Page 63 of Prince of the Sun

My neck turns to face him slowly, mouth agape. I take in his half-naked form, all bare feet and rippled muscles. Two towels hang from one arm. He shakes his hair out, sending rain droplets onto the floor. He grins at my expression. “You like it?”

Which part?I almost ask.You or the cabin?

Instead, I swallow and say, “It’s incredible. You’ve really hidden this from everyone?”

“Yep.” He tosses one of the towels to me. “My little secret.” A hesitation, eyes curling into question marks. “And now yours.”

I smile, clutching the towel to my chest. This secret is one I’ll never betray to anyone.

That I can promise.

I step out of the stone-floor waterfall shower, glass door swingingopen with a puff of steam. I pull the towel from its rack, wrapping it around my naked body. Condensation clouds the bathroom mirror. A deep copper bowl sits right below—quite the bathroom sink. With one hand, I rub the steam away, revealing a misty version of myself.

My cheeks are rosy. My curls matted. My eyes shimmer beneath wet lashes.

I look happy.

I shake my head, turning away to finish drying off. I let the mirror cloud back over.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom under the loft, Daerios is in full chef mode. His tall frame hunches over the stove, shoulders swaying slightly to The Rolling Stones, which is filtering in through the speakers on the ceiling. Over in the stone fireplace, he’s built a roaring fire.

“I didn’t know you were a chef,” I call over.

“Only the most gourmet,” he says, spinning around to hold up a pot filled with gooey orange noodles. “I hope you like Scooby-Doo mac and cheese.”

I laugh. “I love it.”

At the sight of me, Daerios pauses, pot dangling limply from his hand.

“What?”

“My clothes look better on you than on me.”

I glance down at the dry outfit he lent me: a blue-and-black striped flannel so long it covers the grey boxers beneath. Fuzzy socks on my feet. I look back up at him and tug at the hem of theflannel. “I still can’t believe you own this.”

“What can I say? I’m a many-layered man.”

“A hundred and sixty-three years will do that to a guy, I suppose.”

I wander over to the marble island, where Daerios is now spooning heaps of mac and cheese into two bowls. Once satisfied with our portions—one noticeably larger than the other—he passes them over to me. “Mind carrying these over to the sofa?”

“You don’t want to eat at the dining table like proper royalty?”

“I don’t come out here to be proper, Quinn.”

Something about that statement makes my toes tingle, so I accept the bowls and shuffle over to the sofa in my fuzzy socks. Seated, I lay the bowls on the coffee table, wrap a blanket around my legs, and pick up my phone, which is charging, plugged into the floor. I pray it didn’t die in the rain.

Thankfully, the screen flashes to life. I have six texts from Cara.

CARA: dinner?

Twenty minutes later.

CARA: where r u??

CARA: helllooooo?????

CARA: BITCH DONT MAKE ME HACK INTO UR PHONE