Page 22 of Bride to the Fiend Prince
We sat there a long time, without talking of any secrets, while he gave me wine now and then until I began to feel much less pain, and a general muzzy warmth.
“You have a lovely mouth,” he said after I had sipped again.
“So do you.” Weariness and wine made me more blunt than usual. “The first time I saw you, I thought you had the prettiest mouth I’d ever seen on a man. Just the loveliest lips that ever existed.”
“Is that so? I thought the same thing about your breasts.”
“Crude bastard.” I shoved away the cup of wine.
“Why? Why is admiring your breasts any more vulgar than admiring your mouth?”
“Because—” I blinked, trying to think formulate a clear answer through the wine-haze. I didn’t drink often, and when I did the liquor affected me strongly. “Because breasts arebreasts,” I told him sagely. “They areprivate.”
“Are they indeed? You know I can see a generous portion of one right now. Just the side, since you’re on your stomach, but still. You’re not wearing much, Princess. Want me to help you into some clothes?”
“Gods’ bones, no.” I shuddered. “That would hurt.”
“Just some pants then.”
“No, because if I get up you will see me.” I lifted my eyebrows very high. “Allof me.”
“I promise to behave,” he said. “Or I can call the servants if that would make you more comfortable.”
“No, no servants. Dull, curious things full of eyes, they are. But I should probably get up.” I sighed. “I need to piss. Stupid wine.” Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. “It’s going to hurt when I get up, isn’t it?”
“Yes, love,” he said quietly. “It is. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he did this to you. I will speak to him. It won’t happen again.”
“But it might,” I whispered. “You can’t stop him. You can’t protect me, because you’re afraid of him. And I can’t protect myself, because he has too many soldiers and sorcerers. If it was just him, alone, I’d kick his lordly ass.”
The Fiend Prince laughed, a glorious masculine sound that rippled inside me. A soft tickling sensation passed between my legs, tightening my lower belly.
“Do that again,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Laugh.”
He did, a light indulgent chuckle at my silliness, and the trickle of sensation grew stronger. Its presence took a little more of my pain away.
“Let me help you up,” said the Fiend Prince. “I promise I won’t look at you. I’ll close my eyes.”
“And I should trust the word of my mortal enemy?”
“Do you really think of me as your enemy?” The quiet ache in his voice spurred a flutter in my heart. “I suppose you would, after today’s travesty.”
“You don’t trust me either,” I pointed out.
“No,” he admitted. “But I want to.”
“Then let’s test each other. I will close my eyes, and you’ll remove your mask. You close your eyes and help me up. We’ll both keep our eyes shut the whole time.” My wine-addled brain suspected some flaw in that plan, but I couldn’t think what it was. “Agreed?”
“You won’t look?” he said tightly. “Because if you look, I’ll know. You won’t be able to keep quiet about it.”
“I won’t look at you, if you promise not to look at me.”
“The sightless guiding the sightless. What could go wrong?” he muttered. “Very well. Close your eyes, and do not open them at the risk of losing my trust forever.”
I pinned my eyes shut and listened to the sound of buckles and straps being undone, of something metallic being set on a side table. “There. My mask is off,” he said. “And now I’m closing my eyes. Here’s my hand.” He touched my shoulder. “I’ll help you get up. Not too slowly, or that will make it worse. Better to do it quickly. Ready? Now!”
