Then he knelt before her so that they were almost eye level, his gaze lingering on her bruised cheek with an intensity that was both wrathful and startlingly possessive. His lips were set in a stern line, and his fingers clutched the chair’s armrest, grazing her elbow. The lips that she had kissed, the fingers that had been inside her … The Sardovians she had killed to save herself. The Sardovian she had killed to save him. I am the Night Emperor’s whore, she thought bleakly.
