EIGHT
As the night progresses, I dance with gentlemen as they greet Sebastian and ask for the honor of dancing with the princess. I don’t mind, as it keeps Sebastian at bay, but my feet ache, and after keeping my thoughts and emotions hidden, I’m exhausted and ready for the night to end.
I lean against the table, taking the weight off my soles. People are just beginning to leave, and the crowd is thinning. I scan the hall and locate Sebastian propped against the wall, empty goblet in hand, talking to one of his knights.
Perfect.
I slink my way past the table, working to avoid Sebastian and Devlan, and make it to the archway before I hear my name called out. Hell. I turn, and Sebastian half-walks, half-stumbles toward me.
“You weren’t planning to return without a chaperone, were you?” he asks, somewhat slurred. “What kind of husband would I be to let you walk around without an escort?”
“Not a husband at all.” I cross my arms. “We’re not yet married.”
“Yes. But I am your man now.” He comes up close to me and extends his arm.
“As you wish, my lord.” I take his arm forcefully, causing him to lose balance for a moment and wobble. Hopefully he’s too intoxicated to notice if I slip away from him once we leave. “I simply want to retire for the evening.”
He bows his head to me. “As you wish, my love.”
“Please. Stop calling me that.” I tug on his arm, loosening his hold. “Between you and Sir Devlan, I’m going to forget my own name.”
As we exit the hall, I look around for Devlan, but he must have pursued the girl after all. I’m so curious over their situation that I don’t notice Sebastian’s hand roaming farther down my backside as we walk through the corridor. When it slips too low, I turn on him.
“Sebastian. Remember your manners.” An ache splinters the front of my head, and I rub my temple. “Why don’t you go back to the hall and find a young, willing maiden to bed? Your choices are endless.”
“Nay. I don’t want them.” His eyes are sultry and heavy-lidded. “They’re not you.”
The look he gives me is too convincing. I shake the unease away, reminding myself this engagement is a ploy, a setup for him to take the throne quicker. He merely drank too much and lust is polluting his senses.
I brush my hands along my gown, smoothing it and gaining my ground. “What happened to your patience?”
“It’s quickly waning the longer I watch your hands work over your body.”
My hands freeze, and I attempt to shrink into myself as his eyes roam over me.
He chuckles. “One thing my father didn’t consider when he chose this era,” he says, his eyes drinking me in, “was all the damn layers of clothing women have to wear.” He pushes himself up against me, and I bring my hands up against his chest as he backs me toward the wall. “It leaves too much to the imagination.” His hands cup my waist, his thumbs resting on my stomach, and I pull in a sharp breath. His eyes trail down my face to my chest. “But I must admit, I love what the corset does for your—”
I clamp my hand over his mouth. “Stop,” I say. “Or you’ll feel the palm of this hand against your face.”
He wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls it slightly away from his mouth. His eyes close, and he runs his lips over my palm, slowly kissing, his warm breath caressing my hand.
His lips move from my hand to my wrist. “Sebastian, stop,” I order, but too low and too flat, with no conviction in my plea. I’ve never been in a compromising position with another, and he’s the prince. My mind races, sifting through scattered thoughts on how to stop his advance.
His other hand grasps my neck, his fingers securing themselves just below the bottom of my braid, and he continues to work his mouth up my arm until he’s wrapped it behind his neck. Then he tilts my head to the side as he thrusts his body against mine, forcing my back flat against the wall. Nausea churns like fire in my stomach, and I push harder against his chest.
His lips find the hollow of my throat, and he kisses his way along my jawline, his tongue slight against my skin. Panic constricts my airway, and my head lightens as my breaths come too fast.
I close my eyes against the spinning, and pinpricks cover my skin at the feel of his sloppy lips roaming, getting closer to my mouth.
“I must have you,” he says. His low voice brings me back, awakening my senses.
“Stop,” I say, but he continues his pursuit. Bracing my back against the wall, I steady my body and mind. With more force, I demand, “Stop!”
He pulls his head back a fraction, just enough to search my eyes, and a sly smile slides across his face. “That’s not what you want.”
I clear my throat, driving conviction into my tone. “Move away. Now, Sebastian. Or you’ll feel the brunt of my knee. And your era wardrobe leaves little to the imagination.” I widen my eyes so he can see the sincerity in them clearly. “My aim will be true.”
Without warning, he grabs both my thighs and hoists me up, anchoring me between him and the wall. “Well, I’ll simply have to keep the lower half of your body occupied also.” Then his mouth is on mine, hard and demanding.