Page 117 of A Dance of Lies

“Only that you grace me with your adorable little pouts more often,” he says, tapping a finger to my nose. “I admit they are a weakness. You scowl so beautifully.”

I sit up, bringing the sheets with me. “What a charming tongue you have, Majesty. I wonder: Do you recycle your lines often?”

“My tongue is dedicated solely to you, for as long as you want it.”

“Sometimes I hate you,” I say, resisting the itch to whack him with a pillow.

“Ah, but hate and love are two sides of the same blade. They share the same passion, besides.”

My fingers do reach for the pillow at that, but he places a hand on mine before I can grab it, his expression shifting into something softer, more somber. “Vasalie, I want to apologize. For what I did at the brothel to try to hide you . . .” He trails off, a soft, creeping pink painting the apples of his cheeks.

I can’t help my amusement.

Anton Orvere, the famed King of the East, is nervous?

He clears his throat at my silence. “While I realize we had little choice, I may have lost control, and I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, which, of course, I did. Inadvertently.”

The man with the Glory Court is apologizing for a merekiss?

Yet it wasn’t a mere kiss, was it? The way his mouth played with mine, the way he wove his fingers through my own—

He says he lost control. He is not the only one.

Then that last kiss, the one he gave me even after the door had clicked shut . . .

“Please accept my apology.”

The look on his face is so endearing that I begin to laugh.

He arches a thick, manicured brow. “You are laughing at me. I cannot believe you are laughing at me.” A grin peeks from his lips then. “I rescind my apology, considering you quite enjoyed it yourself.”

“Shaping the tale to your liking, I see.”

“Your little moans spoke volumes as to your level of enjoyment, Minnow.”

A flush blazes up the back of my neck. “You could use a dose of humility, Sire.”

“Why would I dose myself withthat? Sounds terrible.”

I can’t help the laugh that spills out next. But then he takes my chin with his fingers. “Your laugh,” he breathes. “I could drink an ocean’s worth.”

That draws me up short.

He watches me through the fringe of his lashes, his thumb tracing my bottom lip—softly, like he wants to capture my smile. Pocket it. Like it’s fragile and rare, and he can’t believe it belongs to him. And in this moment, the horrors of this place fade away, and so does the pain, and I can breathe. Fully and completely.

I feel like a thousand tiny stars, bursting and shimmering all over.

But I have felt this way before.

I soaked in Illian’s adoration, his praise. He made me feel morevaluable than the crown gracing his head. He kept me on a string, dangled his promises on a hook.

Anton mistakes the change in my demeanor for worry. “Just a little more time, and this will all end. I promise.”

Just a little more.

I will give you more.

I promise, I promise.