Alphard smiled at her. “A night worth celebrating. You know how Roswyn likes to celebrate.”
“I can smell how Roswyn likes to celebrate from here,” she replied.
Alphard watched her as she removed her jewelry and began unwinding her hair.
“You should be careful with him.” Alphard’s voice was low.
“Surely you aren’t talking about your sworn Prince. Whom you slaughter and claim land willingly for?” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “Save me the lecture.”
“Then you know exactly how serious I am.”
He pushed off the door and closed it behind him with a flick of his wrist. He crossed the room, and Maeve turned towards him. She placed her hand on his chest, preventing him from coming any closer.
“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m a child,” she said softly, looking up at him.
Alphard raised his right hand, where a faint line of scarred Magic ran across his palm, and held it on display for her.
“I swore to protect you,” was all he said.
Maeve studied the scar on his hand, a memory of Antony surfacing. His blue eyes, eyes she lacked, that matched the stone in the ring each of the Sinclair children had been gifted by their father—her father’s eyes as blood poured from them—
“Hey,” he said gently, warmth flooding into his tone.
Maeve’s eyes slammed closed. With a single breath, she opened them once more and looked up at him.
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll be careful.”
Alphard nodded and moved his hand to rest over hers, where it still lay flat against his chest. He ran his fingers along hers, his expression shifting to a faraway thought.
Maeve hadn’t missed how his gaze lingered all evening on one woman.
“I know,” continued Maeve. “I know you wish she were yours to dance with all evening.”
Victoria Damario had been Alphard’s before his engagement to Maeve. And in private, she was still his now. Though his moments with her were few and far between.
Alphard looked down at her. “Does our arrangement still suit you?”
“Yes,” she assured him. “You’re free to do as you please. And so am I.”
“I don’t see you doing much that pleases you.”
Maeve made a noise of disapproval. “I’m picky.”
Alphard laughed, his fingers constricting around hers. Maeve’s breath caught, her mind racing back to Malachite’s hands on her own. How even such reserved touches left her wanting them again.
“I guess I should feel honored then,” he said, his free hand finding her hip and tugging her closer.
She didn’t pull away from him as his lips found hers. Nor when he guided her backwards towards the bed. She allowed her mind to slip to thoughts of another as they pleasured one another. And she was certain Alphard did the same as he took her.
Chapter 5
Zimsy’s eyes were wide as Maeve crossed the downstairs corridor towards her.
“What?” asked Maeve casually.
“The Dread Prince is here,” she whispered quickly.
“Oh,” said Maeve, looking past her towards the foyer.
