Page 46 of The Prince of Power

“I didn’t know you did that,” I say. “Study, I mean.”

“I don’t. I don’t need to. I have a photographic memory.”

I snort, crossing my arms over my chest. “No, you don’t. That’s extremely rare. People who claim to have one don’t know what it really means.”

His eyes alight. “I’m sure you know exactly what it means. And you’ll give me an item-by-item checklist to see if what I have fits.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have one, really?”

He huffs, smiling. “No. But I don’t study. I’m good at knowing what will be on tests, and I discard the rest from my mind.”

I beam. “I have that too! Except I don’t discard the information I don’t need. Unless it’s boring.”

“That sounds like my Ava.”

There’s something in his voice… Is it tenderness?

My belly flutters, and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t need the Devil’s tenderness, and I certainly shouldn’t like it. “Why do you want to go to the Ashford library to study? We have plenty of places to do it here.”

His expression grows serious. “It was what you always did before. I thought you might miss it.”

My throat tightens for some reason. “I do miss it, even after only a few days. I usually spend all my evenings in the library. My dorm is too loud—wastoo loud.”

He nods once. “Then let’s go. A driver is waiting for us.”

A while later, we’re sitting next to each other at the top floor of the library—my favorite floor, because no one ever talks up here, and I can line up my pens without feeling like someone’s going to make fun of me.

Damian didn’t say anything when I lined up my pens. I kept waiting for a smirk or a cutting remark, but it never came. If anything, he looked amused.

The only time he’s irritated me so far was when a guy sat down across from us, and Damian’s arm slid around the back of my chair—a gesture of possession.

Except he made up for that when his fingers found the tense spot at the base of my neck and started to massage. It felt almost sinfully good. His fingers are so strong and…

A jolt of heat hits my belly. I can’t think about Damian’s fingers. I shouldn’t let my kidnapper massage me, but I have to pick my battles. I can only fight so hard before I wear myself out.

“What are you reading?” His voice is smooth and warm.

I lick my lips. “About the history of chess.”

“What class isthatfor?”

“Logic. And it’s not really what the chapter is about. I’m just reading one of the ‘Did You Know?’ text boxes.”

He makes a choking sound, and then he bursts into unrestrained laughter.

“What?” My tone is exasperated, but I don’t really feel it. His laughter is too contagious. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

“Only you,” he says finally, still grinning. “Only Ava St. Clair would read a sidebar about chess in the middle of a logic chapter.”

A flush warms the back of my neck. The way he said “only you”—teasingly, fondly—like he’s already cataloging my quirks and finding them oddly endearing. If this is part of his cult grooming strategy, he’s good.

Really good.

He leans a little closer. “Did you learn anything interesting?”

I shift in my seat. “It’s just about how chess got tied to Western ideas of intelligence. Apparently, it wasn’t always considered the gold standard of strategy. It was just one of a bunch of games nobles played. Then people started associating it with logic, and now it’s like, if you’re good at chess, you must be a genius.”

Damian snorts. “Stupid. Chess is glorified memorization. I’ve known lots of people who treat it like the holy grailof intelligence. But poker?” He leans back. “You’re making decisions with incomplete information, and you have to adapt on the fly. I respect a person who can play poker well.”

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