Powerless (The Powerless Trilogy, #1)

by Lauren Roberts

“Every girl deserves something equally as pretty and deadly as they are,”

Perhaps I’ll relieve him of one of his hands, so he never has the opportunity to lay it on a woman again.

“Mark my words, Prince, I will be your undoing.” I lean in, ignoring the knife against my throat as I murmur, “Oh, darling, I look forward to it.”

“Too stubborn to ask for my help, Gray?” “No,” I say coolly. “Too strong to need it.” His next words are murmured close to my ear. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Oh, darling, as long as you still think I’m pretty, I don’t give a damn what I look like.”

Ignoring him, I shake my head, grinning at her as she turns away from me. Vicious little thing, indeed.

He’s taken a blunt sword to the bedposts. Multiple times. I suppose that is better than taking a sword to a human, though I’m sure he does that as well.

Not wanting to be outdone, I drag my eyes over his strong facial features and even stronger body beneath. Everything about him is lethal. That smile. Those eyes. That cunning mind of his.

My eyes fall to his chest that is far too close, reminding me that we are far too close for competitors, for enemies in these Trials.

And yet, here I am, dancing with him in his bedroom. Alone. In the dark.

He is very close to me. Too close to me.

He looks at me, through me, waiting for an answer. His gray eyes are like chips of ice, shards of glass. Like both, his gaze is pointed and piercing. Cold yet captivating. Beautiful in the way only deadly things can be.

I fight my smile at the sight of her deadly weapon paired with her dazzling attire—so lovely, yet so lethal.

A statement. A reminder of who she is and what she did.

She is the embodiment of a bad decision. The twin of danger and desire. The fine line between deadly and divine. And I can feel myself drowning.

I’m not sure I’ll be winning these people’s votes tonight, but I am certainly making myself hard to forget.

His midnight hair falls over his forehead in messy, silky waves. Smoky gray eyes meet mine, captivating, chilling. His set jaw loosens, pulling his lips into a cocky grin as he watches me take him in.

“By all means, carry on. I’ll never deny myself the chance of watching you watch me.”

His smile is wicked. “Because it is far more fun to admire you when the action is mutual.”

Like the eyes of a murderer. The eyes of the king.

A dimple accompanies his crooked grin. “Oh, but the sound of your voice was such a welcome distraction from the pain.”

“Who knew that you’d be the one to pull a knife from my back and not the one to bury it there.”

He finally turns, making his way across the ballroom as I watch his retreating form. Then he calls over his shoulder. “Do me a favor, darling?” “And what’s that?” “Promise me you’ll stay alive long enough to stab me in the back?” I laugh loudly. “That’s been my goal all along, Prince.”

Yes, I’ve scaled these trees multiple times, and yes, I’ve conquered my fear of heights. But just because a fear has been conquered, doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable to be confronted with again and again. And yet, here I am, climbing up the tree, taking each branch at a time.

My eyes and body are alert as I trudge forward, though my mind wanders as much as I do. I think on the Trials, the contestants— And then my thoughts are on her. Stop.

She’s bewildering as much as she is beguiling. That pretty mouth of hers says one thing, but those ocean eyes say another. She pulls a knife from my back only to say she’ll bury another one there. She’s confusing, captivating, and we’re completely wrong for each other in all the right ways. She’s a flame, and I’m going to get burned. An ocean and I’m going to drown.

I’ve never been so affected by a single girl, and it’s absurd, absolutely annoying. But then I grin, remembering her heartbeat hammering beneath my fingers, her breath catching every time I touch her, her eyes drinking in every smile and dimple she supposedly hates.

The feeling of absolute annoyance for being so affected by someone is most definitely mutual, though I’m sure she’d deny it with a dagger to my throat.

So very vicious, ...

Easier to draw blood that way. Easier to make things interesting.

Fighting is my favorite waltz, and I know the steps by heart.

I refuse to give the king and the people what they desire: death.

I’m smiling up at him now, grinning like an idiot. I can’t stop.

Delusional. I’m completely and undeniably delusional.

But in this moment, I don’t want to die—if only so I can hear him say ...

“Remind me to make you smile like that again, when you aren’t dying, and I have all the time in the world to memorize it.”

Even in death my body refuses to listen to the commands of the future Enforcer.

She’s too stubborn to die, and I’m too stubborn to let her.

She’s so damn stubborn that she would choose to fight me until she collapsed rather than let me see her injured.

There’s that look again. It’s like she’s seeing straight through my many masks, tearing down my walls, stripping me bare with nothing but her gaze. I hate it—I love it. I feel free—I feel trapped. The thought that a single pair of blue eyes can leave me so vulnerable, so exposed, is alarming.

And in that moment, I realized that I’d wanted to say it—wanted her to hear it from my lips. Realized that if she died, I would never again get to look into those blue eyes and utter those two syllables that have been a constant in my mind. So I said her name, again and again. I finally let myself do it. Let that last piece of attachment to her lock into place. Just saying her name felt intimate, personal, somehow. And now I forever want her name on my lips and rolling off my tongue until I’m drunk on the taste and sound of it.

Her gaze tells me that there’s no escaping the question this time, though I’m not even sure I have an answer for her or myself. All I know is that I have this urge to protect her, be with her, tease her, touch her.

I smile at her, taking in every detail of her face beneath mine.

I am wrong, so wrong for her. She is too brave, too bold, too bloody good for me. Maybe I could be a better man. Maybe I could be more like Kitt with his heart on his sleeve and happiness on display. Maybe the future Enforcer could break down a few walls, become a man who is more than the masks he wears around his people. But ever since she discovered I was a prince and declared us enemies, I’ve played along, not wanting to be outdone. And it’s fun. It’s a distraction for the both of us, the toying and teasing with one another. But now? If I am to be her enemy, I want it to be because she loathes herself for wanting me.

The sound is rich and deep, and irritatingly enough, I find myself quieting so I can hear it better.

“I’m beginning to think that you enjoy getting hurt, if only so you can have my hands all over you.”

“Oh, I’m not making you do anything, darling. You can leave me to bleed out if you must. Because I only want your hands all over me if you want them to be.”

My eyes snap to his gray ones already pinned on me. I am playing a very dangerous game. Walking on a sharp blade and hoping I don’t get cut. Playing with fire and hoping I don’t get burned. Swimming in a dangerous current and hoping I don’t drown. He is dangerous. And even with that one thought echoing in my mind, I hold his gaze and put my hands on him.

Three days since Paedyn put her hands on me after I told her to only do so if she wanted to. And I don’t think I’ve been able to catch my breath since. Every time she looks at me, I feel like I’m gasping for air. I hate it.

She’s so stunning, yet so stubbornly oblivious to how the sunset behind dulls in comparison to the vibrance that is her.