Does Belladonna even know what she might cost her cousin?
Or does she simply not care?
A sharp rap comes at the door.
I jerk my hands from my gown just as Keir abruptly enters, shutting the door behind him.
“Come in,” I call, eyeing him challengingly. “It’s not as though I’m naked.”
“I knocked.”
“It’s usually polite to wait for an answer.”
At that, his gaze slides down me somewhat possessively. The last I saw of him, he was draped in naiads. It’s the role he’s meant to play—to draw attention and leave me in the shadows—but I’m irritable enough with the entire situation that it only sharpens my fury.
Maybe he sees it on my face, for his eyebrow arches as he slips his cloak off and tosses it over a chair. “I tried to find you at the party, but you didn’t come back from the maze.”
“You didn’t notice,” I correct sharply. “You had a blonde on each knee.”
His eyelids lower lazily, thick lashes concealing his thoughts. “I would have noticed if you’d returned. Blondes or no blondes. What happened? Belladonna was practically smirking at me.”
“A few playful threats. Some name-calling. An attempt to drown me in a pond full of blood lilies. You know how these princesses are.”
He takes a sharp step toward me before he pauses, clenching one fist. “You’re all right? I hated watching you enter that maze with her.”
“She knew I was in Anissa’s rooms last night. She’s been questioning Ismena about her sister’s death and seems to think I can glamor myself invisible.”
“How did you get away?”
“I didn’t. She cursed me,” I grind out. “She wants me to kill the Lord of Mistmark, or she’ll unravel the curse and let it eat my heart.”
Keir strides toward me, fury etching hard lines in his face. “She did what?”
I repeat myself, but if anything, he only grows angrier.
“Show me.”
This time it’s my turn to arch a brow. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”
Keir rests both hands on the vanity on either side of my hips, and for the first time I realize I must have backed against it. “Show me.”
The words are soft with menace, and yet they still somehow steal my breath. Because his anger isn’t directed at me.
And maybe I do need his assistance, though the asking of it is impossible.
“I need help.”
I turn and lift my hair out of the way. The catch of my dress is at the back, and it’s complicated enough that I don’t bother with it myself.
There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Keir’s fingertips brush another lock of my hair out of the way. He works at the clasp of the collar, and the silence is suddenly warm and intimate. It feels as though the room is closing in on us.
He’s barely touching me.
Just the dress.
But I can feel his breath stirring over the back of my neck, and my nipples go hard. Heat emanates from his body. I can feel the wall of it against my back.
I want it.
I want to drown myself in that heat. I want to lick it from his skin and taste it on his mouth. I want it inside me. I would kill to get those hands on my skin.
A soft gasp escapes me.
His hands still.
He knows.
It’s like all my shame pools within my abdomen, leaving me slick and molten.
“I shouldn’t have let you enter the maze with her.” His fingers fumble with my gown.
“You’re not ‘letting’ me do anything,” I point out. “This is what I do, Keir. This is how I’m going to find your horn for you.”
I catch a glimpse of his jaw as I turn. The look on his face says, “fuck the horn.” But I can’t be reading that right, because the only reason we’re here is to get our hands on it.
Goddess, he’s getting to me even now, because I want him to care more about me than the horn, and now I’m conjuring it in every interaction.
Taking a piece of fabric in each hand, I part the gown until I’m barely shielding my breasts. The curse is written large against my skin. It looks almost black now. A tangled knot twined around my heart.
Keir doesn’t look down. Instead, he peers straight into my eyes, almost as if he can see right through me.
“The curse,” I growl.
I can’t read the expression on his face as he glances down. He splays featherlight fingertips against my skin, as if he’s trying to untangle the knot of it. Heat shivers through me. It’s a honey-slide of sensation, and it warms me from within.
His magic is a dangerous drug.
Then his gaze shutters. “I can’t undo it. She’s set it to activate the second anyone tries.”
Instantly, the heat is gone. A sick feeling pervades me. “I didn’t expect you to.” Cauldron’s piss. I am bound to the princess’s will.
Killing Mistmark is no answer—even if I had the instincts for it, which I never did. If I harm a single hair on his head, I’m dealing with Malechus—the Prince of Knives himself—who is infinitely more dangerous than both Belladonna and Mistmark combined.
How do I get myself into these messes?
“Well,” I manage to drawl as I retie the dress behind my neck. “At least you’re going to be free of your betrothal if this all goes wrong.”
It’s the wrong thing to say.
Keir is a dragon. A protective dragon. I’m still thinking of him as a fae prince, callous and toying with the whims of others, but I know the deaths of Narcissa and Lady Altrea affected him. They were under his demesne when they were murdered. And now he thinks I’m part of his party.
Snapping his fingers causes his cloak to fly across the room and alight on his shoulders. “Let me deal with the so-called Princess of the Blood.”
Alarm floods through me. I Sift into shadows and reappear in front of the door just as he reaches for the handle. Our bodies collide, but I
