The sound of the slap echoed against the stone walls of the private room, a sharp, violent crack that lingered in the heavy air.
Liam stumbled back. He raised his hand to his cheek. His skin was burning. He stared at his wife, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. He was the Crown Prince. He was the future King. No one touched him. No one dared to even look him in the eye without permission.
But Dahlia stood there, her hand still raised, her chest heaving with exertion. She didn’t look like a submissive wife. She looked like an executioner.
"Won aren’t your plaything," Dahlia spoke. Her voice was low, but it vibrated with a dangerous intensity. "And they are not your excuse for your wrongdoings."
She looked him up and down. She saw the sheet wrapped loosely around his waist. She saw the sweat on his chest. She saw the guilt written in the lines of his face.
"What kind of a man are you?" she asked, her voice dripping with disgust. "To hide behind the skirts of a woman? To bla your own lack of control on a ’temptress’? You are pathetic."
Liam lowered his hand. He tried to compose his face. He tried to summon the charm that had saved him a thousand tis before. He forced a contrite expression onto his face, making his eyes look soft and pleading.
"Dahlia," Liam said, his voice shaking just enough to sound sincere. "Please. You misunderstand. I... I drank too much."
He rubbed his forehead, feigning a headache.
"I had a montary lapse in judgnt," Liam lied. "I was drunk, Dahlia. I didn’t know what I was doing. The wine... it was too strong."
Dahlia looked at him. She stared at his fake remorse. Her expression didn’t soften. It hardened into stone.
"You were drunk?" she asked softly.
She turned away from him. She walked to the round table in the center of the room. A large crystal jug of wine sat there, half-full. It was the sa wine Ashlyn had been drinking.
Dahlia picked up the jug. It was heavy.
She turned back to Liam.
"You say you were drunk," she said. "Let help you."
With a sudden, violent motion, she swung the jug.
SPLASH.
She splashed the entire contents of the jug directly into his face.
The dark red wine hit him like a physical blow. It soaked his hair instantly. It ran down his forehead, into his eyes, down his cheeks. It dripped off his chin and onto his bare chest, staining his skin like fresh blood.
Liam sputtered. He gasped, wiping the stinging liquid from his eyes with his hands. He coughed, tasting the wine he had claid was the cause of his sin.
"Sober now?" Dahlia asked coldly.
Liam stood there, dripping wet, shivering slightly as the cool liquid ran down his stomach. The humiliation was absolute.
He wiped the wine dripping from his face. He blinked, his eyes stinging. He looked at her, and for the first ti in years, he felt a flicker of genuine fear.
"Yes," he whispered.
He took a deep breath, trying to regain his footing in the conversation. He needed to change the subject. He needed to know how she had found him. This room was secret. This eting was secret.
"But..." Liam asked, choosing his words carefully, testing the waters. "Why did you co here suddenly? You were supposed to be at the church. You were supposed to be praying."
He looked at her suspiciously, wine dripping from his nose.
"Did soone send for you?" he asked.
Dahlia looked at him. She didn’t blink. She didn’t reveal Marissa’s involvent.
"I have been in my hotown," Dahlia spoke smoothly. "Caring for my father, the General. He was unwell."
She took a step closer to him, her shoes crunching on the wet floor.
"I left the capital to stay with my father, to help my mother," she said, her voice laced with irony. "I never imagined my husband would be enjoying himself so freely. Having quite the comfortable ti in a bed while I worried about my family."
Liam panicked. Her father. General Zane Reed. The man who controlled the southern armies. If the General found out Liam was cheating on his daughter so publicly, the alliance would shatter. Liam would lose his military backing.
"It was all an act!" Liam insisted, his voice rising in desperation. "I swear, Dahlia! Nothing happened! She threw herself at ! I was pushing her away when you ca in!"
He reached out for her hand.
"I love you," he lied. "Only you."
Dahlia stared at him. She looked at his outstretched hand, wet with wine. She didn’t take it.
"What do you still hope to happen?" Dahlia asked. "Do you think I am blind? Do you think I am stupid?"
She pointed to the bed.
"I saw you," she hissed. "I saw her legs around you. I saw your face. I have dirtied my own eyes just by looking at you."
She stepped into his personal space. She was shorter than him, but in that mont, she seed to tower over him.
"Have I been a Princess for too long?" Dahlia whispered. "Have the silk dresses and the tea parties made you forget who I am?"
She grabbed the hem of the sheet he was wearing and yanked him forward.
"Have you forgotten I am a General’s daughter?" she asked. "I grew up in military camps. I know a liar when I see one. Have you forgotten I am not so easy to bully?"
She raised her hand.
SLAP!
She slapped him again. Harder this ti. The sound was like a gunshot.
Liam flinched. His head snapped to the side. The pain was sharp, hot, and humiliating.
His anger flared. The beast inside him woke up. He was the Crown Prince. He was the future King. No one hit him. Not even her.
He clenched his fist. He raised his hand, about to retaliate.
"I am a Royal Prince!" Liam shouted, his face twisting into a snarl. "You don’t—"
Dahlia didn’t back down. She didn’t flinch. She moved faster than he expected.
She reached up and grabbed his ear.
She twisted it. Hard.
"Ahhh!" Liam cried out, his shout turning into a yelp of pain.
He was forced to bend over. He had to lower his head to relieve the pressure. He looked ridiculous, a grown man bent double by his wife.
"Don’t go too far," Dahlia warned. Her voice was right in his ear, low and deadly.
She twisted it again.
"Do you think your title protects you?" she hissed. "Do you think your crown makes you strong?"
She tightened her grip.
"If not for my father’s troops," Dahlia whispered, "if not for his spies doing your every bidding... where would you be?"
Liam gritted his teeth, trying not to scream.
"If not for my family intimidating the factions at court for you," she continued, "intimidating the ministers who hate you... could you safely remain a Prince?"
She leaned closer. She delivered the final, fatal blow to his ego.
"An illegitimate child like you?"
The words hit him harder than the slap. It was his deepest sha. His darkest secret. He was the King’s son, but his mother had been a maid. A nobody. His claim to the throne was only secure because of Dahlia’s family support. Without the Reed army, the court would eat him alive. They would replace him with Derek.
He froze. His hand dropped to his side. The fight drained out of him instantly.
He realized the precariousness of his position. He was not the master here. He was the puppet. And she held the strings.
"I..." he stamred.
Dahlia released his ear with a violent push.
Liam stumbled back. He almost fell. He held his throbbing ear, looking at her with wide, terrified eyes. He looked like a scolded schoolboy.
"I’m sorry," Liam whispered. "Please. Forgive . I forgot myself."
He bowed his head, accepting his defeat.
Dahlia looked at him. She saw the fear. She saw the submission. It disgusted her.
"Such disgraceful behavior," she said. She wiped her hand on her dress as if she had touched sothing filthy.
She looked around the room. She saw his clothes scattered on the floor where he had thrown them in his haste to bed Ashlyn.
She bent down. She picked up his velvet coat. It was heavy and expensive.
She threw it at him.
It hit him in the chest. He grabbed it, clutching it like a lifeline.
"Get dressed," Dahlia ordered. Her voice was a command.
She pointed to the door.
"And go back ho," she said. "Now!!!"
Liam scrambled to put on the coat over his wet skin. He fumbled with the buttons.
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Dahlia."
Dahlia didn’t wait. She turned her back on him. She walked out of the room, her head held high, leaving her husband shivering in the ruins of his affair, slling of wine and failure.
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