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4
Danger is all around me.
It’s dangerous that things seem normal.
A few Quiets after Daein left with Elden for the palace, he came back. I was waiting in his bedchamber, and it was as though nothing had happened. His familiar self returned. He brought smiles to my lips, flutters to my belly, and pleasure to my body. He teased me, fed me grapes, nibbled on my earlobe.
I’m learning that he takes pleasure in stirring me, getting a reaction out of me—a moody look, a frown, a swat at his hand travelling my body.
Still, he’s cold to me outside of the bedchamber. When we pass in the atrium, he spares me only a cool look before he carries on with his business.
But in his bedchamber, everything feels normal. And that is what’s dangerous.
I have just over a month left in this castle, yet a growing part of me is sad to leave. I’ll miss him. I’ll miss the cold, dark prince I fear. And I do still fear him. I’d be a fool not to.
Yet, I’ve come to care for him too. I want him to care for me back.
After how he spoke about me to Elden, though, I know that true care will never blossom inside of him for me—even if he does watch me right now as though I’m the light of his life, I’m all that matters and more.
That’s what I read in his eyes. Affection. It’s in the softness of his pale blue irises, the lift of the corner of his mouth, the light from the glowworm jars illuminating the honey tones of his face.
For once, the prince looks far from menacing. He looks at peace.
Relaxing over the full cushions on the balcony, he has his arms spread out, one hand loosely gripping a goblet of purple wine, his legs kicked out and his softly smiling eyes locked onto me.
I lean against the gleaming ivory barrier, my back to the twilight gardens. Toying with an apple slice, I watch him from beneath my lashes.
“What are you thinking?” The tenderness of his voice matches his gaze.
I draw away from the bannister, starting a slow wander over to him. My freshly shaven legs catch the light as they step through the high slits of my sheer slip-dress.
“My father asks my mother that sometimes,” I say before biting a nibble of the apple slice. Its crispness sours my tongue. I’ve come to like the tang.
The prince leans his head back against the wall, his lashes lowering as his gaze follows me around the balcony. “What was her answer?”
“Usually ‘nothing’,” I tell him.
He brings the goblet to his purple-stained lips. After a sip, he lowers it to rest on his thigh and asks, “And your answer?”
“Six weeks,” I say, reaching the cushions tucked into the corner of the balcony. I step over one before I slowly drop to my knees.
A frown knits his perfectly shaped eyebrows together. “Six weeks,” he echoes.
“Left,” I add. “Six weeks left until I go home. That’s what I was thinking about.”
Despite the white light from the glowworm jars, his face darkens slowly, as though shadows crawl over him. A dark smile steals his lips before he agrees, “Six weeks.”
Something in the way he said it has my stomach churning with unease.
He offers the goblet to me.
I set aside the apple slice and take it from him. I risk only two sips before I push it back into his hand.
“Can I take the dresses home with me?” I ask, running my fingertips over the tiny crushed crystals sewn into the sheer material.
The prince drinks heavily from the goblet, then sets it aside once it’s empty save for a few drops. “No,” he answers after a pause. “Villages have rules about what the humans must wear.”
My mouth falls into a flat line. “I won’t wear them,” I mutter, perching my elbow on a tall, firm cushion and then resting my temple on the heel of my palm. “Just keep them, is all.”
