He pushed the unexpected thought away. There was too much at stake for him to suffer an attack of conscience now. Besides, it wasn’t just his own personal vendetta on the line. The fate of thousands of Linnaeans rested on his shoulders.
“People I’ve cared about have done worse things.”
The pain in her voice tugged at him. He took a cautious step forward. His arm came up, his fingers reaching out to caress her shoulder, do something to offer a modicum of comfort.
Stop.
His arm dropped back to his side.
“I’m not. This is real. You can trust me, Briony.”
Doubt flickered through him as she hesitated. He had never not succeeded. Victory came to him as naturally as breathing.
“Look me up, Briony. I assure you, I speak the truth about my background and yours. My offers of marriage and helping your family are genuine.”
Slowly, she pulled her phone out.
“Prince Cassius Morgan...”
“Adama. Of Tulay.”
Her fingers flew over her phone. Then she froze. Her eyes flickered back and forth over the screen. Had she found the numerous articles detailing his life? The gossip columns hazarding guesses as to who he was dating? Or had she found the website that was his aunt’s pride and joy, the official site of the royal family of Tulay?
At last, she looked at him, her eyes opaque.
“So am I supposed to curtsy or what?”
The curt yet sassy response startled a laugh from him.
“A curtsy is not necessary.”
A harsh breath escaped her as she ran her fingers through her hair, further tousling the curls. He had a sudden vibrant image of her laid naked across his bed at the palace in Tulay, the setting sun painting his suite with rose-gold light as he buried his fingers in her hair and kissed that pert mouth.
“So...this is real.”
“It’s real.”
She typed something else into her phone. A moment later she blew out another breath that bordered on a growl.
“What?”
“Just looked up ‘Daxon,’ ‘Alaric’ and ‘Linnaea.’ It...it all checks out.” She glanced up at him and frowned. “You don’t need to look so smug.”
“Don’t I?”
She sank down onto a bench and shoved her phone into her coat pocket.
“You can’t blame me for being suspicious.”
“I don’t.”
“Just because you have photos of my mother with...himdoesn’t mean I’m actually his daughter. And you could have forged the letter.”
“And if you agree to accompany me tomorrow, we will have a DNA test performed immediately. But,” he added, “when you see his eyes, will you be able to deny what your heart already knows?”
She swallowed hard.
“There is a...slight resemblance.”