Page 93 of The Chaosweaver's Daughter
She willed her glare to pierce him more sharply.
“First, I’m sorry for not telling you the wardrobe was from me. It wasn’t meant to be a secret, or a transactional gift. Furthermore, it wasnevermy intention to make you feel like a doll—like an object on display. It’s only that I...” He paused, his eyes drifting to the top of her head where he seemed to find something interesting with her hair.
“It’s only that you,what? Took pity on the daughter of poor dead Hothan Tarisden? Decided to grace her with your benevolence? Dress her in finery and give her a little outing to the Symposium of Prodigious Minds? I may only bea tutor,Your Grace, but I’m perfectly capable of using my own income to purchase my own clothing!” At the end of her outburst, she glanced down to find that she’d been punctuating each of her words by poking him on one of his well-sculpted pecs.
Kas wrapped her hand in his grasp, but didn’t move it from where her fingertip grazed his chest. “You arenotand will never be ‘only a tutor.’”
She risked looking into his eyes, beseeching who knows what, but he still stared at the crown of her head.
He spoke softly. “You are, andhavebeen a Guest of the King, ever since you arrived at the palace in your father’s stead.”
Ice flooded her veins. That wasn’t what she wanted him to say. “Enough of thisGuest of the Kingbullshit.”
“It’s an honor?” He appeared genuinely confused as he scrunched his eyebrows.
Nesrina ignored Kas’s half-question and moved on. “Then what? I was too homely to make aproperGuest of the King?” If he wanted to lean on the honorific, so would she. “Had to spruce me up to show off at the symposium? Had to—”
“Nesrina.” He halted her again with a single finger to the lips. Then, Kas leaned closer, squeezing her hand, still pressed against his chest. His deliciously cozy smell threatened to undo her composure. “Please, let me explain myself?” His eyes implored beyond the end of his question.
Softening bit after jagged bit, egged on by his heart marching steady beneath her palm, by the scent wrapping her in the embrace his armswouldn’t grant her, she nodded.
Sounding ashamed, he began, “I was selfish. I bought you all those things to satisfy my own self-serving whims. Yes, I first saw you at the symposium several years ago. Heard you first actually, you were in a session about birthrates, or abandonment by the gods, or something. You were shouting at the speaker for basing their entire argument on a false premise. I thought you were brilliant.”
She blinked.
“Then I saw you, and I was completely taken by your beauty.” His fingertips trailed, leaving a heated wake as he moved them from her lips to rest on her shoulder. Gently, he pulled Nes toward him, eyes pleading with her to remain present in the conversation—to remain in the moment.
Beneath her palm, his heart thundered. She dared not move, nor speak, nor take a single breath.
“I didn’t know who you were. I thought about you for weeks, obsessively, then months consistently, and suddenly two years had gone by and there you were again, asking me for directions—and I was an arse. Overwhelmed, I panicked. But over the last few months I’ve come to know you. And Nes,” he breathed, “I must admit, I find you more captivating than I’d ever imagined possible.”
She blinked at him.
“As for the clothes . . .”
His words tugged her back to the issue at hand.
Angry.Oh, yes, she was supposed to be angry with the duke. She made a half-hearted attempt to free her hand from its prison between the walls of his chest and bars of his long fingers. He only held tighter, wrapping possessively around her. She knew, deep down, if she was truly vexed, she’d weave a knife and stab him in the thigh, or perhaps a rope with which to throttle him. As it was, she scowled.
“I can’t deny it was selfish. But I assure you it wasnotbecause of your honorific.”
She nearly smiled at his avoidance of the phrase “Guest of the King.”
“It wasn’t because of yoursocial classor because of your clothes.It wasn’t anything more nefarious than my own self-serving behavior.”
Again, she did nothing but blink, unable to speak as she found herself fully entranced by his straight nose and perfect mouth.
“Frankly, I thought you deserved finer things. I wanted to see you wear the golden gown that brings out the caramel tones in your hair. The deep purple and pink dresses that highlight the green of your eyes. The coppers and autumnal ones that call out the blue...”
She couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth. She should be furious he’d spotted her two years ago and never said a damn thing,enragedhe brought her clothing and lied. But there was something sweet about it, something distinctly Kas.
“You’re astonishingly gorgeous, like Appia herself, no matter what you’re wearing. You’re intelligent and kind and worthy of all the pretty baubles in the world. And I’m sorry, Nes. I’m sorry I made you feel objectified or like I had nefarious intent, when in fact I’ve found I’m quite besotted with you.”
Oh...He was so close, his breath tickled the crown of her head. How did she keep getting herself in this situation?
The duke lifted one of his massive hands, crooking a finger beneath her chin and tipping her face up.
“Nesrina,” he whispered her name with reverence, a prayer, a request. His eyes were stardust: silver swirls giving way to oblivion. His nose brushed hers, he was so close.
