On the Hunt

"When, then?" the king insisted. "That's the reason I'm here, isn't it?"



Rose dug her nails into Vasili's hand, drawing blood.



"You're here for peace talks, nothing more," he said.



A vein nearly burst from the king's forehead as another bout of silence settled over them. The princesses inched away from their father, as if they feared being struck. They probably did. Vasili had heard about the king's fearsome temper.



"Prince Jasha," the redhead said with a shy—desperate?—smile. Funny. She knew all of their names, yet Vasili couldn't recall hers. "Would you care to dance?"



His brother's violet gaze dropped to his boots. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words emerged. Finally he shut his mouth and gave the redhead his back, glaring out at the circle of ladies closest to them.



Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she lowered her arm.



"Men," Rose grumbled with sympathy, speaking in Vasili's language. "Forget him, sweetie. He's obviously an ass."



Vasili pressed his lips together to stop his laugh. At least she'd spoken the correct words.



"What's your name, girl?" Greer snapped at Rose.



"She's mute," Vasili said. "And her name is unimportant."



"What's the matter, darling?" Oh, the anger in that tone. She would punish him later, though he wasn't exactly sure of his crime. "Embarrassed of me?"



Embarrassed? When he wanted to beat his chest and warn every other man away? When he would have been happy if she tattooed his name on her chest? A suggestion he would later make.



Still. He wasn't sure how she affected him like this when no one else ever had. Surely the bond wasn't fully responsible. He'd reacted to her before bonding them, or he wouldn't have fucking bonded them.



"Like I said," he snapped. "Mute. "



Greer watched the entire exchange with anger sparking in his eyes. "A slave would never make a good wife, you know."



She isn't a slave! "You know this from experience?" he asked smoothly.



Rose's nails were now embedded in his bone. He could feel warm drops of blood sliding down his arm. He reached back with his other hand and applied pressure to the center of her palm, harder . . . harder . . . but she held steady. Damn her, when would she give?



He eased the pressure rather than break her bone. Finally she released him. He wanted to smile. She'd outlasted him, and he was irrationally proud of her. Again.



"Yes," Greer said. "I do. Though I have not bonded with any of my women, I keep five of them to attend my needs. One is a slave, and she is by far my biggest mistake. Greedy, grasping, desperate. So keep your girl, if that's what you wish, but take one of my daughters. I want peace, but I cannot trust you without the marital bond."



Nails raked down his back, hard, and he nearly hissed in pain. And pleasure. He'd endure Rose's torturing over any other woman's caressing. The little wildcat. "When you yourself refuse to wed any of your women? Besides, Greer, I'm not the one who attacks without provocation."



Those nails began to pet him. Again, he wanted to smile.



Greer ran his tongue over his teeth. "I have other offers, you know. Other kingdoms eager for an alliance."



"Yet you came to me first. I'm moved, really, but that doesn't mean I'll give you what you crave."



A growl. "The Western and Southern kingdoms despise you for your strength, yet they have not risen against you. Yet. But they will. Mark my word, they will. There is already talk."



He reached back a second time—he couldn't not touch her—and traced his fingers along the waist of Rose's pants. Felt her belly quiver. Cut off his possessive grunt of approval. "They fear my strength as much as they hate it. They will not attack."



"They will when I agree to help them defeat you. Which I will do if you refuse this opportunity."



He stiffened. "I don't like threats."



"And I don't like issuing them. But I want this alliance, more than anything."



The man's desperation relaxed him. He resumed his exploration of Rose's pants, twisting the button, moving the zipper. His finger glided over her panties, and she gasped. Her nails dug into him once more, but not to hurt. To urge him on. "And what's in this for you, hmm?" Had that breathless tone been his?



Greer sighed. "I'm old. I'm tired of all the fighting. I want to ensure my kingdom is properly cared for when I'm gone."



Truth or a lie, Vasili didn't know. But the sentiment he understood. He wanted his kingdom safe, as well —but he wouldn't be backed into a corner. "I could killyou and place a new king on your throne. One who will adore me. What think you of that plan?"



"I like it," Rose whispered. She arched against him, a command to attend her. He did. He cupped her between her legs, rubbing. Even with the thin cotton barrier, he could feel her moisture, her need for him, and he reacted. His cock, which had never truly deflated, grew and hardened.



