him, her stomach ended up in her throat as their gazes clashed. He lounged against the corridor wall, facing her, eyes dangerous sparks of blue, close enough that she caught the woodland smell of him. Not the Kris from her campfire fantasy. He was rigid with barely contained temper, tight in his neck, bulging at the hinge of his jaw as he bit down hard.
Even angry, he filled her with a wild, hazardous need.
“Your Highness,” she made herself say. “Care to unhand my staff?”
His only response was to lift a brow. His hand remained over Hanna’s mouth, who was looking for all the world like, well, like a woman who’d unwillingly led an uncontainable prince to her superior’s private sleeping quarters in the dead of night.
Frankie’s own anger flared to life, fanned by her fatigue. How dare he put Hanna in this position? How dare he act so inappropriately?
He’s your prince, her fading traces of reason reminded her. And your guard is watching. Don’t blow your top.
“Your Highness,” she said, grinding her irritation down into a measured tone. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Silencing her,” he said, before removing his hand. The first words he’d spoken to her in five days and the rough texture of his voice moved like friction inside her. “Though it shouldn’t bother you, since you’ve ordered her silence since I got here.”
Oh. Shit.
Frankie flicked a glance at Hanna. The woman’s answering gaze was wary. “Dismissed, Johansson.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then Hanna was gone.
“Let’s sort this out then.” Frankie jerked her head inside and was rewarded with a fierce stab in her temple. “Since you’ve clearly come here for a confrontation.”
God, that was not the right tone for addressing a prince. Not even close.
“You ordered my guards not to talk to me.” Eyes flinty, he brought himself closer to the threshold. She had to tilt her chin higher to hold his stare, and her stomach curled. He was still dressed in the jeans and shirt he’d worn that day. Lush hair all over the place—too long, too prone to his frustrated hands. And still, she wanted to jump him. “Do you know how badly I could’ve used a couple of friends around here? Hanna made me think she was the dullest person alive”—Frankie made a mental note to praise her guard for her efforts—“until I happened to discover she’s this vibrant bouncy-ball you ordered into stillness. Why would you do that? Why the hell would you punish me—”
“Punish you?” She bit back, too exhausted to keep herself in check as his words struck her pride. “You think that’s what this is? That I’m so useless at my job, I set orders based on personal grudges?”
He didn’t seem to care that her tone was out of line. He moved even closer, rolling his lips together. “I have no idea what this is, Frankie, because you don’t tell me the truth.”
“Let’s talk about telling the truth, then.” Bad. This was bad. His temper was expanding—and hers was responding big time. “Because you seem to be under the delusion that you’re innocent in all this.”
“This’ll be interesting.” His stare bored into her. “Enlighten me.”
“Inside.” She pulled her head back into her room, wincing at her headache. No doubt about it. His tension and her sleep deprivation were about to collide head-on.
Kris rounded the doorway, features threatening a fight. Intent pushed him passed her into the room, but she clocked the instant he realized how little she was wearing. Probably the exact same moment she realized she’d just let this wild prince into her bedroom. His insatiate energy seemed to chew up all the space, drawing the walls in closer, blurring the corners and edges until she was the only thing left in his field.
Facing her, his focus snapped to her body. Anger flickered in and out of his gaze like a frequency dial that couldn’t decide where to land. Outrage or lust? His throat moved on a hard swallow as he took in her bare legs; his mouth parted, bottom lip pulling between his teeth as his attention traveled over her hips and stomach. Then his jaw flexed and his fingers curled by his sides, as if he couldn’t decide whether to punch the nearest wall or take hold of her camisole and tear it clean off.
Hot and refusing to be flustered, Frankie kicked the door closed behind her. “You’re not here to look.”
The slam brought his temper rushing back. “You’re right.” Standing in the short stretch of space between the foot of