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Swallowing, she summoned her words. “Is this a common practice of yours, then?” she asked, voice quieter than she intended. “Dressing the women who fall into your bed after you have finished shaming them?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly, she looked back at him despite herself. Lucan’s expression did not change; a deep, haunting shadow clouded those eyes that’d looked at her with such feigned kindness the night before.
“I expected a more elaborate lie.”
Lucan pulled her arm down then loosened the cuff at her other wrist. Freed, her arm lifted on its own accord. It slid through the golden chains and soft silks until the dress hung askew from her neck.
“Not everything is about you, Elarian.” He spoke with a deep weariness as if he had often repeated the same line to himself.
Gentle hands grabbed at her waist and flipped Elarian around. She studied him as he fastened the golden chains that rested along the neckline of the gown. The prince of vampires—the monster who had dragged her from the ballroom and chained her to his wall—stood before her with a concentration so intense, one would think he was handling something precious rather than preparing a weapon for display.
That unsettled her more than cruelty would have.
Cruelty was simple—had rules, expectations, and assurances. If someone was cruel, they were always cruel.
Kindness was something Elarian had never truly known.
This is the game we are playing, Ela. He is a godsdamned prince of this monstrous land.
“You are strangely quiet,” she said.
“I am dressing you.”
“A task that apparently requires great focus. You had no problem undressing me in the chapel,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened.
“There are few things in this world I find more difficult than pretending you do not make me reckless.” The words left him so quietly, she wondered if he had intended for her to hear them at all.
Elarian froze, staring at the side of his face as her thoughts tumbled. Lucan had already moved on, reaching for the thin, golden ribbons at her waist as if he had said nothing of consequence.
But she had found it.
By pure, unadulterated luck, she had found the crack she sought for nearly a century.
For so long, she searched for a weakness in his defenses. Tried—and failed—to use vampires close to him for leverage. Prodded at his arrogance, his vanity, his monstrous nature. Each failure drove her to pry deeper until her only hope was infiltrating Lucan’s court.
But she had never expected that beneath it all, it was her very presence that would destroy him.
She only had to wait long enough for his recklessness to open the door.
“What am I to you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
His hands stilled. The silence stretched on, and for one terrible moment, she thought he might answer.
Instead, his fingers resumed their work. He stepped behind her to secure the final clasp at the back of the gown. Elarian remained perfectly still, heart hammering in her chest as every instinct screamed at her to turn around. No other choice remained, yet that did not dampen the hatred she felt. Trusting a godsdamned shivaem not to hurt her in that moment felt almost as blasphemous as parting her thighs for him. Elarian tried to stew in her fury, but some small, traitorous part of her noticed he was being careful.
Lucan’s fingers brushed the short strands of her hair caught in the golden chain at her neck.
“Hold still.” The command was softer this time.
Before she could respond, his hand lifted the strands free. One by one, he untangled them from the delicate chain, his touch careful enough that it felt almost impossible coming from the same creature who had laughed while she bled.
Elarian swallowed.
This was wrong.
