Darling. He'd called the redhead darling. A moment ago, he'd called Rose by her name. And with that thought, she realized that he hadn't called her darling. Not once during this visit. Not while he'd had his fingers inside her, not while he'd tongued her to orgasm.
Disappointment rocked her. No endearments. Did that mean his affection for her had waned?
Oh, he wanted her; she knew that much. He was still hard, after all. But you could screw a woman, even a wife, and not truly like her. And he'd bonded them, so he couldn't sleep with anyone else. She was the only outlet he had.
"May I escort you back to the ball room, Your Majesty?" the redhead asked. Without waiting for a reply, she reached out and took Vasili's hand.
Now Rose hated the girls. Mine, she wanted to scream. He's mine. No one else was to touch him. Ever. Even so innocent a touch. He'd just had that hand on Rose's body, inside Rose's body, and to casually touch someone else . . . Her teeth ground together.
"Actually," she said, raising her chin, "I would love to join the party. As is. So . . . let's do this.
Maj-ass-tee."
Chapter Six
He'd had her, Vasili thought, but he hadn't had her. And now he had to parade Rose around the ball room with his enemies surrounding her—and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop the madness. Not without drawing more attention to her. Worse, he had to do it with the intoxicating taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her burned into his hands. And a hard-on only she could relieve.
She remained by his side, at least, as she watched the happenings through wide eyes. Both a blessing and a curse. She was here, but he couldn't claim her. Couldn't stop every single man from staring at her. Men he wanted to kill, his own as well as Greer's. But he couldn't blame them.
She was enchanting. That fall of white-blond hair, those cherry red lips swollen from his kisses.
Even dressed like a warrior, she was the most elegant woman in the room.
And she was his. He wanted to announce that fact more than he wanted to throw her on his bed and strip her. well, maybe not quite that much. But damn it! Everyone needed to know whom she belonged to! In time, he promised himself. After he'd assured her safety. Maybe.
He led the group—Rose, Greer, Jasha, Grigori, and the princesses—to a quiet corner, as far from the masses as possible. There, he positioned Rose against the wall, with half of his body shielding her from the others.
Awkward silence seized them. He was glad. He preferred silence to questions. But, of course, a few minutes later Greer had to ruin everything. As always.
"So tell me, King of the North. Which of my daughters do you favor?" Greer asked him. "Which will you choose to be your bride and end the war between us?"
Rose stiffened. "Bride?"
He reached back, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed, all without looking at her. At the moment of contact, he hissed out a breath. So hot, so soft. So his. He wanted more. Wanted her under him, over him, shouting his name. "Now is not the time for such a discussion."
"When, then?" the king insisted. "That's the reason I'm here, isn't it?"
Rose dug her nails into Vasili's hand, drawing blood.
"You're here for peace talks, nothing more," he said.
A vein nearly burst from the king's forehead as another bout of silence settled over them. The princesses inched away from their father, as if they feared being struck. They probably did. Vasili had heard about the king's fearsome temper.
"Prince Jasha," the redhead said with a shy—desperate?—smile. Funny. She knew all of their names, yet Vasili couldn't recall hers. "Would you care to dance?"
His brother's violet gaze dropped to his boots. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words emerged. Finally he shut his mouth and gave the redhead his back, glaring out at the circle of ladies closest to them.
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she lowered her arm.
"Men," Rose grumbled with sympathy, speaking in Vasili's language. "Forget him, sweetie. He's obviously an ass."
Vasili pressed his lips together to stop his laugh. At least she'd spoken the correct words.
"What's your name, girl?" Greer snapped at Rose.
"She's mute," Vasili said. "And her name is unimportant."
"What's the matter, darling?" Oh, the anger in that tone. She would punish him later, though he wasn't exactly sure of his crime. "Embarrassed of me?"
Embarrassed? When he wanted to beat his chest and warn every other man away? When he would have been happy if she tattooed his name on her chest? A suggestion he would later make.
Still. He wasn't sure how she affected him like this when no one else ever had. Surely the bond wasn't fully responsible. He'd reacted to her before bonding them, or he wouldn't have f**king bonded them.
"Like I said," he snapped. "Mute. "
Greer watched the entire exchange with anger sparking in his eyes. "A slave would never make a good wife, you know."
She isn't a slave! "You know this from experience?" he asked smoothly.
Rose's nails were now embedded in his bone. He could feel warm drops of blood sliding down his arm. He reached back with his other hand and applied pressure to the center of her palm, harder . . . harder . . . but she held steady. Damn her, when would she give?
He eased the pressure rather than break her bone. Finally she released him. He wanted to smile. She'd outlasted him, and he was irrationally proud of her. Again.
"Yes," Greer said. "I do. Though I have not bonded with any of my women, I keep five of them to attend my needs. One is a slave, and she is by far my biggest mistake. Greedy, grasping, desperate. So keep your girl, if that's what you wish, but take one of my daughters. I want peace, but I cannot trust you without the marital bond."
Nails raked down his back, hard, and he nearly hissed in pain. And pleasure. He'd endure Rose's torturing over any other woman's caressing. The little wildcat. "When you yourself refuse to wed any of your women? Besides, Greer, I'm not the one who attacks without provocation."
Those nails began to pet him. Again, he wanted to smile.
Greer ran his tongue over his teeth. "I have other offers, you know. Other kingdoms eager for an alliance."
"Yet you came to me first. I'm moved, really, but that doesn't mean I'll give you what you crave."
A growl. "The Western and Southern kingdoms despise you for your strength, yet they have not risen against you. Yet. But they will. Mark my word, they will. There is already talk."
He reached back a second time—he couldn't not touch her—and traced his fingers along the waist of Rose's pants. Felt her belly quiver. Cut off his possessive grunt of approval. "They fear my strength as much as they hate it. They will not attack."