Amelia
The thought of Prince Owen spending another night with Ava turns my stomach. I can’t stop thinking about the sensation of his finger on my neck when he was treating my wounds, of his hand on my finger while he taught me to read. Of his naked body in the orphanage basement.
I should not have feelings for my captor even if he is also my rescuer.
But I do.
I’m sitting in a plush armchair in my bedroom, brushing my hair after my bath as part of my new nighttime routine, when the door to my bedroom opens. I watch it open a few inches, before there’s a pause, and then the door closes again. A knock quickly follows.
“Come in,” I call curiously.
To my surprise, it’s Prince Owen. “Sorry,” he says, “I forgot to knock the first time. I’m trying to be better about your privacy in case
