Unfaded Glory. Sara Arden

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       CHAPTER THREE

      SOME PEOPLE WOULD think that because Damara was a princess, she didn’t understand the word no. She understood it plenty. She heard it so often that yes was more of a surprise. So rather than be upset, she asked, “Why not? Am I not pretty?”

      “You know you’re beautiful.”

      “Am I?” She lifted her chin, wondering if that’s actually what he thought of her or if he was just being polite.

      “Now you’re fishing for compliments and you’re not going to get them. You know how you look.”

      “I don’t. Not really. My suitors all tell me I’m beautiful, but all they want is the power that comes with being married to me. I have maids. I have servants. They all tell me I’m beautiful, but they all must. What is it you don’t like?”

      She dared to ask the question, but she was actually afraid of the answer. She didn’t want to be told that she wasn’t enough—that she had nothing to offer him since he didn’t want a crown.

      “Your innocence.”

      “I see.” Damara didn’t. Not really. “Because you’re a bad man?” She turned the conversation back to familiar territory.

      “A very bad man.”

      “A bad man wouldn’t care. Had I offered myself to Grisha, he wouldn’t have waited.” She shivered, both with fear and anticipation.

      “You deserve better than a man like Grisha.”

      “I know that. That’s why I picked you. But you’re not cooperating.”

      Damara Petrakis wasn’t sure who was more surprised by what came out of her mouth. The expression on his face looked like she’d kicked him somewhere unforgivable. She wasn’t sure what strange maggot had burrowed into her brain, but she suddenly realized that this was the answer to half of her problems. Not only would it eliminate many of Abele’s contenders for her hand; on a more selfish note, it was something she wanted to experience. She wanted to know what it was like to be wanted for herself, not her position. She had a feeling that Hawkins didn’t care if she was a princess or a beggar.

      His eyes widened. “You have lost your mind.”

      She scowled. “That’s not what a lady expects to hear from her chosen beau.”

      “This ain’t a cotillion, Princess.” He sneered.

      This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. “No, it certainly isn’t.” She pursed her lips and decided to appeal to his logic. “But my brother is going to have a hard time marrying me off if I’m not a virgin, isn’t he?”

      “That’s still a thing?” He wrinkled his nose.

      Still a thing. Damara closed her eyes for a second as the emotion threatened to overwhelm her. The whole of her self-worth had been wrapped up in the slight veil of flesh. It had been drilled into her head that it belonged to her country and she owed it to her people to keep herself chaste until she was married. But now, getting rid of it seemed like only way to give them and herself some measure of protection until Abele was captured and tried for treason.

      Of course, this soldier wouldn’t understand. She knew that. It was part of why she’d chosen him. So she couldn’t be angry at him or hurt that he didn’t understand. His culture was different.

      She took a deep breath. “It’s very much still a thing in Castallegna and in many parts of the world. I was under armed guard for most of my life. If I’m worthless to him, maybe he’ll stop killing people to get to me.”

      “Sweetheart, I don’t know if anyone told you, but he could lie.”

      She swallowed. “He could, but the kind of men he wants an alliance with would demand an examination before we were married.”

      “How about I just kill him for you?” Hawkins said as if he were asking her permission to do something as mundane as trimming the hedges below her window. Hope surged in her chest for all of a single millisecond. Life would be so much easier. So many people would be saved. One life for many—one of the founding principles on which she was raised. His death would mean she’d be free to dissolve the monarchy, to bring true democracy to Castallegna, just as her father had always dreamed.

      But she couldn’t do it on the back of an assassination.

      “I can’t ask you to do that.” She swallowed the hope that had turned to bile in her throat.

      “You’re not asking. I offered. See, like I said, killing is what I’m good at.”

      She wet her lips, as if that would help ease her next words into the world. Damara may not have been experienced in the ways of the flesh, but she did know people. Politics and manipulation had been part of her extensive education, as well. “So are you saying that you’re not good at making love?”

      “Fucking, little girl. It’s called fucking,” he snarled.

      Damara found it so telling that he could speak of killing—of death—without blinking an eye, but when the discussion turned toward softer things, it made him angry and defensive. At first she’d thought intimacy was the problem, but it didn’t get much more intimate than taking a life.

      A million retorts came to mind. She wanted to tell him she was no little girl, she was a grown woman, but she didn’t need his validation to know that. It didn’t matter if he wanted to use those words to push her away, to keep her from whatever it was he didn’t want her to see.

      “You still didn’t answer the question.” Damara was proud of how steady her voice was, how she met his regard with unflinching resolve.

      “I’m warning you, Princess. Steer clear of this and me.” His eyes raked over her with an intensity СКАЧАТЬ