Page 69 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“Are you telling me you like my lips?”

“No,” I say, and damn me for smiling! “It messes up your whole face.”

His smile turns smug. “Are you telling me you like my face?”

I shrug. “It’s a nice face.”

He leans back, looking up towards the ceiling. “I knew you thought so, Marquees.”

I waste the last sip of my wine to splash it on the shirt I just briefly bothered cleaning. The room is spinning, but I’m going to blame it on him, quickly moving to face me again, that the wine hits his face.

He licks his lips and smiles. I can’t help but laugh, mortified or mollified, I don’t know. “Now you really have wine on your chin.”

“And my lips,” he notes.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Would you like it back?” he asks, leaning in.

I don’t back away.

Messy hair, parted lips, droozen doings. I want it all. The power and the position to be able to bring this out of him.

Does he?

I’m noticing all kinds of things I hadn’t before. Like the way his nose actually slants a little to the left or that his right eyebrow is a little higher or that one eye has a speck more of the lighter blue that encapsulates his pupils.

All of it only makes him more endearing. Less the annoyingly perfect prince, more the man who takes time out of his day to teach me magic or dancing while he teases me.

Which, speaking of, I tease him right back, and he doesn’t mind! I’d expect such a sheltered, spoiled person to have a bigger ego and thinner skin.

But he’s… what am I even thinking? He’s still the prince of Soma. He’s still a part of the family who delights in the hardships of people like me.

He’s still the kind of person I loathe.

I turn away and he clears his throat. Wow. The room’s really spinning.

“Perhaps we should retire for the night?” he offers after a lapse of silence.

“No,” I say before I can think. “I mean,” I blink and blink and blink. What do I mean? I’m unsure as I say, “This was nice.”

He smiles at me. “Nice? I’m not a pet, darling.”

“Desdemona,” I say.

“Lucian,” he says absentmindedly.

“No, I mean my name is Desdemona.”

He laughs. “I know your name.”

“Right.” I drop to the ground, tired of carrying the weight of this dress.

Lucian slips down and out of his chair, sitting across from me on the floor. “Do you know mine?”

“Of course I know your name,” I say.

“You’re welcome to use it.”

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