Page 212 of Kneel Before Me

He raised a single finger to the necklace, tracing along the gold chain. “A woman like you should only wear diamonds,” he whispered.

“Then why did you give me an emerald?”

“So I could give you a diamond later.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow. “You’re flirting with me.”

Maximus smiled. “Obviously.”

She wagged a finger at him. “Not very princely of you.”

Maximus laughed. Then he wagged his finger right back. “There’s no rule that says I can’t flirt with you. We didn’t include that in our arrangement, did we?”

Daphne pursed her lips. Their arrangement was the only reason she was here. “We didn’t,” she admitted. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

She rolled her eyes. Maximus only laughed.

Daphne hated to admit it, but the prince looked…good tonight. Or perhaps he looked good every night, and Daphne had not truly allowed herself to see it. He was nothing compared to Kronos. But that didn’t mean he was nothing at all.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

“Please.”

“Any preference?”

“You should know what I like to drink by now.”

Mercifully, he did.

Maximus signaled to the nearest butler, selecting two glasses of wine—one red, one white—and handing the white one to Daphne. When she took it, their fingers brushed. His skin was warm. Daphne took a sip of her wine, and Maximus did the same, tipping his glass to his lips and arching his neck. The muscles in his throat tightened as he swallowed.

They looked out over the party together, watching the revelry in silence. All the royals looked like Maximus: tall and blond. Most of them wore clothing that even Daphne—who’d seen everything as a seamstress—had never encountered before. Gorgeous long dresses with intricate embroidery, enormous fur capes and stoles. Daphne couldn’t imagine such wealth.

When Maximus finished his wine, a butler brought him another. Daphne cast a glance at him curiously. His long fingers were wrapped around his wineglass, raising it repeatedly to his lips. In the few short minutes they’d been standing here, Maximus had downed two glasses. Unlike the rowdy village boys who grew sloppy and loud when they’d had too much ale, Maximus retained barely a flush on his cheeks. His movements, usually cold and calculated, loosened only an infinitesimal amount. Daphne wondered why he was indulging tonight.

“You’re getting drunk,” she said.

Maximus swirled his wine. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

“Any particular reason?”

His gray eyes slid to hers. “Why do you ask?”

Daphne shrugged. The motion caused the corset to shift under her breasts, and Maximus’s gaze dropped accordingly. “No reason.”

Maximus raised an eyebrow. “Shall we…” he said slowly, his gaze finally returning to hers. “…get drunk together?”

Why not? It might give her the liquid courage to be here. And it would certainly soften Maximus, who she needed to be enamored with her. In response, Daphne signaled for the nearest butler. By the time he reached them, she’d downed the rest of her wine, and she grabbed a new one.

“You’d better be a fun drunk, Max.”

He smiled. “Nobody calls me Max except for you.”