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Rochelle was quiet a moment, then, with a laugh in her voice, she asked, “So is this Cecilia’s natural color?”
Aric laughed unexpectedly. Even he could hardly remember what Cecilia looked like with her natural hair color. “You would have to ask her.” He waited quietly while the soft sounds of rustling indicated she was changing several feet away.
“Oh! Okay … weird.” But whatever had startled her seemed to have passed, and a moment later she stepped back into view, smoothing her hands down the sides of a perfectly fitted, lightweight dress. It was pale gray, an unflattering shade, but the structure—as it was designed to—was tucked up around all of her natural curves in a way none of her other clothes managed. “For some reason,” Rochelle said as she came into sight, “I expected this to be uncomfortable.”
Oh, it is.Aric pushed the thought down and twisted his lips into a smile. “Are you ready to find some color, then?” Maybe Tinsley had been right. Maybe he should have suggested this idea to Mitzi and just offered up his wallet. But opportunities to spend time with her outside of training, and away from well-meaning third parties, were so frustratingly rare. He would have to endure the temptation.
At least until the time was right.
****
She needed a job. Not so much for any income it might provide—Rochelle wasn’t delusional enough to believe she could quickly or easily find work that paid a sufficient wage—but at least for the sense of autonomy. She needed to trick herself into thinking maybe she was contributing, either to Aric’s household, or even to the larger economy. If nothing else, she had to find some way to repay Aric for everything. Even if she suspected he’d fight her on it.
Her heart raced a little faster as the previous afternoon played through her memory. The way Aric had looked at her in that template dress had sparked feelings in her body Rochelle hadn’t felt in years. That had been exciting enough, in its own way, but she hadn’t at all been prepared for the breathtaking experience of being washed in a rainbow of color. Hue after hue had sheathed her body, rolling across her almost in waves, as they worked to select the exact perfect shade for her future dress.
After months of training her very real, sometimes painful, magic, Rochelle had been surprised to find that that moment was perhaps the mostmagicalone she’d experienced in her entire life. She simply had no other word for it.
She braced a hand on the hallway wall, realizing her restless thoughts had carried her all the way to the far side of the mansion. She’d had a grand tour of the building when she’d first been brought here, but she wasn’t sure she’d walked this corridor since. Directly across from her was the veritable back entrance, with a comparatively mini foyer, and a few steps to the right was a tucked-away sitting room she hadn’t once seen used. It would make a good place for quiet thinking, maybe. Except she’d barely taken a step toward the curved archway that separated the sitting room when she heard something unexpected that scattered every anxious, frazzled thought.
It sounded like jiggling … like a key in a lock…. Realization flooded her and Rochelle twisted around, her heart leaping to her throat even as the never-used rear door swung open. She opened her mouth to say something at the same instant her brain processed bangles and beads of gold attached to the very dark-skinned wrist still holding the key that had unlocked the door. Her words failed.
She stared, thoughtlessly, at the male figure she didn’t recognize in Aric’s doorway. His skin was darker than even King Jensen’s, his hair almost completely black with a dusting of silver creeping in at the temples and exposed neckline from where it was pulled back. His eyes were a deep, striking blue. He was clad in black pants mostly obscured by loose, wrapping robes of violet and silver that covered his chest and hung from his shoulders. More gold hung in ringlets around his neck, adorned his fingers, and dangled from his ears.
When Rochelle had met King Jensen, he had been sitting on his throne. He’d been decked out in at least twice as much jewelry, sheathed in more brightly colored robes, with a literal crown upon his head. Still, somehow, this man was no less imposing. Instinct told her he was someone important and fear insisted that just by staring she’d already blundered.
“Interesting. Are you the Zrynian woman Vardanyan brought from Corast?” The man’s voice was deep and roughened with age. Perhaps also a little distrust.
Rochelle drew a breath. It made her immediately uncomfortable to think that this stranger knew such a thing, let alone the way he’d said it. She held herself tall despite the unease already settling in her spine. “How is it you have a key to the Sentry’s home?” A home which Aric had told her was also hers for as long as she stayed there. Hopefully that gave her the right to ask potentially rude questions.
The man moved properly into the foyer, tucked his key into his robes, and closed the door. He swept his gaze over her, as if she were some object on a shelf for perusal. Seconds passed before he smirked, the expression altogether different from the one she was used to on Aric. “It’s my cousin’s key. Tell me, woman, do you have any idea who I am?”
“No.” She would label him an intruder, because he felt like one to her, but it was possible she was overreacting. And she wasn’t brave enough, considering his appearance. He dressed like he had connections. Like he was important.
His smirk darkened for an instant before vanishing entirely. “I am Denham, Prince of Yafae.”
Chapter Five
The breath rushed out of Rochelle’s lungs in an instant. The imposing man in front of her was the Prince?Wait.Did that mean King Jensen had a key to Aric’s mansion? Or did Prince Denham have some other cousin? Not that any of that mattered. She didn’t know why the Prince of Yafae had practically just snuck into Aric’s home, but she had definitely blundered. She only wished learning his royal identity put her mind at ease. Neither his name or title mattered in the end. There was something about the man, something in his eyes and his energy, that made Rochelle wary.
Prince Denham waved an arm toward the very sitting room Rochelle had previously been aiming for. “Come, woman. Sit and keep me company until Vardanyan arrives. I’m curious about you.”
She fought to keep her lips from curling at his choice of phrasing. “I would prefer if you used my name,” she said. She would actually prefer if he didn’t acknowledge her ever again, but in the other case, she supposed her statement was true. “It’s Rochelle.”
He arched a black brow.
Sensing she couldn’t outright refuse, Rochelle inclined her head and turned to lead the way into the room. “I’m really not that interesting….”
“That’s a matter of perspective,” Denham said. He moved around her confidently, as if he’d been in the small space hundreds of times, and headed straight for the two-seater sofa with its back angled toward the wall. The sofa was one of two identical pieces in the room, but his choice had the better vantage for anyone coming or going from the sitting room. He motioned her to take the other as he spread out. “I heard, of course, about the woman who so bravely stood up to the insurgents in Corast. How she herself was a refugee the locals had taken in. It’s rare for refugees to wind up that way, as I’m sure you know.”
What Rochelle really wanted to know was what the Prince was getting at. He couldn’t possibly be so enthralled with that sort of story. Still, she obediently settled into the corner of the opposite sofa, forced to give up any angle on the entrance of the room in order to keep her companion’s gaze. “Yes,” she said. “Although all I really did was shout at a couple of them and pin one to the ground for a few minutes. I don’t think it was that heroic.”
He hummed, the sound somehow setting her nerves on edge, and spread his arms across the back of the sofa as his head tilted slightly. “And what of your fellow villagers? How many of them stood up to their attackers?”
Rochelle hesitated. “I … I don’t know. Most of the ones I came across before Aric took me to the protected area were dead or injured.” She swallowed. “My boss at the time, Bjorn, gave his life so I could escape when the store caught fire. The explosion would have probably taken my head.” Or at least her face. She’d had several nightmares about it in the weeks since.
Denham inclined his head. “Then as a new citizen of Yafae, when you pray to your ancestors, pray to him. For that man is the reason you continue to live.”
Rochelle nodded, unsure of how to respond and uncomfortable with the entire conversation. After a few seconds of awkward silence, with the Prince staring at her the entire time, she said, “Perhaps I should let Aric know you’re here—”
