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“Good, good, good.”
“I can tell from your voice you’re quite young,” he said. “Are you my age?”
“I’m older than you are,” she said. “A year or two...” Or several thousand.
“Are you of royal blood?”
“Oh, yes. I’m the daughter of a queen.”
“Do you...” He paused, searched for the right words. “What do I call you, my lady?”
“Good question,” she said. She tapped her chin as she walked circles around him. She couldn’t tell him her real name—Eros. That would give away the whole game. But he had to call her something other than “hey you.”
“You may call me...Ophelia,” she said.
“Philia?” he repeated. “Your name means ‘love.’”
She smiled. She hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, it does. A good sign. But you could call me ‘Lia’ for short.”
“I like that... Lia...”
“That’ll do nicely,” she said. “Would you like to touch me?”
He had better say yes.
“Yes, Lia.”
Good answer.
She took a deep calming breath. Finally, she would get to touch him, this beautiful prince she’d dreamed of for days and days and days. She took his wrists gently in her hands—his skin was so young and smooth and warm, and she could feel his nervous pulse beating rapidly.
She brought his hands to her face.
“You’ll find I have the appropriate number of eyes and noses.”
His fingertip tickled her skin as he traced the lines of her face. He touched her forehead and cheeks, her nose and even her eyelashes. Then he came to her lips and touched them tenderly. He caught a curl of her hair between his fingers and brought it to his nose.
“You are a beauty,” he said. “I can tell how fine and graceful your features are and your hair smells of heaven.”
“I told you so.”
“You’re quite cocksure for a lady.”
“Am I? I’ll try to do better.”
“No, I like it,” he said. “Makes me feel less scared that you’re so confident. Are you a maid? Or a widow?”
She saw a deep blush suffuse his face.
“Is there a third choice?” she asked.
He smiled.
“I...” he began. “I’ve never...”
“Never?”
He shook his head.
