I hear the king chuckle across from me and my eyes snap open. “Now try the wine.” His voice lilts, reminding me that he’s just as exotic to me as his lifestyle is.

I reach for my glass. I’ve only had sips of alcohol up until now. Not too many people in the bunker bother with the stuff, but I’ve tasted it enough to expect the strange flavor that hits my taste buds. What I don’t expect is the warm richness of the liquid. It heats up my throat, and then my stomach. I didn’t know any substance could do such a thing.

“It’s good,” I say reluctantly, and then I take another drink. And another.

“Just good?” There’s a twinkle in the king’s eyes. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Yes.”

The room gets quiet, and I know that we’re both remembering my earlier words. I wonder why he hasn’t brought them up again.

“Tell me about yourself,” I finally say, because I can’t think of a more open-ended question to distract us.

The king raises his eyebrows. “What is it you want to know?” he asks.

I shrug. “Whatever it is you want to tell me.”

“I’m an only child,” he starts.

“Me too,” I say, taking another swig of my wine.

He nods. “My mother passed away when I was eight, and my father passed away when I was twenty-two.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Regardless of who the king is, I can empathize with the pain of losing a parent.

“Thank you,” he says, holding my gaze. In that second, my pulse speeds up. I’m a fly caught in a spider’s web, a moth drawn to flame. He’s pain and death, yet I’m falling into those dark eyes of his. Perhaps he truly is something supernatural if he can coax this response from me.

King Lazuli glances away. “I enjoy playing football—soccer—I sing in the shower—”

I raise my eyebrows. “You sing in the shower?”

The grin that spreads along his face is pure sin. “I can always give you a demonstration, but you’d be required to join me.”

“I think I’ll pass.” I reach for my full glass of wine and take another drink. I glance at it once I pull it away from my mouth. I could’ve sworn I’d almost finished the wine. Those servants of his should double as spies; they’re shadows, slipping in and out of the room, refilling drinks, removing silverware—essentially seeing to our every need.

“How about you?” the king asks, tipping his own glass back.

I chew the inside of my cheek and stare at my wine. “I live in a room with seven other women. This trip is the first time I’ve seen natural light in months, but what I miss the most about the sky are the stars—oh, and I love to swim, even though I haven’t been able to for several years.”

The king holds my gaze. “Would you like to?”

“Like to what?” I ask, drinking more wine.

“Go for a swim. I have a pool.”

My eyes widen, though I shouldn’t be surprised to learn about this. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. What I don’t mention is that it seems wrong to enjoy myself when so many others can’t.

He waves away my concern. “That’s not an issue. Marco can get you one.” The king stands up. “Give me a moment.” He walks out of the room, presumably to talk to one of his servants.

As soon as he’s gone, I eye the door. I could slip out now and return to my room. Where would that leave me, though? No, I need to stick around a little longer.

At least my plan is unfolding as I wanted it to. So long as I keep the king talking I don’t have to do anything physical with him. But more importantly, if the king sees me as more than just a pretty face with an attitude, I’ll have more leverage.

The king comes back in the room. “Grab your glass of wine,” he says, seizing his own glass and the wine bottle that sits next to it.

I glance at our half-eaten plates. “What about the food?”

“It’ll be here when we come back.”

I know he says that for my benefit. I doubt the king would eat a reheated meal. But he’s probably learned enough about me to know that I’d balk at wasting it.

He takes my hand and leads me to the door. I stare at our joined hands. The backside of his is tan, and I don’t know why that particular detail makes me wistful, but it does.

Ashamedly, I savor the warm press of his palm. I can tell that he’s used to being touched by the way his focus is on other things. And now, horror of horrors, it sinks in that I actually like skin contact with the king.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I respond too fast, and the king’s lips twitch. “Why do you ask?”

“You had a small smile on your face for a minute there. It was nice.”

I look away, mortified that the king caught me smiling while I was thinking about him. Scratch that, I was embarrassed that the king caused me to smile in the first place.

“And the lady shuts down yet again. I should add smiles and compliments to the growing list of things that make you uneasy,” King Lazuli says.

“You are what makes me uneasy,” I say.

His grip on my hand tightens. “I know.” He looks down at me, and I see the desire in his eyes.

I swallow. Tonight is going to be long.

I hold my towel tightly to myself when I leave the bathroom. It’s a good thing the alcohol is really starting to hit my system and lower my inhibitions. Otherwise there’s no way I’d have the courage to do what I’m doing now.