“But I can be anything you want me to be.”
Taken aback by that startling assurance, Alexio frowned, dark golden eyes narrowing below winged ebony brows as he stared at her.
“I just don’t know what you want from me yet,” Ione stated, gathering steam from the sheer level of fear holding her rigid, for if she had blown any hope of him wanting to marry her with her silly playacting, she had nothing left to lose. Not only would her father lose his head with her, but she would also be buried alive on Lexos for years to come.
“What I want from you?” Alexio prompted in fascination, having recognized the spark of panic in her wide green eyes before she’d veiled them and the extent of the tension keeping her so still.
“I need to know what you want,” Ione told him again.
A shaken surge of angry compassion stirred in Alexio. Anger at her father for giving her the impression that such assurances would be necessary and compassion that she should feel driven to humble herself in such a way for his benefit. “I have only one question that needs an answer. Do you want to be my wife?”