Free Ever Night by Gena Showalter Page A

off. “I’ll wed one of the princesses.”
    Vasili stopped breathing, afraid he’d misheard. “Are you sure?” Whether his brother’s claim was a token or not, Vasili didn’t care. He grasped onto the offer like a lifeline.
    His brother nodded. “I’m sure.”
    To save Vasili from losing Rose, or because Jasha desired one of the princesses for his own and was too shy to say so? Again, Vasili didn’t care. Sweet, sweet lifeline.
    â€œDo you find this acceptable, Greer?” he demanded.
    The old king thought for a moment, then nodded. “A union with royalty is a union.”
    â€œGood. It’s agreed. Jasha may choose one of your daughters and wed her, and you will leave my people and my lands alone. Forever.”
    â€œAgreed. But the wedding must be soon,” the old king insisted. “I was willing to give you, the king, time. The prince will not be afforded the same luxury.”
    Jasha gave a stiff nod. “I don’t care when it happens. A wedding is a wedding.”
    Vasili could have kissed him. “Enjoy the rest of the party, men, ladies. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Vasili grabbed Rose’s wrist and dragged her out of the ballroom for the second time that night.
    â€œDismiss the guard,” she ground out when they reached the hallway. “I want to talk to you. And by
talk,
I mean peel the skin from your bones and hear you scream.”
    â€œKinky, but no.” He wasn’t taking a chance that they would be interrupted again. “This area isn’t private enough.” He didn’t turn back to her, but coiled around several corners, pounded up a flight of stairs and down another hallway. Finally, he reached his wing of the palace.
    Servants were tending to the party, so each room was deserted. He bypassed the bathing room, his workout room, his entertainment room, and headed straight into his bedroom.
    Large bed. Four posters, velvet sheets. Silver, the color of her eyes. He’d had them made earlier that year. He stopped at the edge and turned to face her.
    Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pulled tight in a scowl. She was panting, shoulders lifting and lowering in quick succession, as if she wanted to punch him but was restraining herself. Just barely.
    â€œYou needed
time
?” Although they were alone, she still spoke in his language.
    She wanted to hash that out now?
Fine.
He would multitask. “Yes,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I called you a slave and a mute, too, so feel free to slap me around while you shout.”
    â€œYou threaten me and call me names, and that’s always been foreplay. But the fact that you needed to think about whether or not to kill me so you could marry one of your princesses is insulting!”
    Insulting? Try ingenious.
His shirt fell from his shoulders, leaving his torso bare—except for the blades he had stashed on his arms, both of his tattoos covered. “I would never kill you, Rose. Ever.”
    â€œRose.” She laughed without humor. “There you go again, calling me by my name. You bastard!”
    A bastard? For
that?
“I’m lost,” he admitted, kicking off his boots before unfastening his pants, pushing them to the floor, and stepping out of them. There were blades strapped to his thighs and ankles, too.
    â€œWhat happened to ‘darling’?” she lashed out, careful not to look at the hard cock peeking from the waist of his underwear.
    He blinked. She was angry that he hadn’t called her
darling?
A meaningless endearment he used for everyone?
    â€œWere you going to pick the redhead?” Her voice rose. “You called
her
‘darling’ fast enough. Never mind. Don’t tell me. Just tell me how you were going to manage a new marriage if you weren’t going to off me. I seem to recall you telling me death was the only way out of the first one.”
    â€œAnd that’s still true, baby,