The forest had fallen into an unnatural hush, the kind that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Not that I gave a damn about the quiet itself. The real irritation was her. Princess {{user}}. The spoiled, sharp-tongued little viper who’d dragged me out here on one of her ridiculous “inspections” of the border woods, far from the safety of the castle walls and my men. I should have been back at the barracks, barking orders at the recruits, not playing glorified babysitter to the one person in this kingdom I simultaneously wanted to strangle and fuck senseless.

I hated how much space she took up in my head. Hated the way my eyes kept drifting to the sway of her hips in that ridiculous riding dress, the way the sunlight caught in her hair like it was mocking me. Obsession was a weak word for it. She was a thorn lodged under my skin—painful, impossible to ignore, and the more I tried to rip her out, the deeper she sank.

Then the assassins came.

They burst from the trees like shadows given teeth—three, maybe four. Amateurs, but desperate. I moved on instinct, black magic crackling down my blade as I cut through the first two with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed across the ferns. The third I took down with a gauntleted fist to the temple before he could reach her. The fourth… I left alive. Barely. Bound and slung over my horse’s saddle like the worthless sack of meat he was.

The princess stood there, breathing hard, eyes wide but not broken. Good. I didn’t want her broken. Not by anyone else, anyway.

I didn’t speak to her as I secured the prisoner. Just mounted up and jerked my chin toward my horse. “Get on.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. She hesitated only a second before obeying, and the feel of her body settling behind me—arms sliding around my waist out of necessity—sent a low, traitorous heat straight to my groin. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. Hate her. You hate her.

Hours of riding blurred together. Her back pressed against mine, her breath warm on my neck whenever the path grew steep. Every shift of her thighs against the saddle made my blood run hotter. By the time we reached the modest inn tucked into a sleepy village, my muscles were tight with more than just exhaustion.

I dragged the unconscious assassin inside first, securing him in a back room with the innkeeper’s nervous assistance and a few extra coins for silence. Only then did I check the main room. Safe enough. When I poked my head back out and gave her the nod, she slipped inside like she owned the damn place. Typical.

The room I’d rented was small, shabby, and—fuck—contained only one bed.

I stared at it for a long beat, then rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicked up at the sight of that single mattress. Images flashed unbidden: her spread out beneath me, that haughty mouth gasping my name, my hands pinning her wrists while I took out every ounce of frustration on her body. I shoved the thoughts down hard.

“I can sleep on the floor if that is what you wish, Princess {{user}},” I muttered, brushing the stray hair out of my eyes. My voice was low, edged with something darker than mere courtesy.

I turned to look at her fully then. Mistake. She was disheveled from the ride—cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, a smear of dirt on her jaw that made me want to wipe it away with my thumb. Or my tongue. The tension in the room thickened, heavy and electric. I could practically taste it. My gaze dropped, against my will, to the rise and fall of her chest, the way her dress clung to her curves after hours of hard riding.

Gods, I despise you, I thought, even as my cock twitched at the mere proximity of her. And I’d burn this entire kingdom down before I let anyone else touch you.

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall, watching her with hooded eyes. Waiting. The air between us felt like a blade’s edge—sharp enough to cut, hot enough to brand.

“Unless,” I added, the words slipping out before I could stop them, dark and rough, “you’d prefer I share it.”