He took two steps toward me with fire in his eyes. “I knew Katie would run straight to you.”
I sat up straight, placing my elbows on my desk. “Let me make something very clear. That’s the last time you say her fucking name. Understood?” My teeth clenched. What I really wanted to say was what the fuck did you do to her you cocksucking cuntbag, but that would have been unprofessional.
Keaton darted forward, slamming his palms on the hard wood that separated us. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, who you’re messing with.”
If he expected me to flinch, he was probably disappointed. Did Katie seriously fuck this guy? If his stamina was as short as his temper, it was no wonder she was dripping wet every time I touched her.
My dad pleaded ignorance to the forces against him. That ignorance only made them stronger. He was kind and caring, and he loved his people. He just sucked at leading them. Which was why the first call I made was to Antonio, instructing him to get Keaton Valetta the fuck out of my castle. The second one was to schedule a session with Parliament because I refused to sit on the throne without first showing them exactly where I stood.
His lip curled as he stared down at me. “You really think your army of hundreds will stand against thousands?”
I could give two shits about the size of his army. If bigger meant better, then the lion would bow to the elephant.
Another call from Mom. Jesus, she was relentless. I hit ignore again, hoping she got the hint, then turned my attention back to Keaton. “Your scare tactics may have worked on my father, but unfortunately for you, he’s… What was the word you used?” I set the pen on my desk then brought my fingers to my lips and pretended to think. God, that smell. One hundred percent Katie. Musky with the right amount of sweet. I could get high on that scent. I looked back at Keaton. “Oh, right… unavailable.”
He straightened his posture. His eyes narrowed in on mine. “This is a war you won’t be able to win. Not even with Katie by your side.” He smirked and turned toward the door. “Did she tell you she’s leaving?”
She mentioned it right before I devoured her pussy in the Great Hall, but I thought it was a defense mechanism, empty words meant to deter me.
Keaton huffed a laugh, and his eyes glinted with false victory. “Oh my God, she didn’t, did she?” Fuck. You. “The day Katie turns twenty-five, Torryn and everyone in it, including you, will be a distant memory.”
Twice. He said her name twice. I thought my warning was pretty clear. I was out of my chair and on him in a second, shoving him against the door with my arm wedged between his chest and throat. He grabbed at my bicep, only making me press harder, cutting off his air supply until his face turned red. “You see, that’s the difference between me and you. You need to go to war with Katie. I would go to war for her.” More buzzing in the background as I got yet another phone call—probably from Mom. I dropped my arm and took a step back. Keaton’s chest heaved as he fought for air. “And I told you not to say her fucking name.”
If I had to fight the world to keep my crown, I would fight the fucking world. If I had to fight fate to keep my queen, I would bring that bitch to her knees. After all, there could be no conquest without a war.
I opened the door for him, because I’m a fucking gentleman like that, then went to answer my cell phone before my mother decided to call for a fourth time.
The worst part of uncertainty was the wait. Waiting for answers. Hoping for peace. After Sutton left, I got dressed then spent the rest of the afternoon wondering. Waiting. Hoping. Trying not to let the fear of the unknown strangle me. Keaton said he had an army. Only God knew what Sutton had. Keaton had a plan. Sutton had… a lifetime of preparation for this very moment. I stopped myself from walking out the door and to his office at least a dozen times. I wanted to calm the storm that raged inside of him, but I was a little sheep, and he was a lion. Lions didn’t need any help from sheep.
I sat on the sofa and stared across the room to the chair where Sutton sat just a few hours ago. His scent still lingered in the air, and my lips were still tender from his kiss. The space felt empty without him in it. I pulled my knees to my chest and replayed the last four months in slow motion. How could I have been so stupid? I trusted Keaton. My arms squeezed tightly around my legs. He told me he wanted to protect me, and I believed him. I believed him and doubted Sutton. I thought I was being strong by putting up walls and keeping Keaton at arm’s length, by not wanting to know more about him. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Less was more. All the BS that came with guarding my heart. It turned out that my strength was my weakness. My stomach roiled at the realization that I had no one to blame for this mess but myself. The hardest thing about betrayal was falling for the lie.
I stayed like that, lost in my thoughts, for hours. Before I knew it, time had escaped me. The sky outside my windows grew dark, and my mind and body were tired, so I climbed the stairs and went to bed. I crawled under the covers with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach then I said a prayer for Sutton Thorne.
I woke in the middle of the night to find Sutton standing at the foot of the bed not saying a word. How long had he been there? Staring. Watching. Waiting. The moonlight crept in through my window, illuminating his tall, powerful silhouette. Even the darkness bowed to him. He was fully clothed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, but somehow sexier than any man I’d ever seen. He had one hand in his pocket and a thumb on his bottom lip. He was gorgeous, heartbreakingly so.
Half man.
Half god.
All king.
Completely wrecked.
I was transfixed on him.
When I was younger, our class took a field trip to the art museum. The one painting that stuck out in my mind was of a man. His eyes were black, his mouth gaping open, and his body was engulfed in fire. The curator told us that the artist used his own blood to paint the flames. I would never forget feeling the pain and anguish of the man in that painting and wondering what kind of grief the artist must have endured.
Watching Sutton stand at the foot of my bed with red-rimmed eyes and tousled hair, I felt that pain all over again. He was utterly broken, consumed by flames of anguish and defeat. Sutton was the burning man.
A single tear rolled down my cheek, and my heart bled for the man standing before me. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew. Sutton had lost his father. My prince was now a king.
The silence was too loud. My rapid breath sounded like rolling thunder. I waited in the dark, wondering, anticipating. The sound of metal against metal unzipping as he worked out of his jeans sent awareness prickling over my skin. He pulled his white T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. My breath hitched at the sight of a completely naked Sutton Thorne, of his toned chest and stomach tight with bands of muscle. His thick, muscled thighs and that barely-there line of hair that led to his silky-steel cock. I wanted to run my fingers along that path of hair, then my tongue. I’d never wanted to taste anything so badly in my life.
I lifted the comforter and moved it to the side, inviting him to climb in. He crawled on top of me, bracing himself with one hand beside my head and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with the other. His eyes grew dark like the storm-blue color of his bedroom. He leaned in, letting his mouth hover above mine as the weight of his body pressed me into the mattress.