Daughters of the King |✓|

Chapter Eleven

"They've only been here a couple of days," the other replied. "We can't say anything for sure. Besides, what reason would they have to lie?"

I pictured them with their heads bent close together, a tray of forgotten tea things on the table between them. I pictured the flimsy curtain billowing at the cracked window, concealing me from their view.

"I don't know," the first one sighed, sounding puzzled. "But I can tell something's not right. We should inform the General as soon as possible. There's no sense letting this charade go on any longer."

Panic raced through my heart, and when I looked up, Gunnar was already waiting for me on the stoop, a silent question etched on his face as he watched me. When he saw my expression, his frown deepened.

Slowly, I walked away from the window to rejoin him, careful not to get noticed.

When we entered the foyer, silence greeted us from the library, the twins' gossiping cut short, which could only mean one thing: they were watching.

Suddenly, I knew what I'd have to do.

I'd always sworn I wouldn't become like my mother, that I wouldn't use a false romance as a means for survival, but I'd have to make peace with my fate. There was no escaping it now.

As we climbed the stairs to our room, I had to stand one step above in order to reach him at his impressive height, but then I gripped his face and held him secure as I leaned in. I was prepared to dig my nails into his flesh to keep him still—prepared to hurt him if he didn't cooperate, anything to make this seem believable—but I wasn't prepared for what he did.

Gunnar kissed me so hard I nearly fell over, and I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt to keep myself upright. As we stood there kissing, I pictured the twins. I tried to imagine what they would be seeing through the door of the library. Would their eyes be wide with surprise? Would they be staring? Would they look away, embarrassed?

When Gunnar finally released me, his eyes were wild.

In a daze, I climbed the rest of the way to our room. He slammed the door shut behind us and dropped the bag of food we'd just bought onto the floor. An orange rolled out and went under the bed, and I watched it disappear.

He glared at the floor, refusing to look at me.

He wasn't angry.

He was furious.

I'd pushed him too far, and for the first time since we'd met, I felt truly afraid of him. I was suddenly reminded of that moment in the forest, when I'd wanted to see him break so badly that—for an instant—it had surpassed everything else in my mind. Even my own safety. But I was a fool. I couldn't comprehend the torture of a man bound to his beliefs so thoroughly that he depended on it to give meaning to his very existence. Without it, he would be nothing, and I was wearing him down.

Soon, he would have no soul, and there would be only the animal left in him.

And I already knew how lethal he could be.

My mind raced through my options, trying to come up with a way to fix this. "Gunnar, I'm sorr—"

My words broke off when he whipped towards me, pressing me backwards into the wall, his palm landing next to my head.

The wall shook and I shook with it.

He wouldn't look at me. He stared into the sliver of space that still separated us, breathing hard. I saw the muscles twitch in his thick neck, while I made sure not to move or make a sound, not wanting to provoke him any further.