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“Jazz?”
I stiffen, shifting away from the Prince. That voice… Turning my head, I see the cruel smirk that tortured my teenage heart. A cold hand grips my throat, and all the heat in my veins vanishes.
“Liam,” I croak. “What are you doing here?”
He runs a fine, soft hand through his thick hair. “Now, now, Jazzy, where are your manners? It’s Lord Birchal to you.”
14
Silas
What in the…?
“Liam?” I frown, standing. Jazz does the same, shuffling her body so she’s partially behind me. Shielded by me, I realize. My gaze flicks from her to the man before us, and unease clenches at my gut. I take a step to the side as I reach out to shake Liam’s hand—mostly to put myself in between the two of them.
The tension pouring off Jazz tastes acrid on my tongue. I can feel her stress. The ice that jets through her veins. It’s like we have a connection that requires no words at all. She doesn’t like Birchal, and I want to know why. My muscles lock up as tension winds its way through my body.
“I was wondering where you two disappeared to,” Liam says, looking bored. He glances at his fingernails for a moment, then flicks his gaze between Jazz and me. There’s something predatory about the way his eyes sharpen on us.
“Just enjoying the warmer weather before we head back up to Nord,” I reply, my voice a bit frostier than I expected. My muscles are tense, coiled. Senses heightened, as if my brain is blaring, Threat ahead!
Liam stares behind me at Jacinthe, and I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from putting my arm around her shoulders. There’s something between these two. History. A past I don’t understand.
Jazz takes a step forward and straightens herself up. She slides my jacket off her shoulders and hands it back to me with a polite smile. “Thank you very much, Your Highness. I should be getting back.”
She’s leaving?
I want to scream. Or maybe throw Liam Birchal in the lake and watch him sink to the bottom. Or both.
She wanted to kiss me. She was going to kiss me. After all these days of torture, I was finally going to get to taste those lips, until this asshole barreled in here and ruined it.
I don’t miss the lecherous look on his face as Jazz steps around him, her gown no longer hidden by my jacket. His eyes drop down to her chest, and I want to claw them out. He stares at the hip-high slit in the red fabric, and I swear I see his pants twitch.
I’ll cut his fucking dick off if he tries to touch her.
It scares me, the violence inside me. I’ve never been like this. Never felt just on the edge of control, as if the faintest breath of wind will throw me off the edge.
“I’ll accompany you back to the gala,” I say, taking a step in Jazz’s direction.
She shakes her head. “No need. Thank you.” There’s a finality in her words. The moment we had is over. She’s not going to kiss me tonight—maybe not ever.
Both Liam and I watch Jazz leave, then he turns to me with arched brows. “Was I interrupting?” He grins, patting me on the shoulder as if we’re sharing some inside joke. As if Jazz is a piece of ass, and it could have been him sitting out here with her instead of me.
The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I swallow down bile. I shake my head. “Just came out for some fresh air.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Silas, and you’ve never been one to enjoy fresh air. Now the company of a beautiful woman, on the other hand…”
“How do you know her?” The edge in my voice is razor-sharp.
There’s a glimmer in Liam’s eye I don’t like. His thin lips curl into a smirk, and he shrugs one shoulder. “Her father was our gardener,” he says. “We grew up together.”
There’s something he’s not telling me. I’ve known Liam for many years, and we’ve had more than one night of debauchery together. He drinks and parties as much as I do—well, did—and has been with at least as many women as I have.
Growing up together doesn’t sound as innocent as it should when it comes from Liam Birchal’s mouth.
The thought of him with Jazz… I think I’m going to be sick, and that in itself worries me. Liam’s slept with plenty of women that I’ve been with. There are only so many models and socialites in Nord. Stirling is basically an overgrown small town, and the circles we travel in are even smaller. Some overlap is inevitable.
But Jazz…
