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left—his tent without his permission. Except for Jasha and Grigori. They always did what they wanted.
    â€œLeave the tent,” he told them, “and go home.” No reason to have them out in the rain. Not that the rain ever stopped this time of year. And the command had nothing to do with maintaining a hideaway for Rose in case she visited without warning. Of course.
    Everything taken care of, he spurred his animal into motion. He almost hoped someone else ambushed him tonight. He itched for another fight. Something, anything to release some of the tension coiled inside him.
    Yet, deep down he suspected only one thing would release that tension—and he might not see her for another year.

Chapter Four
    She didn’t visit.
    For the next year, Vasili looked for her in every shadow, waiting. Hopeful, damn him, for a glimpse of her. He spent more time in “their” tent than he did in his palace. Or training. Or hunting.
    Because of Rose, he was distracted, on edge, and too fucking needy. His people were now leery of him, afraid he’d snap their heads off. And he just might. Damn
her!
    He liked women, and he liked sex, but the two had a place in his life—and that was right after everything important. Doing without shouldn’t have bothered him. But he kept thinking about Rose, and his body kept reacting. He wanted her.
Badly.
    In one week and twenty-three hours, she would be twenty years old. No longer too young for him. And despite her origins, he could finally have her. But only after he punished her for reducing him to
this.
A grumpy king, a disgruntled suitor, and a terrible brother.
    She owed him, and he would collect. You didn’t ask someone how to reach them, and then never try to reach them. It was rude. And Vasili had always believed in the power of civility. Fine. He was a recent convert. But because she’d made him wait—and wait and wait—he was having one of his night-rose tattoos removed.
    Yeah, he’d gotten another one. Stupid wine. He hadn’t meant to consume so much last week, but his mind had wandered—about Rose,
of course
—and he’d thought a second tattoo would look amazing on his other arm.
    Jasha hadn’t stopped teasing him since.
    He would punish Rose for that, as well.
    After he tasted her. By now he’d realized that she was nearly too lovely to resist. Too stubborn, too. Which, despite everything, made him proud of her. Hell, these days he was always proud of her.
    She was resisting him with a strength he himself did not possess, and he was proud.
    Last time, she’d armed herself, and every time he remembered it, he was proud. She’d fought him with more skill than he would have guessed, and he was proud. She’d asked him how she could return, and he was fucking proud. It was disgusting. Next he’d be claiming his husbandly rights. Not just sex, because that was on the menu no matter what, but
everything.
Her presence, her constant attendance to his needs. Her heart.
    Rights that belonged to him. No one else. Any man who touched her would— Nothing. His shoulders slumped against his throne. He couldn’t reach them. Which was frustrating and damned irritating. He was a king. He could control people with his mind. Their actions, their words—even rip their skin open with only a thought. Yet he couldn’t cross a stupid threshold of shimmering air and check on his property.
    Yes. Property. That was what she was, he decided with a smile, already imagining how she would react when he informed her of her new status. Most likely, she’d finish the introduction of her knee to his balls.
    â€œYou’re scaring the guests.” Jasha’s deep voice drew him from his dark musings. “Honestly, that smile is evil. You look ready to torture someone.”
    They were seated side by side on their royal dais, a party in full swing around them. Soft music played, every note perfect. It should