He fought the urge to whip around, press himself against her, drop to his knees, taste her again, to have her, here, now, in front of everyone, or drag her away without a word to his guests. He needed her, wanted her, had to have her, and the wait was impossible. But he didn't allow himself to do any of that. He would be patient, take care of territory business like a good boy—no matter the cost to his sanity—and then himself.



"You need a new plan," Greer said. "Before I die, I'll either have joined with you or defeated you.



That, I swear."



Vasili stilled, the vow ringing in his ears. If he failed to wed one of the princesses, Greer would ensure their minor skirmishes became full-blown battles. That was what he was truly saying.



People would die. Lands would be burned. Was one life—Rose's life—worth that? These people trusted him. Needed him. Relied on him.



"I need time," he gritted out.



Greer nodded, as if that were the answer he'd expected. "Do not take too long. But meanwhile.



Girls." He waved them closer. "Tell King Vasili all about yourselves so that he might know you better."



"Wait, what?" Rose suddenly demanded, pulling from his touch entirely. "Did you just say you needed time? To decide among them?"



He wanted to howl.



"Isn't that just a party in a box?" she gritted out. "I'm outta here."



"No! You—"



"I'll do it," Jasha said, cutting him off. "I'll wed one of the princesses."



Vasili stopped breathing, afraid he'd misheard. "Are you sure?" Whether his brother's claim was a token or not, Vasili didn't care. He grasped onto the offer like a lifeline.



His brother nodded. "I'm sure."



To save Vasili from losing Rose, or because Jasha desired one of the princesses for his own and was too shy to say so? Again, Vasili didn't care. Sweet, sweet lifeline.



"Do you find this acceptable, Greer?" he demanded.



The old king thought for a moment, then nodded. "A union with royalty is a union."



"Good. It's agreed. Jasha may choose one of your daughters and wed her, and you will leave my people and my lands alone. Forever."



"Agreed. But the wedding must be soon," the old king insisted. "I was willing to give you, the king, time. The prince will not be afforded the same luxury."



Jasha gave a stiff nod. "I don't care when it happens. A wedding is a wedding."



Vasili could have kissed him. "Enjoy the rest of the party, men, ladies. Now, if you'll excuse me."



Vasili grabbed Rose's wrist and dragged her out of the ball room for the second time that night.



"Dismiss the guard," she ground out when they reached the hallway. "I want to talk to you. And by talk, I mean peel the skin from your bones and hear you scream."



"Kinky, but no." He wasn't taking a chance that they would be interrupted again. "This area isn't private enough." He didn't turn back to her, but coiled around several corners, pounded up a flight of stairs and down another hallway. Finally, he reached his wing of the palace.



Servants were tending to the party, so each room was deserted. He bypassed the bathing room, his workout room, his entertainment room, and headed straight into his bedroom.



Large bed. Four posters, velvet sheets. Silver, the color of her eyes. He'd had them made earlier that year. He stopped at the edge and turned to face her.



Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pulled tight in a scowl. She was panting, shoulders lifting and lowering in quick succession, as if she wanted to punch him but was restraining herself. Just barely.



"You needed time?" Although they were alone, she still spoke in his language.



She wanted to hash that out now? Fine. He would multitask. "Yes," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.



"I called you a slave and a mute, too, so feel free to slap me around while you shout."



"You threaten me and call me names, and that's always been foreplay. But the fact that you needed to think about whether or not to killme so you could marry one of your princesses is insulting!"



Insulting? Try ingenious. His shirt fell from his shoulders, leaving his torso bare—except for the blades he had stashed on his arms, both of his tattoos covered. "I would never kill you, Rose. Ever."



"Rose." She laughed without humor. "There you go again, calling me by my name. You bastard!"



A bastard? For that? "I'm lost," he admitted, kicking off his boots before unfastening his pants, pushing them to the floor, and stepping out of them. There were blades strapped to his thighs and ankles, too.



"What happened to 'darling'?" she lashed out, careful not to look at the hard cock peeking from the waist of his underwear.



He blinked. She was angry that he hadn't called her darling? A meaningless endearment he used for everyone?



"Were you going to pick the redhead?" Her voice rose. "You called her 'darling' fast enough.