Page 71 of Wicked Queen

“I obviously can’t control you,” I ground out. That was the problem.

“That’s where you aren’t like him.” Her head fell back and she stared into the ceiling like she was watching her memories. “He never realized that. He hated that.”

“You were sixteen then. He could control you and—”

“He was our father. Blah. Blah. That’s a tired excuse. You’re the King now, Alexander, or so everyone insists on telling me. I have to admit your wife seems to be the one in charge.” She dropped her gaze, peering at me with a poisoned smile. “Is that why you have to tie her up? So you’re in control of someone?”

She dangled the insults overhead waiting for me to snap at them, but I didn’t. “I’m not playing a child’s game. These are lives you’re messing with, and it ends now.”

“It ends when I say it ends.” She slammed her fist on the table, sending her tea cup toppling from its saucer.

“You said it yourself: I am King now, Sarah. If you won’t respect it, I will enforce it until you do.”

All hope I’d had that my sister would return to us and bring our family closer was gone. I held no illusions anymore. She shattered them and scattered the pieces behind her. I wouldn’t allow her to break anything else.

“There are real issues facing this family. I can’t put up with your tantrums.”

“What issues?” she cried. “I don’t warrant knowing, do I? You keep saying family like I’m a part of it, but you don’t want me here.”

“You don’t have the privilege of knowing. You want respect? Trust? Earn them and stop acting like a spoiled brat.”

“Admit it,” she said. “When I woke up…”

“I wished you hadn’t,” I roared, “and now I wish we’d let you go ten years ago.”

“Alexander,” Norris said sharply from behind me, but my words had struck their target.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Sarah screamed, sobs wracking her body.

I searched for guilt, but all I felt was the cold edge of anger driven by purpose. If Sarah wouldn’t grow up, I would force her to—there was no other option.

Turning, I strode from the room, pausing to issue one final command. “Take her phone.”

I hadn’t turned away from my darkness. I’d turned it to fuel, but now it overwhelmed me. Instead of continuing to my office, I sought my wife. Standing by the side of our bed, I studied my wife as she slept, her lips parted and her body curled on its side.

What toll was this taking on her? I saw the stress and frustration I felt reflected in her. There was only one way for both of us to escape.

Moving into the bed next to her, I ran a finger down her spine. Then I pressed my lips to her neck, stealing her from her dreams.

“X?” she murmured.

“I need you, Poppet.” It was hard to control how much. It tore at me, clawing to be released.

Her hand found the one skimming over her breast and she clutched it to her chest. “I need you, too.” She paused and I felt it aching in her touch. “But are you still angry?”

“Yes.” I wouldn’t lie. It would undermine the life we were building.

“Don’t ask me,” she begged.

I understood. It was my limit. I’d set it, but now I was forcing her to be the one to respect it. She wouldn’t be able to if I asked. She would submit without fear.

But I couldn’t take that risk.

I relinquished her hand and slipped from the bed, determined to let go of the fury controlling me.

“Find your way back to me,” she called after me.

I told her I would try.