Chapter 45: CHAPTER 45

Tessa's POV

The carriage swayed gently as it rolled along the winding road, and I was acutely aware of every single inch of space between us.

Which was to say, not nearly enough.

Dmitri sat across from me, his large frame occupying the plush velvet seat with an easy authority that made the carriage feel smaller than it actually was. He was gazing out the window, his profile sharp against the golden morning light, his dark hair catching the sun in a way that made it look almost blue-black. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones high, his lips—full and perfectly shaped—parted slightly as he breathed.

I was going to die.

Not from any threat or danger, but from the sheer impossibility of being in such close proximity to him without spontaneously combusting.

My hands were clasped in my lap, fingers twisted together so tightly my knuckles had gone white. My heart was pounding so hard I was certain he could hear it, could probably feel the vibrations through the carriage floor. My face was flushed—I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks, the telltale warmth that betrayed every embarrassing thought that passed through my mind.

Stop it. Stop it right now. He's the King. He's dangerous. He's—

Gods, he's beautiful.

The thought came unbidden, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force it back into whatever dark corner of my mind it had crawled out of.

It didn't work.

I opened my eyes again—against my better judgment—and found myself staring at him once more. At the way his dark hair fell across his forehead in careless waves. At the strong line of his jaw, shadowed with just a hint of stubble. At the way his broad shoulders filled out his dark traveling coat, the fabric straining slightly across his chest.

He was wearing black. Of course he was. Black that seemed to absorb the light around him, making him look even more imposing, even more powerful. A silver clasp at his throat caught the sun, the only ornamentation on an otherwise severe ensemble.

A king's clothes. A king's presence. A king's—

He turned his head.

And caught me staring.

The world stopped.

For one horrifying, eternal moment, our eyes met—his golden gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. I saw the slight curve of his lips, the hint of amusement that flickered across his features, and I knew—I knew—that he'd caught me.

I looked away so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

My face was on fire. I could feel the heat spreading down my neck, across my chest, probably all the way to my toes. I busied myself with smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in my dress, adjusting the fall of my hair, examining the grain of the wood on the carriage wall—anything to avoid meeting his eyes again.

"Tessa."

His voice was low, rich, and it sent a shiver down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with fear.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" I kept my eyes fixed on a particularly interesting knot in the wood paneling.

"Look at me."

I hesitated. Every instinct screamed at me to keep my eyes down, to maintain the careful distance I'd been trying to cultivate. But something in his voice—a gentleness I hadn't expected—made me lift my gaze.

He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not amusement anymore. Something deeper. Something almost... curious.

"You were staring," he said.

The heat in my cheeks intensified. "I—I wasn't—I mean, I was just—" I stopped, took a breath, tried again. "I apologize, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to be so forward. It's just that—" I gestured vaguely at him. "You're very—and the light was—and I—"

I was making it worse. So much worse.

Dmitri's lips curved into a smile—a real smile, not the cold, controlled expression I usually saw on his face. It transformed him, softening the hard lines of his features, making him look almost... approachable.

"Breathe, Tessa," he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made my heart stutter. "I'm not going to punish you for looking at me."

I blinked. "You're not?"

"Why would I?" He leaned back in his seat, and the movement drew my eyes to the way his coat pulled across his shoulders. "I've been looking at you too."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my mouth open, then close, then open again with nothing coming out.

"You—" I swallowed hard. "You have?"

"I have," he confirmed, and there was something almost playful in his tone. "You're very interesting to look at, Tessa. The way the light catches your hair. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. The way you blush when you think no one is watching."

I was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent going to die.

"I don't—" I started, then stopped. "I mean, I wasn't—"

"You were," he said, and his smile widened slightly. "You are. It's quite endearing."

I had no idea what to say to that. I was too busy trying to process the fact that the Lycan King—the Mad King, the monster who had nearly killed me, the man I was supposed to fear—had just called me endearing.

"Your Majesty," I said carefully, "I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Any of this." I gestured between us, at the carriage, at the impossible situation I found myself in. "You're the King. You're powerful and dangerous and you could kill me without even trying. And yet you—" I stopped, struggling to find the words. "You're being... kind. Gentle. Like I matter somehow."

He was quiet for a moment, his golden eyes searching my face.

"You do matter," he said finally. "That's what I'm trying to tell you."

The words settled over me like a warm blanket, and I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back quickly, not wanting him to see how much his words affected me.

"I don't understand," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know." He leaned forward slightly, and I caught the scent of him—something dark and masculine, like pine and smoke and the clean sharpness of winter air. "That's why I want to talk to you. Really talk. I want to know who you are, Tessa. Not the disguise. Not the lies your father forced on you. The real you."

I stared at him, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear my own thoughts.

"You want to know about me?" I asked, my voice small.

"Everything." His gaze was intense, unwavering. "I want to know why you disguised yourself. I want to know about your family. I want to know what happened to make you so... afraid."

The last word hung in the air between us, and I felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders.

"Afraid," I repeated. "You think I'm afraid."

"I know you are," he said quietly. "I've seen it in the way you flinch when I move too quickly. In the way you hold yourself like you're expecting a blow. In the way you apologize for existing." He paused, and something flickered in his eyes—something that looked almost like pain. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Tessa. Not anymore."

I wanted to believe him. More than anything, I wanted to believe him.

But the scars on my body—the bruises that had only just faded, the memory of his hand around my throat—were a constant reminder of what he was capable of.

"I don't know if I can," I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. "I want to. I really do. But everything that's happened—"

"I know." He held up a hand, cutting me off gently. "I know what I did to you. I know the terror I caused. I'm not asking you to forget that, or to pretend it didn't happen. I'm just asking you to let me show you that I'm more than that. That there's more to me than the monster."

I was quiet for a long moment, turning his words over in my mind.

"Why?" I asked finally. "Why do you care what I think? I'm just a servant. A nobody. A wolfless peasant who was sold to you by a father who never wanted me."

Dmitri's expression darkened at the mention of my father, and I saw a flash of something dangerous in his eyes.

"Your father," he said, and his voice was sharp, cutting. "He's the one who sent you here in your sister's place."

"Yes."

"He's the one who dyed your hair. Changed your eyes. Gave you a false name."

"Yes."

"And your sister knew. She let him do it."

I nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat.

Dmitri was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Tell me about them," he said. "Tell me everything."

I took a shaky breath, and the words began to spill out.