Page 55 of The Royal Art of Revenge

My heart is thundering in my chest. His words are like the balm to a wound I didn’t know was open. The absolute, unequivocal support radiating from him is so foreign to me, and it’s terrifying.

“I don’t know what they’ve done to you. I don’t know what you’ve been through since you were young, and I won’t pretend to. I won’t ever make you tell me if you don’t want to.” He releases my sore hand and cradles my cheek, tilting my head back until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “But whatever it is, you’ll never have to go through anything like it again. I promise nobody will ever touch you and hurt you. I will put you on a pedestal so high that the only thing anyone will be able to do to you is worship at your feet.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” A light chuckle leaves him. “But you are, too.”

“Well. A little.” I swallow, and my tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips. “I don’t know why you’re waiting for an answer from me. I’m the one who proposed to you, remember?”

“Ah.” He smiles. “And here I was, trying to be gentlemanly.”

“Oh, please.” I push against his chest, but he only holds me tighter. “Wait. Is this… okay? Don’t you need permission to get engaged?”

“Royal Assent has already been drafted.” His smile lingers in his eyes. “It’s ready to go. It’ll be published the night of my birthday banquet.” He leans in, drawing his lips close to my ear. “Where I, the Crown Prince, will be presented… with my new fiancée. Harriet Sinclair. In front of every single person present. On live television.”

I pull back and blink at him.

“Announcing you in the most chaotic, dramatic way possible,” he says. “No birth certificate waving needed, though. Sorry to ruin that for you.”

I can’t help it.

I laugh.

“Are you serious?” I ask. “Do you know how badly that’s going to do down with my family?”

“Hence why I’m doing it. You want to ruin their lives—why not get started with a little public humiliation?”

I flatten my hands against his chest. “Oh. You’re evil.”

He cocks his head to the side with a grin. “Should I revise the plan?”

“No, no. Not on my account. It’s perfect.” I slide one hand up to his collar and brush my thumb over it. “Tell me more.”

“Later. There’s something else I need to do first.”

“Which is?”

“Kiss you.”

I inhale sharply.

“Oh, is the notion of a kiss that shocking? Wasn’t it only moments ago that you declared your intention to bear my children?”

“No. I just… wasn’t expecting it.” I lower my head, but he catches my chin in his hand and tilts it back up.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he says with a soft smile. “I won’t do anything you’re not happy with.”

He means it, too.

I can feel it.

There’s an honest steadiness to him, and for the first time since I was seven years old, I feel something.

Safe.

I feel safe.

And I don’t quite know how to handle this feeling, so I tuck it away, burying it somewhere to deal with later.