She sighs regretfully, shaking her head like she’s trying to shake off the memories. The mockery slips from her face.
“What happened to him?” she asks, and I detect a flicker of genuine concern.
She’s curious about the man he is now, just as I was curious about the man he used to be.
“He was living in my house, wasting away. We both thought he was a ghost,” I say quietly. “I never imagined any of this.”
Ten more questions bloom in my mind, my curiosity as insatiable as ever, and I shudder.
Ezra warned me, didn't he?
You're far too curious to give up on ever meeting me.
I love E, but some reckless part of me is equally obsessed with Ezra, the prince who visited me in my dreams.
Bad news. I'm the one who gets you in the end, Max.
Maybe that's why he sounded so certain. Not because of fate, or E's inevitable demise, but because he understood exactly how my mind works. He knew I'd become fascinated by the unknown. By the impossible gap between the man I love and the man he used to be.
A strange look crosses Iris's face, gone almost as quickly as it appears.
“Come along,” she says at last. “Dinner's ready.”
Chapter 41
Blessed Flame
MAX
Two servants flank the entrance to the dining room, their expressions carefully blank. Golden lanterns hang suspended above the long table, their warm light glinting off crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Tall windows overlook the palace gardens, and a dozen high-backed chairs line either side of the table, though only four have been set for dinner.
“And you don’t remember anything?” Ethan asks.
“Nothing at all,” E responds.
His restless bite of power beckons from across the room, and I head toward him.
Ethan’s gaze flicks over to us. “Ah, here they are. Son, this is Iris Lovatt. You’ve known her all your life, really.”
E clears his throat and greets her. “Good evening, Iris.”
“My prince.” She offers him a sultry curtsy, then a deeper one for the king. “Your Majesty.”
My mind flashes back to the throne room, and I bite back a wince at how absurd all this decorum feels.
Ethan’s gaze lingers on her as she rises. It travels slowly from the elegant line of her shoulders to the curve of her waist, openly appreciative, entirely unconcerned with who might notice.
Then his attention shifts to me.
His eyes drift over me with the same shameless scrutiny, lingering far too long as they travel from my heels to the hem of my dress, then higher. Ethan studies me the way one might study a painting, as though I’m a work of art meant to be admired, displayed, and ultimately possessed. The look is intimate enough to make my skin crawl.
Only at the very end does he look at my face, and his expression changes. The polite smile falters, and he tilts his head.
“Father,” E says next, his voice catching slightly on the word, as though he’s still getting used to it. “This is Maxine Morgan Bloodsinger.”
The tension eases from Ethan’s shoulders, and a broad smile spreads across his face, so warm and immediate it catches me off guard. Until now, every glance he'd stolen toward E had been threaded with uncertainty, with hope so fragile it looked painful, while Iris and I were purely eye candy.
No, he looks genuinely pleased to meet me.
