The vault door seals with a finality that echoes through the narrow space, and I know there is no retreating now from what Quade Pembroke intends. My bloodline's future rests on completing the royal rite, yet he is the one who will take my innocence first and perhaps leave nothing of me behind when it is over.
His touch finds the crescent scar on my thigh, and the shelves seem to close in as his breath warms my skin. I brace for the degradation I both dread and crave, the careful words I rehearsed falling away under his command.
My hands remain flat on the archive table, waiting for the moment he opens my gown and shows me how thoroughly he means to ruin his yielding bride.
