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His beautiful lips quirked. “Something like that.” He gestured to the bed. “Twice as big as your tent, if not more, wouldn’t you say?”
I shot him a death glare, then eyed the bed. The morally gray asshole was right. The huge canopy bed was at least twice as big as the small tent that had held me, my bed roll, and not much else. The little tent I had slept in from the time we had left Camelot up until...
Up until the ruins of Meridium.
“Which side would you like?”
“What?” My head whipped towards him.
“Left or right? There are tables on each side, if you need a place for your books.” He gestured to the pile of books I had left near the armchair.
“Those?” I snapped. “Those are weapons. A hard enough blow and I could kill you in your sleep.”
His lips twitched. “Knowledge is always a weapon in the right hands.”
“I knew you’d say that,” I muttered, lifting the largest tome and hoisting it one hand. Then, “I’m not going to get cozy with you. Left, right, never. This isn’t happening.”
He sat down on the side of the bed–the left side, the one I hadn’t already been sleeping on earlier in the day–and started pulling off shiny steel-toed black boots.
“I don’t think I’ve made things as clear as I should have, Morgan,” he said, his deep voice almost conversational. “You can choose to think of me as your enemy all you like, but I’m going to protect you whether you like it or not.”
“Not,” I snarled.
“Whatever you prefer. But youareunder my protection. And for now, you are fairly safe. My court believes you are my...” He cleared his throat.
“Paramour?” I offered sourly.
“The Prince’s Paramour is the formal title, yes,” he acknowledged. “Mistress. Consort. I can use whichever word you find less...”
“Demeaning? Humiliating? Revolting?” I offered.
He grinned and eyed the pile of books I had near me. “Were all of those books thesauruses by chance?”
“No,” I said, with gritted teeth. “Some were geography texts. I’m learning your terrain so I can spy on you and then return with Arthur’s army.”
Draven made a choking sound. “Spy on...” Then he chuckled. “Let me guess. Odessa?”
“I don’t know what about me she finds more disgusting. That I’m supposedly your lover–” The stuck in my throat for a moment, then passed over my lips for the second time that day, strangely not in an altogether unpleasant way. “Or that you’ve taken a Valtain spy to your bed.”
“Fae-human spy,” Draven corrected. “Though I doubt anyone truly thinks I’ve stolen you from...” He stopped.
“Oh, please, do go on,” I encouraged. “What were you about to say?”
He ran his hands through his dark hair, leaving it tousled in a way I might have almost found endearing were he another, less despicable man, and then sighed. “There are a great many things you ought to know and I know I ought to tell you them. But we don’t have time to go through them all tonight. Now where was I before I got sidetracked?”
“Your court. The one you ran away from for twenty years. Just how old are you anyways?”
Draven’s face turned rueful. “A hundred and fifty or so, give or take a few years. I’m a child compared to most of the Siabra.”
I stared at him. “A child? You’re the oldest child I’ve ever met. That’s... I thought you were a few years older than me. Maybe five or ten.” Not fifty or a hundred.
“I left this court not only because I had to,” Draven said. “But because I wanted to. You should understand that.”
“So why did you return?”
“Partly to protect you.”
I made a sound of disbelief. “And partly to...?”
