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I feel myself propelled toward him.

He moves up one step, then two, his hand stretched out.

It’s not the first time he’s reached for me, but it’s the first time that I felt compelled to willingly place my palm in his.

Something shifted between us in that bathhouse.

His gentle caress on my bare skin was the last thing I expected but what I needed most. And now I can think of nothing else, praying that I have the opportunity to be alone with him once more.

The logical part of my brain—some might call my conscience—reminds me that he’s the reason I’m here in the first place.

But the woman in me, the one with desires that have gone unfulfilled for far too long, can’t help but unravel in his presence.

And I have no doubt that being fully undone by a man like him would destroy me.

But just this once, I wish that I could be just a girl standing in a beautiful gown before a handsome stranger, where neither the past nor the future matter. Only this very moment.

But that’s just an illusion. Reality doesn’t let us pick and choose. It forces us to see.

Even when we don’t want to.

Even when it breaks our hearts.

My eyes search the room for the queen, but I can’t find her.

I take a deep breath and start my descent. My hands grasp the golden flowing skirts of my layered dress, holding on for dear life as my slipper-covered feet guess where they will land with each step. Lower into the lion’s den I go.

“Royal Court of the Twelve Realms,” the Queen’s sinister voice booms through the Great Hall commanding attention with a dramatic flair. As the crowd parts expectantly, she appears from her perch across the room. Behind her sits an empty throne. It’s dark and imposing, carved from stone into an intricate seat, with thousands of sharp edges fanning out from the back like they’re trying to detach themselves. The black ice frozen mid-air pointing skyward to frosty windows that reflect room. The entire place is oddly breathtaking, yet terrifying at the same time.

“May I present to you, Princess Adelaide Ravenna Snow of Winter Haven, daughter of the late King Philip, House of Rosen Snow.”

Murmurs.

Gasps.

The loudest being my own.

Princess?

“My stepdaughter,” she adds, and my foot nearly misses the next step midway down.

She’s my stepmother? That means… my father.

My father was king? What about my mother? Where is she?

I feel myself start to fall as the panic rises up and down in my chest, until strong hands wrap around my waist to steady me.

“I’ve got you.” He repeats the same words from that night at the bar, reminding me he’s just as much a villain as a hero.

I wish I could trust him to be who I desperately need him to be.

My knight in black leather, my captor.

I look up into Riven’s grey eyes. They are swimming with a feeling I can’t quite place before he hastily looks away and forward.

“Princess,” he urges, placing my arm over his, and I’m forced down the wide stone steps, which are flanked by armed guards and flickering candelabras casting an eerie glow.

Princess.