My Royal Sin / Playing Dirty. Lauren Hawkeye

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СКАЧАТЬ tie yourself to one woman?” I know not everyone believes in monogamy. My elder brother, Nikolai, certainly didn’t...until he met his Kate that is.

      X adjusts his tie, his expression blank. “I am not opposed to...tying,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “But I’m normally the one who makes the knots.”

      Envy hits me with blunt force. “The stories you could tell,” I mutter, but my tone does not escape him.

      “I know you are well-read, but there is something to be said for experience, for true knowledge. You aren’t a priest yet, Your Highness.”

      Though X is overstepping, I do not call him on it. Instead, I swallow hard at the idea. I have so many questions. They press against my skull, threatening to crack the bone.

      I want to know more, but I need to resist.

      “The choice of celibacy is not one to take lightly,” X says, his voice firm. “You can yield to her. There is no harm in seeing what you’d be missing.”

      But I can’t afford to give in to the bonfire of my sexual urges. If I do, I might burn down my carefully scripted future. Instead, I turn wordlessly and escape back to my tower that tonight feels more like a prison than ever before.

      Ruby

      The drowsy aftermath of my orgasm is replaced by something unsettling, something that not only keeps me from sleep but drives me from the cottage altogether. The summer night is cool, but my body is still alight from the mere thought of Benedict’s touch, so I wear nothing but a long silk dressing gown, another gift from Monique Mantissa.

      Thanks to X’s coaching this afternoon, I’ve learned my way out of the maze—well, with only having to backtrack twice. I’d say that’s pretty impressive for my first day. Though the sun has long set, the brilliant moon lights the palace grounds in a soft glow. I make my way to the gardens behind the palace itself, not sure what I’m hoping to find. Benedict on an evening stroll, trying to clear his thoughts just as I am? But all is quiet but for the guards on patrol. I stare up at the tower where I know the prince resides, and for a second I consider climbing that spiral staircase and knocking on his door.

       For what? He does not want to see you. That is why he left.

      Yet I cannot deny that I wish to see him.

      Instead, I decide to give him space. Back at the cottage, I can call Camille to check in, see if we have any new leads on Jasper’s case. This, I remind myself, is why I am here. For my family.

      So I make a hasty retreat. Once there, it takes me only one try to get through the maze and to the cottage. I only now realize there is no guard on patrol at this hour, and once I’m inside, that unsettling chill returns. Though this time it is different.

      Something is different. I can feel it. And it is in my room where I find it.

      I flip on the light, the space brighter than it was before, and then realize Benedict and I were lit only by the moon. The rocking chair, the one from which he watched me—was it not closer to the window before? Benedict himself had leaned forward for a better view, but had he actually moved the chair?

      I circle the benign piece of furniture, sure that there was no room to step behind it before, and a floorboard creaks, a sound I should have heard had Benedict rocked against it.

      I bend to examine it, and the wooden slat comes up easily in my hand.

      I scramble backward, gasping at what cannot be real, but I peek over into the open space again and see not the foundation of an architectural structure but what looks like a cavernous hole with no end.

      Then, as if from the bowels of hell, comes the terrifying yet distant sound of a woman’s triumphant laughter.

      Without another thought, I am running—out the door, through the maze and straight to where I swore I would not go. I don’t even remember climbing the stairs when I’m already pounding on his door. Maybe I hallucinated it. Maybe the sound was just the wind. But my skin is covered in goose bumps and my heart is threatening to crack my sternum.

      “Benedict!” I cry, no time for propriety. “Benedict, please. Open the door!”

      In seconds he is there, bare but for cotton pajama pants, his chest beaded with sweat, but I’m too frightened to react to his body the way I know I would have only a short time ago.

      “Ruby,” he says, his eyes widening. “What is it?”

      I hug my torso, shivering now—from the chill in the air? Fear? I’m not even sure.

      “Did you go to the cottage?” I ask, hoping for logic to rearrange my frantic thoughts. “Did you go to my room?”

      His brows furrow, and he shakes his head.

      “I—After you left, I went for a walk. And...” I take a shuddering breath. After what my life has become these past two months, I’m starting to trust that things will only get worse. “I think someone broke in while I was gone.”

      A muscle in his jaw ticks. He looks over his shoulder and then at me.

      “Come in,” he says. “You are safe here.” He steps aside and closes the door. “Follow me.”

      He moves in front of me, and I gasp as he leads me from the entryway, as my eyes rest on the raised welts that cover his back.

      He says nothing until we are in a modest bedchamber. The walls are bare but for a crucifix on the wall by a lone window. The bed is large but without any trappings of royalty. Just plain white sheets and a quilt. He sits me on the edge of the bed and moves a good distance from me, crossing his arms.

      “Tell me what happened,” he says, not bothering to acknowledge the new elephant in the room.

      “Tell me what happened to you,” I say.

      He sighs. “Nothing,” he says softly. “Nothing more than purging myself of my guilt.”

      My hand flies to my mouth as I stifle another gasp.

      “My tormented soul isn’t your concern, Ruby. I hired you to do a job, and you performed as expected. Now tell me what you are doing here.”

      His words bite, though I know they shouldn’t. They are nothing more than the truth.

      “When I got home,” I tell him, “something felt wrong. And when I went to my room, the chair—your chair—was not where you’d left it. At least, I don’t think it was.” As I speak, I realize I sound less convincing by the second. But then I remember the floorboard. “There was a squeaky piece of wood in the floor behind the chair, and I thought it odd that it hadn’t sounded when you were there, because I swear your chair was right over it, so I pulled it up and—”

      “Let me guess. And you found the catacombs?” He raises a brow and grins.

      I stand up in a huff. “I just ran here frightened for my life, and you’re joking around?” I ask. The idea of laughter seems too ridiculous to mention. It must have been the wind and my own overactive imagination.

      I turn to storm out, realizing I won’t find comfort here, but Benedict grabs СКАЧАТЬ