Page 84 of Demon Food

“You call it walking.” I arched an eyebrow. “I call it deliberately teasing me.”

“Deliberately—Alek,” he scoffed, disappearing into the washroom again. “And I have to wear your clothes. Unless you want me to wear the silver thing?”

“Hell no. Hell no, human.” I slapped the bed. “Fuck, I barely survived that outfit. You should burn it. Burn it, and then never speak of it again, especially not the tight little bottoms.”

He gargled water, then spat into the sink.

“Unless, of course, you want to put those on again, just to make sure we still want to burn them.”

He appeared again, slicking water through his hair, and it reminded me of the oil with which they’d styled his hair that day of the outfit in question.

“And if you did want to put them on,” I said, both my arms twitching, “might I suggest prancing while you do so?”

He licked his lips, trying to hide the elusive Snow Fox smirk. “I don’t think it’s necessarily what I’m wearing.”

“Sadly, no.” I cocked my head. “But it doesn’t help. Can you not just wear some damn bed linens over your head? We’ll cut a couple holes for your nostrils. We’ll leave the rest covered.”

“So, you’re saying my nostrils are the only things that don’t arouse you?”

I studied his nose. No, his nostrils definitely didn’t—well.

But they were rather cute, weren’t they? His whole nose was utterly adorable, all impish and slightly pointed upward toward the tip. And the nostrils were just an extension of his adorable nose.

“Bad news,” I said. “We won’t be cutting those holes after all. My apologies in advance. I do hope you can breathe.”

He blurted out a chuckle, just as brief as a chuckle could get, but I savored it nonetheless, absorbed it into my bones. Then the humor vanished from his expression when his gaze fell down my body.

“Prince,” he whispered, eyes huge. “Oh, my gods. Your side. Look.”

It wasn’t that I’d forgotten about my side. It was that I preferred to ignore the angry laceration, but when I peered down at it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“No,” I said, eyes rounding as I smoothed my fingertips over the newly scarred skin to find the pain gone. “Holy shit.”

He nodded. “Holy shit.”

“Snow Fox,” I said, whipping off the covers, hustling to the mirror to inspect it properly, but what I saw didn’t make sense.

What had once been a horrific, open wound with darkened veins sprawling from the center was now a jagged, pinkened scar. The daring kind you’d see on a warrior or a mercenary.

He’d done this for me. Not because I was a prince, and it was his duty. But because he felt it was the right thing to do, regardless of the risk.

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered, catching his gaze in the mirror. “You healed me, Snow Fox. You fucking healed me when I could not heal myself.”

He offered me a bow of his head, a smile softening his lips. “I’m pleased it worked.”

I spun around to stare at him.

I’d been so engrossed in him that I only just heard the footsteps from the hallway. Three pairs of footsteps. Maybe four. Someone knocked on my door, and Feloré gasped, eyes flitting to it.

“Prince Alekus,” said a deep voice from the other side. “It’s Neopal, Your Grace.”

Shit. Not who I wanted to see, but I grabbed a shirt from the back of my chair and began to slide my arms through.

“What do you think he wants?” Feloré whispered, his gaze searching mine.

“Not sure, but I’ll handle him.” I buttoned my shirt on my way to the door, winking back at him. “You just promise to not say things like ‘fuck your king’—”

“Wait.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me back into him, fingers already working to undo the buttons I’d just fastened. “I think I have an idea.”