The words hung in the air, sharp as a snapped whip. Arin stared at him, bewildered, then a flush of hot shame and cold defiance battled within her. What was he playing at? Was this another form of humiliation? To strip her, here, now, in his chambers?
"What in the burning pit are you talking about?" she rasped, her voice still rough from the fight, from the smoke, from the sheer shock of it all. "If you think I'll strip for you, Prince, you've mistaken me for one of your simpering court ladies."
His eyes, still blazing with a tightly leashed fury, narrowed further. He took a step towards her, his presence dominating the room. The scent of him—fire and something deep, ancient, like scorched earth—filled her senses. Her heart, already thrumming from the pain and adrenaline, beat a frantic rhythm against her bruised ribs.
