“When was the first time you felt something other than hate for me?” he asks.

It’s my turn to play with his hair. I rub a stray lock between my fingers. Montes unconsciously leans into the touch.

“That evening you brought me to the pool house,” I say.

“I remember that,” he says, gazing down at me fondly.

His memory has aged a hundred years. Will that ever stop shocking me?

“You skipped my turn,” I say.

“Tonight you don’t get to ask questions,” he says.

I frown, digging my hand deeper into his hair. “Is it wrong for me to want to know who you’ve become?” I ask.

I’m getting better at manipulating words to my will. It’s what my father was so good at. What Montes is so good at. And it was almost inevitable that I would pick up this habit.

He’s quiet. But then, “Forever is a long time to spend by yourself.”

He’s terrible and terrifying and monstrous and so ill deserving of any goodness, and yet—

And yet my broken heart bleeds for him. I have the strangest urge to run my hand down his back and comfort him as neither of us has been comforted in a long, long time.

“That’s the last question you get to ask,” he says quietly.

I don’t fight him. His past sounds like a dark place, one he doesn’t want to dwell on. I know all about terrible memories; I won’t force him to divulge his.

“Do you love me?” he asks, drawing me back to the present.

My brows knit. “I already answered this question.”

“And I am asking it again.”

I really shouldn’t feel bad for him. He’s up to his usual tricks.

“Pass,” I say.

Another triumphant smile. “Touch me.”

I place my hand at the juncture between his jaw and his neck. My thumbs stroke the rough skin of his cheek.

“Lower,” he says gruffly.

My touch moves down the column of his throat until it rests over his heart. My heart. The one he stole all those years ago and now holds captive. I can hear it beating. Long after I die, it will continue to beat in his chest.

His nostrils flare as some emotion overtakes him. “Lower.”

I feel my cheeks heat. I know what he wants. I run my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, and I wrap my hand around him.

This is so lewd.

“Happy?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“I will be,” he says.

I release him. “Next question.”

I can tell I’m amusing him. It’s no one feature of his, but all of them—the wry twist of his lips, the shine of his eyes, the way his hands dig themselves deeper into my flesh.

“What is your favorite thing about me?”

I search his face. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?” I don’t bother to add any sting to my words. I’m not trying to wound him. But I’ve taken it upon myself to dole out all the hard truths that Montes needs to hear.

“You follow through on most of your threats,” I throw out.

He shakes his head, his eyes glimmering. “I know for a fact you like certain parts of my anatomy better than my follow through. But I’ll let that one slide.”

How magnanimous of him.

“Do you love me?” he asks.

I give him a hard look. “You’re not going to wear me down on this one, Montes. Pass.”

His hair tickles mine as his lips brush against the skin of my cheek. “Touch yourself.”

“Montes.” It’s one thing to be intimate with the king. Quite another to do this in front of him.

“We can stop,” he says. “Tomorrow morning when we sit in on the meeting with my officers, you can inform them that you are no longer willing to follow through with your role in our war efforts. I will not stop you. I want my queen safe above all else.”

He’s goading me, but at this point I can’t tell if he wants me to dissolve all my plans or to continue doing things for him that make me distinctly uncomfortable.

Knowing how twisted he is, I’d say he be happy with either outcome.

I glare at him and reach between us, placing my hand between my thighs.

He tears his gaze from me and his eyes dip down. I hear his breath hitch.

A moment later he extricates one of his hands from my hair and uses it to cover mine. Wrapping his fingers around mine, he begins to move my hand up and down, up and down.

Now it’s my breath that’s picking up; I’m inhaling and exhaling in stuttering gasps.

Montes watches the way he works me. The whole thing is embarrassing and exhilarating all at once. If only I could have one uncomplicated emotion towards this man. Everything he does, everything we do, is mired in complexities.

His gaze returns to mine. “Are you not having fun?”

“Fun,” I say, my voice breathy, “is not a word I would use to describe your games.”

He leans in close, dipping both his fingers and mine into my core. “Then you’re not doing it right.”

Montes adjusts himself, so that he’s right at my entrance. “The game’s over—for now.”

He takes my lips then. The kiss is rough, almost abrasive. As he does so, he thrusts into me. I’m gasping into his mouth, arching into him.

Gone is the girl who hated the king. Gone is the man who took everything from her. When we are like this, we’re just two lost souls coming together.

He moves against me and I stare up at him. I bring a hand up and caress his cheek, swallowing as I do so.