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His jaw slackens as his cheeks redden. Then, a full smile breaks across his face, brightening in ways that steals my laughter from me. I straighten, and he shakes his head, his gaze softening. “Gods, that laugh.”
I lift a brow. “What?”
The Prince smiles wider. “If I heard it every day, it still wouldn’t be enough.”
My eyes fall on his smile, and if I weren’t so afraid of the truth turning my heart inside out, I’d tell him the same about his smile. My grip on my blade goes limp, and it clatters to the ground. We both jump back, startled by the clang of its steel against the marble.
His eyes lock with mine as he kneels to the ground and gently takes the blade's hilt. He offers it up to me with a smirk. “Seems you dropped this.”
“Seems I did.” I reach for it but hesitate. The gleam in his eyes — even if they’re hidden behind magic — makes my heart pound to a frantic, wonderful rhythm. Blood rushes to my face as I stare at him, kneeling before me, a knife extended as if he’s proposing.And I’d have it no other way, I realize. Never in my life have I considered marriage or, honestly, any type of future. With my blood lust and affinity to work for Bosses, I assume I’ll be dead within the next five to ten years.But this…I like this. The way he’s looking at me like I’m the answer to all his questions.
I scoop the blade from his palm, my fingers lingering there for a moment, only one thing in the way of my vulnerability. “Can I know?” I breathe out, not caring if I sound as crazed as I feel.
He gives me a questioning look as he stands and towers over me, his face tilted down as his eyes trace my face. “Can you know what?”
“Your name.” I glance away, my nerves heightened by his proximity. We fall into silence, and something about the moment is torn apart by the fact that he won’t tell me. I bite down on my tongue, pain wiggling through my heart.You’ve known him for barely a few days. Get a hold of yourself, Zora Vyner, I think, and force myself to level a glare at him.
But he looks as wounded and as desperate as I feel. He runs the back of his hand over my cheek, his nails lightly scratching down my skin and sending a shiver rolling through me. “One of these days, you’ll know my name. I promise.” He catches my chin as I pull away, his eyes searching mine, earnest and hopeful. “And when I make a promise, Zora, I will never take it back.”
Mischief lights his face, and he leans closer, lowering his lips to my ear. “Besides, I think I like the idea of you learning my name the same night I take you to my bed.”
My insides unravel, and it takes everything in me not to rip his head down to my lips.
“You’ll be screaming it all night, all day — even in your dreams, princess,” he teases, pulling back with a satisfied smile.
I level him with a calculated look. “I’m nobody’s princess.”
He pretends to think on it, then his lips quirk into a grin. “You’re right,my queen.”
I smile brightly, unable to help myself. “I can work with that. It needs a ‘badass’ though.”
“Most certainly.” He takes in a breath, looking every bit as hungry for me as I am for him, but he steps away to the shower and turns it on. He gestures to it. “For you, my incrediblybadassqueen.”
I raise my chin and saunter toward the shower, pulling down my straps as I do. I smirk as he follows my movements. “Unzip me?”
He stiffens a little but manages a nod, the playfulness between us vanishing as he moves closer and tugs my zipper down.
I shudder as he trails his index finger down my spine as he goes, stopping only once the zipper hitches at my waist.
He steps away, prepares to leave, but I slowly wiggle myself free of the dress, hearing his boots still on the marble. “You’re killing me,” he growls.
I kick the dress to the side, bare except for my holster and knives as the gown’s thin fabric called for no lines. I’ve always been proud of my body. Tonight, however, being looked over by his gaze has my stomach in knots, and some of my confidence withers. I glance over my shoulder only once before I undo my holster. I set it on the counter near me, and step into the shower.
The Prince shakes his head at me in defiance, his face the picture of a man awestruck.
I smile to myself as I slide under the water, my confidence returning with that one look. It’s another three minutes before I hear the door click shut, and I realize some part of me — a part deeper than my lust — has never felt more satisfied.
I take my time, rinsing off my body with the different soaps lining a ridge in the shower’s wall. I find many scented with honey, chamomile, and pine, and it surprises me how easily I’d picked out those fragrances the first night I met The Prince. It’s calming to wrap myself within them now, and I wonder why that is. So quickly, I find myself trusting him, but there’s another piece of me, a much bigger piece, that will never trust him. Not fully. I don’t think there’s ever been a day of my life where I fully trusted someone, and I don’t expect that to ever change.
After spending enough time that I hope everyone else is asleep, I turn off the shower and dry off. I pad over to the sink and mirror, and I wash my face before I find a small pile of folded clothes slipped right inside the door. They’re obviously The Prince’s — both the sweater and the sweatpants swallowing me. I roll the pants a few times, then I let the sweater devour my curves, not caring because it’s too damn comfortable to give it up. I pick up my dress and fold it on the counter before I leave the bathroom behind.
Talis remains unconscious on the bed, The Princess curled up next to him in a deep sleep. A cot has been rolled out beside the bed, covered in a decadent purple silk duvet and pillows.
The Prince rests in a chair next to it, his head propped in his hand, his eyes shut and his breaths slow.
I sneak to the cot and tuck myself into it, swishing my feet beneath the covers and relishing the feel of their smooth fabric over my skin. I glance up at The Prince, my eyes memorizing the peace on his face as he sleeps. I trace his body, surprised to find him in a plain shirt and sweatpants not dissimilar from the ones he lent me. He’s kept his mask on, but with his tattoos covered, he’s nothing more than a man, and something about that vulnerability, the fact that he’s allowing me to see it, makes me reach a hand out and tug gently on his pant leg.
He stirs awake with an inhale, his body tensing for a fight. Then he looks down, and when he sees me, his expression softens. He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger to my lips and gesture to the bed.
