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My hands don’t tremble as we drive through the streets of Stirling. My pulse hammers, but my body behaves. Anger settles into my pores, making me feel bigger and taller and stronger than I’ve felt before.
When we stop in front of a tall office building, a security car in front and another behind, I see heads turn. Royal security agents stream out of the two cars, standing next to my vehicle and the front door of the building as my driver rushes to open my door.
I hear a gasp when I exit the car, as passersby point their phones at me to record my entrance to the building. I turn to look, lifting an arm to wave. I don’t smile, but that’s nothing new. No one expects me to smile. Ice Queens don’t smile for photos.
Agents surround me as we walk into the building. The lobby is vast, with marble tiles on the floor climbing up the walls. Very fancy, Gerhard. Prick.
We ignore the reception desk, where a woman stands with her head bowed. My security team leads me to the elevators, where one agent is already waiting with the elevator door open.
My head is held high. My steps ring out in the vast space. I keep my face steady and hide my rage under layers of ice.
For the second time in two weeks, after twenty years of absence, I’m going to see Asher Gerhard. This time, though, I can guarantee it won’t end the way it did the first time. No one will be kissed. No one will touch my body. No one will make me feel like anything other than the reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Nord.
I’m not the little girl Asher used to know anymore. I won’t be used and tossed aside. I won’t be disrespected like this.
If he wants to do business in Nord, Asher Gerhard better get on his knees and beg.
8
Asher
Penelope walks into my office with fire in her eyes. Her anger is palpable. It rushes toward me as soon as I look up from my desk, hitting me in the chest like a poison-tipped spear. The air feels thick around her, as if every molecule in the room vibrates according to her will. Her security agents stream into the room as she strides forward, then filter out when she waves her hand.
She moves to the tall windows lining the interior wall of my office, flicking a switch that closes the automatic blinds. We’re alone, which sends excitement tripping down my spine. I bury it down, knowing Penelope isn’t here for a repeat of what happened at Prince Gabriel’s wedding. I can hardly believe she’s here at all.
Clearing my throat, I stand. “Penelope.”
“Sit. Down.” Blazing eyes stare at me, and a dagger of heat pierces my stomach. I like the way she looks at me. Like she wants to tear me limb from limb and send me back to Farcliff in pieces.
Why does that make my blood rush between my legs? There’s something seriously wrong with me.
The Queen takes a step forward, letting her eyes drop down my body and back up again. Her full, pink lips are pressed together, but I can’t forget how it felt to kiss them.
Shame is sour at the back of my throat. I know why she’s mad. I know why she’s here. Does she know about Donovan? Does she know I figured it out from what she said about him?
I knew it was a betrayal. She has a right to be mad—but damn, she looks good. Wearing a navy pantsuit and a gauzy, pearl-colored blouse, the Queen stands with her feet together and her hands clasped in front of her, a crumpled newspaper dangling between her fingers. Her chin is high, and I see two glittering stones winking from either earlobe.
She’s powerful in her femininity. Completely in charge. Completely, utterly furious.
Lowering myself onto my chair, I bow my head. “I wasn’t expecting you,” I say, lifting my eyes as my head stays bowed. I watch her throat clench as she swallows, her eyes flicking from me, to my desk, to my father’s company logo on the wall. A decal sticker has already been applied after moving into these offices a few days ago.
The newspaper skips across my desk when she tosses it. I catch it with my hand, flattening the crumpled page, and glance down at my own face.
“If you think you’re going to set up shop in Nord, you can think again, Mr. Gerhard.” The Queen’s voice is so cold, my heart slows down. Frost clings to every surface as I crawl my gaze up to meet hers. The only thing not completely still is my raging heart.
“Pen—”
“Call me anything but Your Majesty again, and I’ll have you deported within the hour.”
My lip twitches, but I will myself not to smirk. Why am I enjoying this? Am I so sick in the head that I like feeling the emotion pulse through her? Do I enjoy her anger?
…or do I deserve this kind of rage, and I’m enjoying the punishment I think is owed to me?
Sighing, I pull open a drawer and take out a bottle of amber alcohol. Whiskey—my weakness. Well, that and powerful, angry women. I need a drink to take off the edge and give myself time to let my body cool down. How can I explain this deal with Donovan? How can I tell her that I wasn’t using her when we had sex, I just figured it out based on the hint she dropped? It was…an accident.
Heat curls in lazy circles down my stomach, resting somewhere between my legs. My cock throbs at her nearness, remembering how it felt to have the Queen of Nord bent over in front of me with her skirt bunched around her waist.
“Drink?” I ask, taking out two crystal tumblers.
