The Warrior [The Selection]

Chapter Fourteen: Fires and Alarms.

"That Guard seems to have taken quite a liking to you."

I left Asher to close the door to my room. I hadn't even been sure he'd follow me in once I'd ducked inside. But he had, not seeming to worry much about either one of our reputations. There hadn't been anyone in the corridor, but it didn't mean someone hadn't seen us. There were cameras everywhere.

There was already a fire lighting the room, which the maids must have built up for me before they'd left for supper. I was grateful for the warmth emanating from the dancing flames as Asher's icy gaze settled on me.

"His name is Rolan." I told him.

His eyes tightened with annoyance.

Hiding a grin, I sat on the couch so I could undo the straps on my shoes. Grateful to be finally free, I kicked them away.

I sensed rather than saw him move closer, leaning against the back of the armchair that faced me.

"I don't care." He announced.

"Then why'd you say anything?"

His teeth clenched, and he spoke his next words through them. "You've caused an awful lot of trouble, love."

"I've heard."

"Rolan, no doubt." He muttered, and he clearly didn't want any confirmation of the fact. "My mother spoke to you?"

"She did."

"Not nicely, I assume."

"Not exactly."

We stared at each other. He wanted to yell, I could see it in his quivering fists. Could see it in the way he bit his lip and tapped his foot. I wanted to yell right back, especially for the way he'd let his sister be treated, and for the way he'd treated me.

But it had been a long night. I didn't have the energy to scream at him, nor for another brawl.

Before he could open his mouth, I stood.

He watched me, wary, as I moved towards him, bare feet slapping quietly on the wooden floor.

"Unzip me?" I asked, keeping my voice casual. I didn't want to sound too suggestive, lest he get the wrong idea. But neither did I want to sound too threatening, in case he took it as a test.

Still, his expression darkened. I could see the struggle on his face as he thought through my request. Was I being suggestive? Was it an invitation? Or was it a simple power play? Was it politer to say no, or to undo my dress? His eyebrows crinkled with frustration, unsure.

By then I was already in front of him, having circled around the armchair to stand at his elbow. He turned with me, so we were stood face to face by the time I'd reached him. With a twitch of my eyebrows, I turned to allow him access to the zip.

I sensed him step closer to me, felt the press of his body heat against my back.

Though the zip was subtle - hidden - Asher found it immediately. Of course, I didn't doubt that a Prince would have had many opportunities to practice undoing a dress.

His knuckles settled at the apex of my spine. Cushioned between my shoulder blades.

He started to drag the zipper downwards.

He didn't brush my hair aside, as he might have done if we were more intimate. Though for this I was thankful. Had he moved it away, he'd have had a plain view of the raised, jagged ridges of scars littering my back. That, I felt certain, would have raised more than one question.