“Maybe you’re underestimating me.” I’m smaller than he is, but all my life I’ve trained against larger warriors precisely for this reason.
Hone your weaknesses, Mother always told me. And use them to your advantage.
Right now, I have the element of surprise—judging by his smirk—speed, and the fact that if he hurts me, he’ll have to explain himself to the alliance.
In return, he has weight, size, unknown skills, and power beyond imagining. The only way to beat him is to play dirty, and Mother’s court has been an excellent training ground.
I let my dagger go, and Thiago’s shoulders soften.
“Good choice,” he says.
In return, I kick his feet out from under him. I’ve got one foot in the stirrup when he calls out, “Eliara, fly!”
And the mare takes off as if she’s been stung by a whip.
With one foot off the ground, I don’t stand a chance. I land on my backside in the snow as the mare kicks up her heels and vanishes. Mother of Night. Rolling to my hands and knees, I stare after her in disgust. Treacherous beast.
The prince stands, dusting off his hands and flashing a smile at me. “What is it your mother always says? Revenge is the sweetest spice to any dish?”
He’s not angry, but that doesn’t make me any less wary. I clamber upright, sinking in the soft snow. “She also says never trust an Evernight.”
The prince laughs.
“And never make alliances with the Unseelie.”
His laughter dies. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you’re up to no good.”
“Oh, Princess. I’m always up to no good.”
“Enough to know you see me as some sort of means to get your wife back,” I shoot at him.
It’s like an arrow, straight to the heart. “Hmm.” He’s clearly trying to remember precisely what he said.
“I’ll save you the trouble. You need to woo a haughty, arrogant princess, which I presume is me, in order to somehow see your wife again.” Once more, my hand drops to the dagger. “And I promise you now, you’re the last male in the entire alliance that I’d ever allow to put his hands upon me.”
“But that’s a lie, Princess.”
Oh, how I hate that smug purr.
“Or have you forgotten our agreement?” He takes a step closer. “Though technically, I suppose we can say it shall be your lips upon mine.”
“Not if you’re dead.”
His gaze drops to the dagger, and another slow, heated smile flashes my way. “Cold iron, I presume? Straight through the heart.” Opening his arms wide, he entices me. “Have at.”
There’s no point drawing the dagger. I’m not going to kill him, nor am I going to fight him. I have no horse, I’m in the middle of an unknown landscape, and I cannot bear to deal with his smirk if he takes the blade away from me.
Which he will. I know it.
So, I do the sensible thing and bolt for his horse.
“Vi!” he yells, and then he’s cursing under his breath as I sprint through the snowy forest. “I swear to the Old Ones, I’m going to thrash you!”
He’d have to catch me first, and if there’s one thing I am, it’s fast.
And inspired.
Gnarled old trees whip past me. I’m making headway when I swear one of them reaches out with a branch and trips me. Staggering forward, I gain my feet just in time to hear his harsh panting behind me.
A blur comes toward me out of the corner of my eye, and then his heavy weight slams into me.
We hit the ground, snow flying up around us as I kick and scramble. Gods, he’s strong. It’s like wrestling a bear. I may have overestimated my ability to defeat him.
“Hold still!”
I spin, wrapping my thighs around his hips and sending us rolling. A stick jabs my shoulder, but it’s the heavy weight of his body as he flips us that drives the breath from my lungs. I land flat on my back, and there’s no escaping him. Curse it. Every furious wriggle only succeeds in ensconcing him even more firmly between my legs.
The Prince of Evernight is between my thighs, and this is not how I planned this at all. I go still, giving in to the inevitable. For now.
Thiago breathes hard, pinning my wrists to the ground. “Well, that was fun—if predictable. Now what?”
Balls, or throat?
He sees my eyes narrow, correctly guesses which one I’ll choose, and takes my knee to his thigh, instead.
A grinning leer paints his face and he leans closer until our noses almost touch. “Pre-dic-table.”
I want to kill him.
Slowly.
“Enjoy the moment, Your Highness. Because this is as close as you’re ever going to get to winning me into your bed.”
“Would you care to make a wager on that?” He gathers both my wrists in one hand and then rests his weight on his other elbow.
I squirm. Nothing. “What do you have in mind?”
“Within the three months, I’ll have you in my bed, Princess.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “And you’ll enjoy it.”
A furious quiver runs through me. Mostly at myself and how much a part of me enjoys that simple touch. I bite his thumb, and he laughs.
“I’ll take you up on that bet.” It’s a terrible idea, but I simply can’t help myself. Me? In the prince’s bed? No surer bet has ever been won, even if I’m subjecting myself to his relentless chase. “Because my mother will bow at your feet before I’ll ever end up beneath your sheets.”
“Tell her to practice her curtsy. I want to see her grovel.”
Oh, you arrogant ass. “And if I win, then you will relinquish the disputed territories between our lands to my mother.”
The prince stiffens.
It’s the perfect opportunity to show my mother I can be valuable. Make whatever deals you have to, she’d said. Imagine the look on her face if I return with the deeds to the borderlands.
An unreadable expression crosses his face. “It’s a deal.”
He’s that confident? I gape.
“Now what?” he asks.
I swear, that smile is going to be the end of me. “What do you mean?”
“How do you escape your thrashing now?”
He’d best be joking. “If you even think about it, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“I quiver with terror.” He leans his entire weight upon me, as if to prove there’s no means of escaping him. Every rock-hard inch of him presses me deep into the snow.
I barely feel the chill. Perhaps he’s got good reason to be confident, because there’s a battering ram of indefinite proportion pressed firmly against my thigh. It stops just short of where I want it, and I can’t help freezing beneath him. One inch. Just one little twist of my hips, and this would be an entirely indecent embrace.
The son of a bitch is enjoying this.
Worse. There’s a small part of me that wants him to make that move.
“Get off me!”
“Ask me nicely, and I might just let you go,” he teases, his breath caressing my jaw.
I can see he’s not going to let me go. Not without making me beg.
And pride is my weakness. It always has been.
But what is his weakness?