Page 63 of Night In His Eyes
A glass of water rested on the delicate white table next to my bed, and two white pills. I took the medicine. If the Prince wanted me dead, he wasn’t going to do it with tainted aspirin.
I pushed myself out of bed, sighing. Obviously, I'd missed day two of the negotiations.
Movement in the corner of the room seized my attention. I reached for a blade no longer on my thigh, my gaze homing in on that darkened corner. A tall shadow rose and glided forward.
What moonlight that streamed through the windows shimmered in his eyes, turning them into reflective jewels. Dark hair faded into the shadows. His white shirt was open several inches, baring a glimpse of a muscular, pale brown chest. Strength and menace always cloaked Renaud, power and control roiling under his skin. And this was him still pulling his mind fully back into the present.
His feet were bare, and I contemplated the casual intimacy of naked toes while the Prince watched me sleep, his shirt open and shoes gone, as if it were completely normal to relax in my presence.
When I returned my gaze to his face, I considered hiding under the covers from the way he looked at me. But there was no going around the Prince—only through.
“Prince.”
“Lady Aerinne.” His voice deep in the silence, a gentle caress. He didn't didn't try to hide he was the most dangerous thing in this city but was alone in a bedroom with me—like he was only a male. “Are you well?”
“I'm fine.”
“I doubt that, but I find I am not quite merciful enough to excuse you from our engagement.”
“I'm delighted.”
His gaze sharpened, thin smile dangerous. “You've spent more time among humans than I’d like.”
“Does what you like matter?”
“Oh, you'll find that it matters very much, Lady.”
“I wish you would stop calling me lady.”
He tilted his head, regarding me unblinkingly. Then he nodded towards the bed, and I followed his line of sight to the shimmer of a dress and accessories.
Renaud turned and walked towards the door. “Dress. My household will attend you. We dine in two hours. I hope that is sufficient.”
“Wow,” I hissed as he shut the door, “it doesn't take metwo hours.” I feltsome kind of wayabout that assumption.
The dress was white—his color as well as the color for funerals. Maybe he wanted to remind me to be on my best behavior by alluding to death. Maybe he wanted to mark me as his. The dress was heavy with crystal beading—I squinted, noooo. . .those weren't crystals—with a slit all the way up the thigh. The corseted bodice was sheer except in small, strategic places.
So. We knew where his mind was at. Death and sex.
Typical.
It fit my body like a glove. There were matching jeweled sandals with unnecessarily high heels, clearly designed to facilitate my broken neck, and simple drops of pearls and diamonds for my ears. I snorted. Simple.
“So does he have a wardrobe of costumes he keeps for his lovers?” I asked the female attending me. She paused in the act of braiding another thick lock of my ass-length, curly dark hair into something resembling a style. Usually, I wove it into a single braid or bunched it into a messy bun on top of my head.
“The Prince has no lovers, Lady. He has been sleeping.”
Of course, stupid question. A lover would be a player in the game. “Were these his ex-wife's clothes?”
Her face stiffened.
“Never mind.” Don't talk about the ex, got it.
Had he purchased this dress and jewelry for me?
Too many questions, and none of them ones I could ask Renaud and expect straightforward answers to.
I pressed a hand against my stomach. There must have been a vault of clothing and jewels designers had thrown at him on the rare off-chance he’d make a public appearance with cameras. Humans didn’t understand the sleep of the old ones, and Fae didn’t enlighten them.
