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The Prince moves to sit in the chair beside me, but I grab onto his ankle. He stops and looks down at me, that dark anger brimming at the edge of his features.
“Lie with me,” I whisper. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
His nostrils flare, but he drops down to the cot. “I don’t either,” he whispers back after a moment.
Surprise rolls through me as he removes his mask and sets it beside us. He closes his eyes before he does so, though, and lays flat on his back, arms folded over his stomach.
I curl into him. “How?”
His jaw clenches.
“How could you survive taking on that many threads? It was like you took all of his soul into yourself.” I lay my hand over his chest, relishing the feel of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
The Prince inhales, then he turns his head to me and opens his eyes.
My lips part, and I reach a hand up to his face.
Every color that graced his irises before is gone. They’re wholly black, void of light.
His hands grip the comforter as he stares at me, his face grim. “Because I’m built for it, Zora.” Then he adds in a small whisper, “I can’t tell you who I am or even what I am, because I can’t tell anyone.”
I try to digest that. “Will they go back to normal?”
He nods. “Likely by morning.” He sighs and rubs his face. “Sleep helps.”
I trail my fingers down his jawline. “I’m still mad at you.”
“As you should be,” he agrees.
“Well, if we’re on the same page…” my eyes hone in on his mouth.
He directs his attention to me, and somehow, his black gaze darkens. “No.”
I frown. “Let me guess, you can’t tell me why.”
He mirrors my frown. “You said it yourself. I…took a piece of that foul manintome. Until he fades, I will not touch you. I don’t know what would happen, whathiswhims would have me do to you.” He drops his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “I want you, Zora, but I want you as myself, not as a mirrored image of a man made up of others’ jagged, cruel shards.”
“Just a kiss.” I brush my lips against his.
He smiles against me. “I like that you want me.”
“You must feel awfully fucking special,” I tease.
He wraps a hand behind my neck. “I do.” He licks his lips and presses them against mine.
My heart hammers as the kiss deepens, as it consumes everything I am.I didn’t know him three days ago. That thought — that onestupid bitchof a thought — has me pull away from that kiss. “I hate having a conscience.”
A laugh rumbles through his chest, but he manages to keep it quiet as it passes his lips.
I run a thumb under his eye. “You know, they look a little lighter now.”
He relaxes onto our shared pillow. “That’s because you’re my cure.”
I smirk. “Oh?”
He gives me a serious look.
I laugh and shake my head. “Has anyone told you you’re a bit over dramatic?”
