F0ck Me Or Kill me, Your Secret Is Safe With Me

3

Elara's pov

The library felt like it was shrinking, the shadows stretching and curling around us as the air grew heavy with the scent of old paper and the terrifying, magnetic heat of Julian’s body. He still had me pinned, his hands like iron brands against the wood of the bookshelf on either side of my head, his eyes burning with a dark, twisted fury that made my skin feel like it was being scorched.

The heavy oak doors groaned on their hinges, spilling a wide, intrusive ribbon of golden light across the dark floorboards.

"Elara? Honestly, darling, if you’re hiding from that greasy Captain Vane, you could have at least picked a room with better ventilation."

Aunt Kimberly stepped fully into the room, her silver silk gown shimmering like a serpent’s scales. I let out a jagged breath, my heart hammering against my ribs as I tried to summon the "Golden Daughter" mask. Kimberly—or Aunt Kiki, as I’d called her since I was old enough to know she was the only one who didn't care about my father's rules—was currently eyeing the suspiciously small gap between me and my guard.

Julian finally stepped back, but he didn't do it quickly. He did it with a slow, predatory drag of his gaze over my face that made my toes curl in my shoes. He didn't bow to her; he just stood there, looking like he owned the shadows.

"My Lady," Julian said, his voice a low, raspy vibration that carried zero respect.

"He was just reminding me of my 'duties,' Aunt Kiki," I said, my voice sharp as I smoothed my dress. "Apparently, he thinks he has a say in who I choose to spend my time with."

Julian leaned back against the mahogany shelf, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I merely suggested that a Princess shouldn't look so desperate for attention in a room full of vultures. But then again, maybe the Lady Elara enjoys being prey."

"I enjoy being respected, something a fallen little Prince like you wouldn't understand," I snapped, stepping toward him, my head tilted back to meet his amber eyes.

"Respect is earned, Elara," he countered, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "And so far, you’ve only earned my headache."

"Julian, you’re dismissed," Kiki interrupted, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Go haunt a different hallway. Elara and I have things to discuss that don't involve your brooding presence."

Julian gave me one last, lingering look—a look that felt like a physical touch—and vanished into the darkness of the hallway. Kiki waited until the sound of his boots faded before she leaned in, her voice dropping. "He’s a prickly one, isn't he? But be careful, darling. Your father is in a mood. They found a survivor near the border, and if that man speaks a name the Republic wants buried, things are going to get very bloody, very fast."

~~~The Next Morning

The sun had barely begun to claw its way over the horizon, but the heat in the training courtyard was already stifling. The air was thick with the smell of dust and the metallic tang of old blood on the stone. I had traded my gold silk for leather breeches and a sweat-soaked tunic that I’d picked specifically because it was a size too small. The white linen clung to my curves in all the ways I knew made Julian’s jaw lock, the fabric straining against my chest every time I took a breath.

I wanted to annoy him. I wanted to see him struggle to maintain that cold, professional distance while his eyes betrayed the hunger he tried so hard to bury.

Julian was already there, his back to me as he swung a heavy broadsword. He’d discarded his guard’s tunic, wearing only a thin black shirt that was plastered to the corded muscles of his back, every ripple of his movement visible through the damp fabric. He looked brutal. He looked like the monster my father claimed he was, and for some reason, the sight of the sweat soaking into his shirt made my mouth go completely dry.

"Again," he rasped, not even turning around.

"I’ve been swinging this piece of wood for an hour, Julian," I panted, wiping a smear of dirt across my forehead. "My arms feel like lead. I'm done!"

"Vane won't care if your arms are tired when he’s pinning you to a bed," Julian snapped, spinning around with a sudden, violent surge of movement. He stepped into my space, his chest nearly brushing mine, and the sheer heat radiating off him made my head swim. "Attack me properly, you spoiled brat."

"Why are you being such a prick today?" I hissed, lunging at him. He parried my blow with a flick of his wrist, the force of it vibrating all the way up my shoulders.

"Because you let him touch you last night," he growled, stepping closer, forcing me back until my heels hit the stone edge of the ring. "You let him put his hands on you like you were his. Is that what you want? To be a trophy for a dog like Vane?"

"I didn't have a choice!" I swung again, harder this time, but he caught my wrist, his fingers bruising my skin.

He yanked me forward, his other hand slamming into the small of my back to hold me flush against him. The contact was electric. I could feel every hard line of his thighs, the furnace-heat of his chest, and the scent of him—salt, cedar, and raw, masculine anger—was overwhelming.

"Come here," he commanded, his voice dropping into a low, guttural register that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

Yes, daddy, the thought flashed through my mind before I could stop it, making my face flush a deep crimson. f**k, what is wrong with me?

I let out a small, muffled moan as his thumb grazed the sensitive skin of my wrist. The sound was pathetic, but I couldn't help it. The proximity was driving me insane. I felt a sudden, frantic dampness between my legs, a heavy ache that made me realize I’d definitely need to change my panties again the second I got back to my room.

Was I ovulating? Or was I just a disaster for this specific man? I had the insane, sudden urge to just lean forward and lick the sweat right off the column of his neck, to taste the bitterness he kept talking about. He was being so dominant, so completely in control of my body, and I hated how much I loved it.

"You’re shaking, Elara," he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from the shell of my ear. "Is the brat finally learning her place?"

"I’m not... I’m just tired," I gasped, my breath hitching as he pressed his hips a fraction closer.

He didn't answer. He just stared down at me, his amber eyes blown wide, his breathing just as jagged as mine. For a second, the hatred felt like it was shifting into something much more dangerous, something that would consume us both if we let it.

"Julian! Elara!"

The voice of a messenger shattered the moment. Julian let go of me so fast I almost tumbled into the dirt, his face going back to stone in an instant. The messenger was shouting about an emergency council meeting—the survivor had arrived.

Julian didn't look back at me as he walked away, but his posture was stiff, his fingers twitching toward the real blade at his hip. I stood there, gasping for air, watching the way his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his shoulders.

I was a mess. A total, humiliated mess. But as I watched him disappear toward the barracks, I remembered what Aunt Kiki had whispered to me as she left the library. He left his quarters unlocked this morning. A shame if someone found his secrets.

He thought he could leave me in the dirt? He thought he could dominate me and then just walk away? Fine. I was going to find out exactly what the Prince of Thorns was hiding. I was going to invade his room, breathe in his scent when he wasn't there to stop me, and find the leverage I needed to break him.

I didn't care about the council. I didn't care about the survivor. I wanted to see where Julian slept. I wanted to see the man behind the monster, even if I had to crawl through the mud to do it.