Page 64 of The Tower

He frowns. “Are you sure it was me? That sounds like spotting a unicorn.”

It’s not the comment I was expecting, and I have to press my lips together not to laugh. I turn my back to him so he can’t see my struggle, then I march back to the bed and pull the sheet up to my chest. I wait, anticipating an order to stand at attention naked in front of him, but the order doesn’t come.

Instead, his eyes narrow, and he shakes his head slowly. “I think I’d remember rescuing a damsel in distress.”

“It was at that Farmer’s Market in the park.” I fight a shudder. “I hadn’t wanted to go, but Father had made me. I was ten and in a loose dress with a silly hat that my nanny had let me buy. There had been a face painter, and he’d put flowers on my cheeks. It was fun.”

“Your father forced you to go to an open-air market? That was only three years after he killed your mother. You were deep into your phobias at that age.”

I nod, strangely unsurprised that he knows that. “I begged him not to make me go, but he insisted. Said I needed to learn to get over it.” I clench my fists and draw a deep breath. “That was the day that I learned that there was no ceiling on my hatred for my father.” I meet his eyes. “Does that make me horrible?”

“No.” He shakes his head, just the smallest of movements, and I’m struck by the thought that he’s working hard not to move more. Afraid that if he releases control of his muscles, he’ll lash out in fury against my father. He’s miles and years from that moment, and yet just seeing his reaction makes the memory easier to bear. “Not horrible at all,” he adds, his voice as tight as a wire.

“It turned out not to be as terrifying as I’d expected. Ruby and Birgit were with me, so that helped. Plus, the placement of the stalls formed walls. So it turned out to be enclosed enough that I could handle it. Or, at least, I handled it for a little while.”

“What happened?” He comes closer as he asks, then sits at the foot of the bed. I hold the sheet more firmly against my chest.

“Ruby and I went exploring, and somehow we got separated. I couldn’t find her or Birgit or Father or anyone. That’s when I stopped being able to handle it.”

I continue with the story, hugging my knees to my chest as I tell him how terrified I’d been, standing in the middle of this huge space that had seemed safe only moments before, but was now closing in all around me. I started crying, then cried even harder because I was certain the pretty flowers on my cheeks would be ruined.

Then there was a boy—except not a boy. A teenager. Seventeen, eighteen. Around there. And he took my hand and led me to the place where lost kids check-in. Then he stayed with me until Birgit found me.

My father never knew. He just assumed I was with Birgit the whole time. “But if that boy hadn’t helped me,” I say after telling him all of that, “I would have been gone longer, and I know my father would have—well, I know it would have been bad.”

For a moment, there’s no expression on his face at all. Then he nods slowly, as if I’d told him nothing more important than what I’d had for dinner. “So I helped a frightened kid,” he finally says. “That doesn’t make me your Prince Ki—” He breaks off with a cough. “Charming,” he finishes, his voice as sharp and cold as a blade. “Don’t think you know me because you once saw a soft side, Princess. Even an unflipped calendar is right once every year.”

“No worries there,” I say with sugary sweetness. “You aren’t something I hope for, charming or not.” It’s true, I tell myself. Even if it didn’t used to be. Before, he’d been a fantasy. Now, I know the man. There are soft spots, sure. But those are there only to camouflage the spinning blades beneath. So, no. I don’t want him.

Except maybe a teensy little bit. When he’s not being an ass.

Which is a very, very, very small window.

“I overheard you and Leo last night,” I blurt. “About how you’re just using me to piss off my father.”

His eyes seem to widen, but they settle back so quickly into his typical, unreadable visage that I wonder if my mind is playing tricks.

“Did you?”

I wait, but he says nothing else. “You bastard,” I snap. “You keep me locked in here. You take my clothes⁠—”

“Clean your clothes,” he says, and there’s ice lurking under his mild tone. “They’ll be back soon. And in case you’ve forgotten, Princess, we had an agreement. Everything, remember? And we’ve barely scratched the surface. Or did you think that after a day of being around you, I’d morph into Prince Charming, all gallant and respectful? That’s not who I am, and I’ve known that my whole damn life. So I’d advise you not to rewrite history. And to remember the terms of our agreement.”

“I can hardly forget,” I snap. “You remind me of it every five seconds. And being locked in here without clothes kind of puts a button on the point.” I cross my arms and scowl at him. He’s right. He’s no prince.

Or if he is, it’s a dark one. He kidnapped the princess, after all.

He stands and steps toward me. I grip the sheet tighter. “About that twerp in the market,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s holding tight to control. “He wasn’t your savior or your prince. He was just a guy, but he was strong.”

His eyes are the ocean—cold and deep.

“He was strong enough to survive growing up with Elias Grimm. Strong enough to survive without a mother, stuck instead with an evil stepmother. Strong enough to make it in a goddamn world that kept throwing things at him. A world where he had no allies at all except a fuck-up of a younger brother.”

I watch, my heart twisting as he spews the words at me. As if they’re something vile he’s been holding back for years.

“He built his own life, and he takes what he needs. Be it information or sex or a pretty little princess he can use for revenge.”

I hold my breath as he grabs the sheet and rips it back, leaving me naked and trembling, and inexplicably, undeniably turned on.