Page 29

I continued glaring at absolutely nothing in front of me while mentally composing increasingly creative ways to murder him. Atlas, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content just holding me there. As though chasing furious women through a royal castle was a completely normal way to spend an evening.

Eventually, he released a slow breath.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “there aren’t many people alive who can put a king like me on his ass.”

Despite everything, despite the humiliation, anger, and confusion still twisting inside me, a tiny flicker of satisfaction warmed my chest. And Atlas immediately noticed. Which is why I felt his mouth curve against the edge of my hair.

“I can’t decide whether I want to punish you for it,” he said, his voice dropping lower, his arm tightening fractionally around my waist before he whispered seductively, “…or worship the ground you walk on.”

My traitorous heart stumbled. Then the reason I was angry crashed back into me, and the warmth vanished. The satisfaction vanished.

Everything vanished except the hurt.

“Even though you think I’m a whore?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and immediately, every trace of amusement disappeared from Atlas. His body went completely still behind me.

The laughter. The teasing. The warmth.

Gone.

For the first time since he’d caught me, I felt something shift in him, something that felt remarkably like genuine hurt.

For one breath, neither of us moved.

Atlas’s hand remained at my throat, his arm still locked around my waist, yet the hold had changed the moment those words left my mouth. It was subtle, but I felt it in the loosening of his fingers, in the way the heat of his body went rigid against mine. In the terrible stillness that settled over him as though I had struck something far deeper than flesh. The silence between us grew sharp and dangerous, and for one wild, breathless second, I wondered if he had finally understood what I thought he had meant. If the ugly truth of it had landed between us at last and cut him too.

Then came the gasp.

It was small, barely more than a startled breath, but in the echoing quiet of the throne room it sounded impossibly loud. Atlas’s head turned first, and I followed just enough to see a maid frozen in the open doorway a few feet away, her eyes wide enough to look painful, her face drained of color as she took in the sight before her. Her king, holding a furious woman pinned back against his chest with one hand at her throat. And that furious woman, flushed, disheveled, breathing hard and looking very much as though she had been fighting him.

The entire scene looked damning from every possible angle, and the poor maid’s basket slipped from her hands before she could stop it, linen spilling across the floor in a soft, white avalanche.

Atlas stared at her, and the maid stared back like a doe caught in headlights. I could almost see every survival instinct in her body attempting to leave without her.

“Leave… Now!” Atlas said, the words low, cold, and edged with enough royal command to make even the air obey his orders.

The maid didn’t need telling twice. She dipped into something that might have been a curtsy, if terror had not robbed it of all elegance. Then she snatched at the nearest handful of linen as though that could somehow restore the dignity of the moment. Of course, failing completely, she abandoned the rest and vanished back through the doorway. Doing so with the desperate speed of someone who had just discovered that her work came with hazards no one had mentioned during training.

For half a second, Atlas watched the empty doorway.

As for me, that was all I needed.

I drove my elbow back into his stomach with every bit of force I could gather from the awkward angle. So not enough to truly damage him, because I doubted anything short of a collapsing temple could manage that. But it was enough to catch him unprepared while his attention was elsewhere. The impact landed hard beneath his ribs, and Atlas released a sharp, furious breath as his grip loosened just enough for me to twist out of it.

“Alexandra.” My name came out as a warning and a growl, but I was already moving. I tore myself free, gathered my skirts again, and ran before he could catch me properly this time. My pulse leaped with triumph and panic in equal measure as I ran in the opposite direction. I also knew almost instantly that I had made a mistake, because there was nowhere useful to go. Only polished marble, towering windows, too much space, and the enormous throne waiting at the far end like the punchline to some cruel cosmic joke.

Honestly, at this point, I was beginning to suspect I had lost all ability to solve problems like a normal person. Every solution my brain presented seemed to involve either fleeing, yelling, or committing acts of violence against a king. And well, considering none of those options had worked particularly well so far, I was starting to run out of ideas.

Unfortunately, I was also running out of room.

The throne room stretched around me in a wash of gold and white marble, vast enough to host an army and yet somehow offering absolutely nowhere useful to hide. My footsteps echoed through the enormous chamber as I gathered my skirts and hurried across the vast, open space toward the open doors that would take me outside. I gasped as the doors closed in front of me, a low chuckle coming from behind.

Without faltering, I turned, heading toward the doors I had come through the day of the battle, but before I could take more than two steps, the doors banged closed, a click of a lock echoing mockingly.

Behind me, Atlas was already moving again, his pace measured and relentless, and the sound of his footsteps followed me across the polished floor with the inevitability of an approaching storm.

I could feel him gaining ground. Not because he was running. Oh no, he didn’t need to, and that somehow made everything worse.

“You have nowhere to fly to, little bird,” he called after me, and I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him getting closer.