The Prince's Captive Virgin. Maisey Yates

and for some reason she felt her cheeks heat. “Those things are deeper than survival. And they matter. Because they’re what make survival matter.”

      He laughed, but the sound carried no humor. “You would be surprised. There was a point in my existence when I looked around, and there was nothing. Nothing but an empty palace, dark, void of life. When every part of my body hurt, when I could barely get out of bed. And I would ask myself why I was still breathing. The answer was not books or the sun on the sand.”

      “What was the answer, then?” she asked, in spite of herself.

      “Because I’m simply too stubborn to allow death to win. Sometimes, that’s all the reason you have. So it is the reason that suffices.” He stood then. “I am finished. Come. I will show you back to your room.”

      “I don’t need you to.”

      “Yes,” he said, his voice uncompromising, “you do. Because, I need to establish a few...ground rules.”

      She bristled. She wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do. That simply wasn’t the way her father had raised her. No, her father had seemed perpetually out of his element with a small child. But, he had loved her, and Belle had given him as little trouble as possible because she could see how hard he tried. Because from what she could remember of her life with her mother, she was much better off with her father.

      He kept her on a very long leash. He had never imposed much in the way of strictures. She fixed her own dinner, chose her own clothes, decided when she would go out at night and when she would stay in.

      Having this man suggest that she would be following anything like rules burrowed underneath her skin and prodded her.

      Not that she’d ever done much with that freedom. But it was the principle.

      Somehow, she managed to bite her lip and keep from saying something. But, the minute she did that fear crept back over her. A reminder that she didn’t know who he was, not really. And didn’t know what he was capable of.

      It was so hard to take it all in; it kept hitting her in fits and starts, in little snatches. Probably because if it all landed on her at once, like a ton of extremely archaic bricks, she would lose her mind completely.

      “If ever you are hungry, just let Athena know. She will feed you.”

      “I can’t just...get my own food?”

      “I never do,” he said.

      “Well,” she said, “that is not particularly surprising.”

      She followed him down the long corridor, back to the stairs. “There is an exit that way,” he said, gesturing to the left. “It will take you out to the gardens. You’re welcome to explore anyplace you want on the grounds. Also, the ballroom, the libraries, all of that is open to you. But my quarters are not.”

      “Okay,” she said, feeling a strange sense of relief. Really, she did not want to go to his quarters. Just the thought made her stomach clench up tight.

      “My chambers encompass the east quadrant of the palace.”

      “An entire quadrant?”

      He arched a brow, pausing midstride. “I take up a lot of space.” Then he turned away from her and continued walking. That simple statement was truer than he probably realized. He most definitely took up a lot of space. And all the air in whatever room he was in.

      “Can I at least...?” She took a breath. “You won’t give me my phone. I need something. I need some way to get in touch with people.”

      “That is impossible. Not at the moment. I have my own agenda, and my concern is that you have your own, as well. I cannot have them conflicting.”

      He didn’t sound the least bit regretful. “So you just intend to keep me cut off from the world?”

      “It isn’t so bad.”

      It was dawning on her, creeping up over her like a chill, that she was committed to staying here with a man who had not been outside palace walls in several years. A man who clearly didn’t understand why anybody would have an issue being so isolated. It wasn’t even an issue of him lacking sympathy or humanity.

      He had no understanding. For why she might want more. For why she might need more.

      A person could shrivel up into a husk and die here, and the master of the manor would never even have had the slightest inclination she was in danger of doing so.

      “I don’t...” It suddenly dawned on her when they approached her bedroom door that she had nothing with her. No clothes. “I don’t have anything to wear.” She had been wearing the same jeans and jacket since she had embarked on her journey yesterday.

      “I can have something procured for you. You will get it tomorrow. Tonight, however, there is nothing I can do for you.”

      “But... I... I have nothing to sleep in.”

      He looked at her, his coal-black eyes burning through her skin, leaving her feeling hot, restless. “Then sleep in nothing. It is what I do.”

      For some reason, those words forced an image of him with acres of golden skin exposed. She wondered where his scars extended to. If all of him was so rough and tragically torn, or if parts of him were still whole.

      And once more that strange sensation overwhelmed her. Made her scalp prickle, made her heart beat faster.

      She gasped and jerked away from him.

      He regarded her closely for a moment, and she sensed a strange current arcing between them; for some reason she was incredibly conscious and aware of the amount of restraint and strength it was taking for him to hold himself there, still and steady. She had no idea just what he was restraining himself from doing, or why she was so confident in her assessment of him.

      She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to either thing.

      “I will leave you,” he said, his tone hard.

      Then he turned away to go, and she found herself strangely wanting to stop him. To prolong the moment.

      So she took another step away from him, holding her hands down at her sides and keeping herself resolutely still.

      He walked away from the room, and back down the corridor. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. And then she sprang into action. She forced the door shut, and locked it, hoping that it would hold. Then thinking it was probably silly because if anybody had the key to the door, it was her captor.

      Her heart began to thunder hard, and she placed her hand against her breast, trying to catch her breath. She was shaking, shaking and trying not to cry. But then she wondered why she was bothering.

      She let out a gasping sob, one tear trailing down her cheek. She turned and threw herself on the bed. She was alone. Really alone. Her father didn’t know where she was, Tony didn’t know where she was.

      She had no way to reach them. She had no way to get help if she needed it. She simply had to trust the man holding her here.

      Her wounded, strangely beautiful captor, who seemed to bring ice with him whenever he entered a room.

      She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to claim her. And as her thoughts began to swirl around in a confusing circle, she kept picturing his dark eyes. Dark eyes, set in a ravaged face, that were windows to an even more ravaged soul.

      Thoughts of him made her restless. Made it impossible for her to breathe.

      I will present you to the world as my mistress.

      Memories of those words, of that voice, set off a quiver low in her belly. And her final thought before drifting to sleep was that if this was fear...if it was anger, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before in her life.

      With those words still resonating inside her, she was forced to recognize, as sleep claimed her utterly, that she felt neither fear nor