Page 54 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Where I’m alive.

“I want them to cry to me and beg for me to leave them alone. I want them to barely scrape by while they’re forced to watch me reach heights they can’t even dream of climbing up to. I want to leave them with nothing but the ashes of what they dared to take from me. I want to ruin their fucking lives.”

“You—”

“Marrying you so Jasmine can’t isn’t just about taking back something I perceive to be mine. It’s about taking away the thing she covets more than anything in this world. You. Your power. Your crown. The eventual seat of the most powerful woman in this country.” I beat back the bubbling anger that’s twisting and tightening in my chest. “I want her to stand there and watch as I become Crown Princess of Askurg. As I marry you. As I kiss you at the altar. As I bear your children.”

He lowers his chin slightly, his eyes darkening.

“She’s lived my life for twenty years. I want her to watch as I spend the next seventy years living the life she thought she’d have.” I dig my nails further into my palm, deepening the stinging sensation. “Being the crown princess is her entire personality. If I take you from her, I take everything from her. Just like she did to me.”

He watches me for a moment longer, then drops his gaze to my fist. I flinch and try to pull it back, but he’s faster. In a flash, he has a gentle hold of my wrist and turns my hand over.

“Don’t,” he says softly, brushing his fingertips over the knuckles of mine. Softly, he tucks one beneath my fingers and pries them back, one by one, exposing the ugly, red indents left in my palm courtesy of my nails. “Don’t hurt yourself like that.”

I swallow and tug my hand, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s not—it’s just a reflex.”

He strokes his thumb over my palm, then reaches for the ice bucket my wine bottle is chilling in. He grabs a big cube out of it and presses it against my skin. The cold makes me wince, but he doesn’t take his gaze away from it.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself,” he says, a husky edge to his tone. A protective glimmer of something I’ve never heard before. “They aren’t worth this.”

I cast my gaze over my hand and look away, focusing on a spot in the marble countertop that doesn’t quite blend together seamlessly.

“I need you to understand what you’re asking for,” he says, his tone a little softer as he moves away the ice cube. “Marrying me isn’t as simple as saying a set of vows and swanning off into the sunset. It’s a lifetime commitment not just to me, but to every person in Askurg. You’ll live under constant scrutiny for everything from your smile to your hair to your outfit. You’ll be criticised if you work and criticised if you don’t. You’ll be dragged over hot coals one day and praised to the heavens the very next.

“People will try to hurt you. Rumours will spread. Stories will be concocted. Every bit of your past will be dissected. People you don’t know and will never know will form opinions on you and recite them as fact. Nothing you do will ever be right. There will always, always be someone out to get you.

“You’re not just signing up for a marriage. You’re signing up for a job. You’ll be stepping in to a life of servitude that you’ll never be able to escape. Even if we were to one day get a divorce, you’ll never be able to return to the life you have now—one of anonymity, of freedom from public opinion. There is no escaping the Royal Family, even if it seems that way.”

“I know all of that,” I say quietly, still looking at the marble. “None of it matters. Nothing can ever hurt me as much as what I’ve already been through.”

“This is different.”

“It’s because it’s different that I know this.” I finally meet his eyes again. “Nothing anybody says or does to me in Askurg can touch what I went through. I know exactly what I’m signing up for.”

Crown Prince Finley pauses the stroking of his thumb against my palm and raises my hand. “It’s red.”

“That’s because you just held an ice cube against it and rubbed it for a few minutes,” I retort.

“That’s a good point.” He lifts my hand further until it’s laying against his cheek. His skin is warm, and the light stubble on his jaw is rough against my already tender palm. “It’s almost midnight. Am I too late to say yes to you?”

My stomach clenches. “You… after everything I just said to you, you’re willing to say yes?”

His lips quirk to one side. “You want protection. I want to protect you. It’s a win-win, no?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he murmurs, turning his face into my hand. He touches his lips to my aching palm in a featherlight kiss that’s more tender than any touch I’ve ever received. “You want to burn your family to the ground. Marry me, Hattie, and I’ll hand you the matches.”

I inhale deeply through my nose. I can’t move. Did he really just say that?

“Are you thinking clearly?” I whisper.

“No.” He looks back at me with a grin and, still holding onto my hand, walks around the end of the island counter until he’s standing right in front of me. “I’ve not thought clearly since we crossed paths in the park. So, what’s your answer?”

“My answer? To what?”

“Marry me,” he says in a low voice, sliding one arm around my waist to pull me against his firm body. “Be my wife. Be the crown princess. Let me hold your hand while you fuck up their lives in every possible way. If you must be your own sword, then let me be your shield.”