an expression of wolfish rage, and for a minute, I wonder if he’s going to take a swing at the Carpathian leader. But then Ash and Lenka are coming up to us, and Ash is saying something in Ukrainian as he bows and kisses Lenka’s hand and then gestures to Melwas.

Lenka giggles. Giggles. And the sound jars Melwas out of his locked stare with Embry. He says something brusque and demanding in Ukrainian and then stalks off the dance floor, Lenka scurrying after him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Embry says quietly once they’re gone, his hands curling into fists.

Elsewhere, I see other couples spilling onto the dance floor, more or less oblivious to the crisis that was just averted by a giggle. Adrenaline is pumping through me like I’ve been fighting, like I’ve been attacked, and Ash steps to me and takes my head in his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks seriously, searching my face. “I came over as soon as I saw something was wrong. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you when you needed me.”

“I’m okay.” I take a deep breath and realize my hands are shaking. “He…it doesn’t matter. I’m fine, and I didn’t need help.”