The second night of consummation is just as overwhelming as the first.
The suffocation sets in rapidly when I am locked in the Red Chamber once more with Prince Ruin, who tonight, is seated at the edge of the mattress, his fingers loose on a goblet with red liquid. He's drunk, I realize, when his eyes seem to take too many seconds to focus on me.
I don't smell liquor. I smell blood.
He doesn't speak to me. And for some reason, I think maybe if he doesn't want this, like he has expressed, maybe we can agree on something. "Ruin--"
He visibly flinches like he's been struck harshly. I pause, realising it's the first time I've addressed him by his name. I've never had to call out to him before, never by his name.
Maybe he's a little sensitive tonight. I clear my throat. Try again. My fists clench tight. "Perhaps, we got off the wrong foot--"
He snorts, takes a large swig from his goblet.
I press forward. "--last night. I was a little frightened. I've not been with a man since..." The name won't leave my throat and I continue before an awkward silence can set it. "This arrangement is wrong. You do not want it. Neither do I. We can barely stand each other. Perhaps, we can come to some kind of truce. Or an agreement."
His blue eyes drag from the Persian rug to the general direction of my face. "Agreement," he slurs.
I nod, glad that I have his unblinking attention. Gods, he scares me. The mere pressure under that single gaze. To think he isn't even looking me in the eye and I feel the sweat and tremors building under my skin. Like my body is waiting for something violent to happen.
And it does.
Because in the next second, the Prince's tall frame is in front of mine, blocking out all the light in the room. I backpedal, startled, but he catches me by the back of my robe, wrenching it off me in an attempt to pull me back.
Fabric rips.
Cold air caresses my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps down the line of my arms as they fly up to protect my nakedness from him.
Prince Ruin stares at me with such chilling disgust, I realize there's no use shielding myself. No one could look at anyone the way he looks at me and want to touch them. He looks at me like I am contaminated.
He leans in--did he move, or did the world simply shrink around him?--and the red in his gaze seems to pulse. "You seem to be under the pleasant delusion that I do not want this."
He grins when my face turns ashen. "Of course, I had been appalled initially, inheriting everything that belonged to a dead brother I hated. I couldn't quite decide if I despised him more in his death than in life, but..." He draws in an ecstatic breath. "I had to admit it. Being Crown Prince has its amusements. And nothing--nothing--is more enticing than destroying everything Ceaser touched."
His eyes crawl over me and it feels like poison. "And you, Genevieve… are the last thing he owned. He was a talker, you see." A small smile tugs his mouth, almost fond, if it weren't for that edge of cruelty in his eyes. "A real performer. People mistook it for charm, but really he just loved an audience.
"He had his eyes on your oldest sister, Astrid, first. The girl saw straight through him. We had a field day laughing about it. And about you." His chuckle is raspy. "How you followed him around after that first kiss, panting like a starving dog he'd thrown a scrap."
I know by now not to listen to anything that comes out of that mouth, but when Prince Ruin speaks, it is with the lull of a poet. He could have been telling you how exactly he was going to murder you and it would sound like music to your ears.
"He described it, every pathetic little detail. 'She turned red. Looked the fool like I was her bloody saviour.'" He watches my expression, his shifting from boredom to sick glee when he sees his words taking root in me as I rifle through the memories of my first kiss with Ceaser.
I'd never been kissed before. I did pant. I was pleasantly flushed. My chest wouldn't stop trying to explode. Prince Ruin isn't lying--but you have to understand. I knew Ceaser. He was nothing like the man Ruin described.
But there is more. "'Never fucked a woman with a cunt that tight and bloody,' he told us," the Prince recites with mirth. "Said it almost made up for your sad little tits."
He tilts his head, watching my face as the words land deeper, drinking it in, and deeper still, he plunges the knife.
"He told us everything he planned for your wedding night. He already had his cock inside you, so the rest was just formality. We placed bets, you know." He licks his lips.
"On how high you'd scream when he fucked your ass."
I slap him. Hard.
His head jerks to the side viciously and the sound echoes in the room. Anger blots my cheeks red and hot, it roars in my ears, my blood, seeking more violence, vengeance. My chest heaves uncontrollably, tears blurring my vision. "Insult me all you want, but do not soil his name. He was more of a man than you'll ever be."
The Prince's stare slides lazily to mine. "You know, no one's ever raised a hand to me and lived to tell the tale."
"Perhaps if your father had hit you a little more, you wouldn't have rotted from inside out. I bet your mother is rolling her grave, knowing this is what she gave her life for. A complete waste of space."
He grabs my chin so suddenly, yanking me forward roughly. My chest slams into his. "Say that again, bitch."
When I open my mouth, he slams his lips into mine.
The kiss is ugly. Hateful. It is fangs ripping into my bottom lip and my canines tearing into his. When he pulls away, his mouth is bloody, my chest is heaving, my jaw is hurting and tears are running down my cheeks.
"You don't believe me?" he whispers against my lips. "If I was lying, tell me how I know precisely how to make you come, sister-in-law. Tell me how I know that sucking your clitoris doesn't get those tiny gasps and moans out of you, more than fangs sinking your folds, feeding from you. Tell me how I know precisely how many licks it'll take to get your cunt squirting all over my face. Ten, because you're that easy."
I simply refused to believe it. His words hit too close to home, too close to the sacred memories I shared with Ceaser, but I won't accept that he was that kind of man. Ceaser was perfect.
"Let. Me. Go," I say, voice cracking.
Ruin sees the hatred in my eyes. "Very well, then. Nothing a simple demonstration won't fix."
It happens in mere seconds.
My back slams against the broad bedpost. My breath bursts out of my chest. Panic tears through me like something alive. Ruin moves in that eerie blur and my hands are wrenched behind me and something silky wraps around my wrists rapidly, locking them behind the sturdy wood. I thrash against it. "Untie me!" I scream. "Untie me right now, you bastard--"
He sinks onto one knee in front of me.