Deviating from the original plot

Chapter ninety

She shook her head, her vision swimming. "I need to go home," she said, her voice breaking. "Let me go."

He crouched before her, his gaze too intense, too searching. "You're usually so poised, so proper," he said, tilting his head. "What's happened to you?"

"And you're obnoxious and infuriating; you also never listen," she shot back, her words slurred but biting.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. "Ouch. Is that really all you think of me?"

"I want to go home," she repeated, forcing herself to her feet. She swayed, unsteady, but stumbled toward the door, determination outweighing the fog in her mind. Before she could reach it, the prince caught her, his arms encircling her from behind, pulling her back.

"I can't let you leave in this state," he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear.

"Let me go!" She shouted, thrashing in his hold, but her strength was no match for his.

"You're hurting," he said softly, his lips close to her ear. "I can see it—you cried."

"I didn't ask for your pity," she snapped, her voice trembling with anger.

"I'm not offering pity," he said, as he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck. "But I can make you feel better."

"Don't touch me!" She cried, her voice sharp with panic. But he tightened his grip, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her.

Genevieve's heart raced, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps as she struggled against the prince's hold. His arms were like iron; unyielding despite her protests, he carried her toward the massive bed.

"Stop it!" she shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. She kicked weakly.

"Genevieve, you're only complicating things," the prince said, lowering her onto the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on her arms. "Why resist? I'm offering you comfort, a way to escape your pain. I'm offering myself."

"I don't want this!" She cried, pushing against his chest with trembling hands.

"Shh, calm yourself," he murmured, brushing a tear from her cheek with a gentleness that felt wrong, invasive. "You're safe here with me." His hands pressed against her shoulders, guiding her back against the bed with a slow, deliberate force.

Genevieve's breath caught, a wave of panic flooding her as she shoved against him. "Get off me!" she gasped, her voice sharp with desperation.

"It's alright," he murmured, his lips brushing softly down her neck. "I'll take care of you, I swear. Just let yourself go."

.

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⚠️

The next morning, Genevieve jolted awake, her head throbbing as if each pulse were a hammer against her skull. Soft morning light seeped through thick velvet curtains, casting a muted glow across the unfamiliar room. She lay in a sprawling bed, sheets twisted around her, her body aching and clad only in her undergown. A chill of dread coursed through her as she registered the unfamiliar surroundings.

The prince was nowhere in sight. The door creaked open, and a young maid stepped inside, her expression polite. "Good morning, my lady," she said softly. "His Highness sent me to attend to you."

Genevieve's breath caught, her hands instinctively pulling the sheets tighter around her as she sat up, wincing at the ache in her muscles. Her undergown clung to her skin, and the absence of her outer dress sent a fresh wave of panic through her. What had happened last night? The gaps in her recollection felt like a betrayal of her own mind, and her stomach churned with a mix of fear and shame.