“Who knows?” she said, staring at him, wondering how this all would end.
It was tempting, in her darkest moments, to blame it all on him. He came, he saw, he sent her into a frenzy of excitement and—she had to face it—love, blinding her to what was really going on, making her crazy, allowing things to happen that should never have happened.
But he was just the temptor. She was the temptee. From the very first, she should have stopped him in his tracks, and she’d done nothing of the sort. In fact, she’d immediately gone into a deep swoon and hadn’t come out of it until he was gone. She had no one to blame but herself.
Still, she wished it was clearer just what he’d been doing here two months ago, and why he’d picked her to cast a spell over.
“Why did you come here to my chambers that first time?” she asked him, getting serious. “That day you found me by the fountain. What were you doing here? What was your purpose? And why did you let me distract you from it?”
He looked at her coolly. He’d finished the chicken and eaten a good portion of the little loaf of bread. He was feeling full and happy. But her questions were a bit irksome.
“I came to get the lay of the land,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And to see my ancestral castle. To see my natural home.” He looked a bit pained.
“The place I was created to rule,” he added, giving it emphasis that only confirmed her fears.
“See, I knew it,” she said, feeling dismal. “You were prepared to do something, weren’t you?”
“Not then. Not yet.” He met her gaze candidly. “But soon.”
She shook her head, hands on her hips. “You want to send Leonardo and his entire family packing, don’t you?” That was putting a pleasant face on something that might be very ugly, but she couldn’t really face just how bad it could be.
He shrugged. “There’s no denying it. It’s been my obsession since I was a child.” He gave her a riveting look. “Of course I’m going to take my country back. What else do I exist for?”
She felt faint. His obsession was her nightmare. She had to find a way to stop it.
“That is exactly where you go wrong,” she told him, beginning to pace again. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to be royal. You don’t have to restore your monarchy. Millions of people live perfectly happy lives without that.”
He blinked at her as though he didn’t quite get what she was talking about. “Yes, but do they make a difference? Do their lives have meaning in the larger scheme of things?”
She threw out her arms. “Of course they do. They fall in love and marry and have children and have careers and make friends and do things together and they’re happy. They don’t need to be king of anything.” She appealed to him in all earnestness, wishing there was some way to convince him, knowing there was very little hope. “Why can’t you be like that?”
He rose from the desk and she backed away quickly, as though afraid he would try to take her in his arms again.
But he showed no intention of doing that. Instead, he began a slow survey of the books in her bookcases that lined the walls.
“You don’t really understand me, Pellea,” he said at last as he moved slowly through her collection. “I could live very happily without ever being king.”
She sighed. “I wish I could believe that,” she said softly.
He glanced back over his shoulder at her as she stood by the doorway, then turned to face her.
“I don’t need to be king, Pellea. But there is something I do need.” He went perfectly still and held her gaze with his own, his eyes burning.
“Revenge. I can never be fulfilled until I have my revenge.”
She drew her breath in. Her heart beat hard, as though she was about to make a run for her life.
“That’s just wicked,” she said softly.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away, shoving his hands down deep into his pockets and staring out into her miniature tropical forest.
“Then I’m wicked. I can’t help it. Vengeance must be mine. I must make amends for what happened to my family.”
She trembled. It was hopeless. His words felt like a dark and painful destiny to her. Like a forecast of doom.
There was no doubt in her mind that this would all end badly.
It was very true, what Monte had said. His character needed some kind of answer for what had happened to his family, some kind of retribution. Pellea knew that and on a certain level, she could hardly blame him. But didn’t he see, and wasn’t there any way she could make him see, that his satisfaction would only bring new misery for others? In order for him to feel relief, someone would have to pay very dearly.
“It’s just selfish,” she noted angrily.
He shrugged and looked at her coolly. “So I’m selfish. What else is new?”
She put her hand to her forehead and heaved a deep sigh. “There are those who live for themselves and their own gratification, and there are those who devote their lives to helping the downtrodden and the weak and oppressed. To make life better for the most miserable among us.”
“You’re absolutely right. You pay your money and you take your chances. I’d love to help the downtrodden and the poor and the oppressed in Ambria. Those are my people and I want to take care of them.” He searched her eyes again. “But in order for me to do that, a few heads will have to roll.”
The chimes on her elegant wall clock sounded and Pellea gasped.
“Oh, no! Look at the time. They’re going to be here any minute. I wanted to get you out of here by now.” She looked around as though she didn’t know where to hide him.
He stretched and yawned, comfortable as a cat, and then he rose and half sat on the corner of the desk. “It’s all right. I’ll just take a little nap while you’re having your hair done.”
“No, you will not!”
“As I remember it, your sleeping arrangements are quite comfortable. I think I’ll spend a little quality time with your bedroom.” He grinned, enjoying the outrage his words conjured up in her.
“I want you gone,” she was saying fretfully, grabbing his arm for emphasis. “How do you get in here, anyway? Tell me how you do it. However you get in, that’s the way you’re going out. Tell me!”
He covered her hand with his own and caressed it. “I’ll do better than that,” he said, looking down at her with blunt affection. “I’ll show you. But it will have to wait until we leave together.”
She looked at his hand on hers. It felt hot and lovely. “I’m not going with you,” she said in a voice that was almost a whimper.
“Yes, you are.” He said it in a comforting tone.
Her eyes widened as she glanced up at him. He was doing it again—mesmerizing her. It was some sort of tantalizing magic and she had to resist it. “No, I’m not!” she insisted, but she couldn’t gather the strength to pull her hand away.
He lifted her chin and kissed her softly on the lips. “You are,” he told her kindly. “You belong with me and you know it.”
She felt helpless. Every time he touched her, she wanted to purr. She sighed in a sort of temporary surrender. “What are you going to do while I’m at the ball?” she asked.
“Don’t