Forbidden Craving: The Nymph King / The Beautiful Ashes

“Swords, of course. The weapon of a true warrior.”

“To the death, then.”

“No,” she said, horrified.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Joachim said. “I don’t hate you and never have. We were friends once, as children, but I should have been crowned after my father.”

“And yet Poseidon chose my father.”

“I was too young. Now I’m older. And how long since Poseidon has deigned to visit us? Decades.”

For a long while the two males engaged in a staring contest. Finally Joachim cursed and blinked.

Valerian lifted his chin. “Go to the arena, cousin. I’ll be there shortly.”

“That’s the last command you’ll ever give me.” Scowling, Joachim pivoted on his heel and strode away.

Shaye had to put a stop to this.

“Dorian,” Valerian said, not giving her a chance to speak. “Gather the rest of the men. They’ll bear witness to the battle—they’ll see what happens to those who think to usurp my rule. Broderick, go and prepare my gear.”

Chairs skidded backward. Footsteps pounded.

I can’t believe this is happening, Shaye thought.

She’d been kidnapped from her mother’s wedding—shrug. She’d been dragged underwater, through a portal and into a lost city—yawn. She’d been chosen as the king’s mistress—could someone pass a nail file?

This battle...it was a nightmare.

“I’m asking you not to do this,” she said to Valerian. They were alone now, no one else in sight. “He’ll make a terrible king.”

Valerian sat down and once again regarded her through narrowed eyes. “He will never be king.”

Ugh. She’d insulted his skill again, which hadn’t been her intention.

“So you’ll win,” she said. “What will happen afterward?”

He popped a grape into his mouth. “You’ll admire my strength.”

Probably. Not that she’d admit such a horror aloud.

With a sigh, she plopped into her chair.

They finished their breakfast as if they’d never been interrupted. As if her stomach wasn’t churning with nervousness.

When they finished, he pushed to his feet and held out his hand, palm up. A silent command.

“They are awaiting us in the arena.”

She studied his palm, knowing the moment she intertwined her fingers with his, warmth would rush up her arm. Such a drugging warmth. She would tingle and ache.

Her throat constricted.

She stood, keeping her arms at her sides. “Go ahead. Lead the way.”

He frowned and beckoned her with a single wave of his fingers.

Stubborn, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Their gazes locked in challenge. The long length of his black lashes cast shadows over his cheeks. How did a man with honey-blond hair have such dark eyelashes?

“I need your touch, Shaye.” The words dripped with determination, but drifting beneath them was a very clear challenge: every resistance will be met and conquered until you’ve soared over the sweet edge of surrender. “My victory depends upon it.”

“No way.”

“Nymphs are strengthened through sex,” he said.

What! “I am not having sex with you.”

Not even to save him?

Well...

No. What? Can’t believe you’re even considering this. Death was an exaggeration on his part, surely. A way to get her into bed.

“Contact—any contact—helps.”

“Fine.” She clasped his hand.

The warmth she’d feared speared her, spreading up and out and soon overtaking her entire body.

He closed his eyes, as if savoring her.

Once again, her insides quivered. Such an innocent touch, and yet he affected her so...wantonly.

“One day...” he said.

A promise...or a warning?

He stalked out of the dining hall, dragging her with him.

“Slow down,” she said, struggling to keep up. “Please.”

He could have ignored her, but he obeyed. As if her words carried weight with him.

A girl could get used to that.

Her gaze snagged on the wall, where white marble was inlaid with silver stone, crumbling in spots. There were also scratch marks, she realized, as if someone had taken a tool to every inch.