Page 30 of The Princess of Nothing
Unwantedly, Blaise’s smile crept into my relaxed state. I hadn’t expected it, but the more I focused on his smoky, intense gaze and plump lips, I remembered the way it felt to be in his arms. It consumed every ounce of my being. I could easily have lost myself to him every time. It teetered on dangerous. I hated him so much, but I wanted him to want me. I never wanted to share him. He brought out a jealousy in me I hadn’t known existed.
With Cedric, it was different. When I was with him, I threw my inhibitions to the wind. I felt safe. I knew what I wanted. There was a clarity there that I didn’t have with Blaise. Cedric felt like home.
My heart ached for them both, although I’d never admit it aloud.
Sinking into the water, I disappeared under the surface, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. After a minute, I resurfaced and sucked in a deep breath.
I detangled the knots and washed my black strands. My hair now reached down to the bottom of my back. I rinsed it twice before gripping onto the stone ledge and pulling myself out of the bath.
Edna appeared in the arched doorway. “Miss Winter. I have fresh towels for you.” She held a set of four white cotton towels and placed them on a freestanding wooden chair by the harp next to the door. Her gaze drifted to the wet bandages. “If you need anything else, please let me know. I will go and prepare you some new bandages. Your breakfast is being brought up shortly.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. I didn’t want to be ungrateful, but it was hard to find a positive in anything. I was past the point of despair and self-pity. I was becoming numb to everything, including myself. Home was so far away, and there was no way for me to escape. Hope was fading, and without hope, I had nothing.
Once alone, after wrapping a towel around myself and walking to my bed, I held onto my pillow and found comfort in my memories. I whispered a prayer for Morgana to the ancestors. I asked for them to surround her and keep her safe. I needed her to be alive. Next, I asked for Birch’s safety, apologized once again for my betrayal, and expressed my thankfulness that she was alive. I felt them around me, even as far away from Magaelor as I was. I could sense them. It brought me some solace in my torment.
***
Prince Kiros walkedin without knocking. “Good evening.”
I grunted. “I could have been getting dressed.”
“My apologies,” he replied, although he didn’t look in the slightest bit sorry. He strode to the end of my bed. My linens had just been changed, although Edna always ensured the colors matched the rest of the room. “I come bearing gifts.”
I’d noticed the small package he was carrying. It was wrapped in silver paper and tied with a purple ribbon.
“No.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I don’t care.” I scowled. “So.” I paused for a second. “Have you come to tell me your father has picked a date for my execution, or will you be trying to kill me in my sleep?” I offered a sarcastic smile.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Please.” He gestured toward the plush sofa pressed against the left wall. “Humor me.”
I inhaled deeply. “Fine.” I walked behind him. He had little consideration for my condition, as he quickened his pace, leaving me rushing after him, but then what could I expect from a solis prince?
He sat down first, shuffled position, and leaned back. He placed the small box, big enough to fit a broach, in his lap. He tapped his riding boots against the marble. I took my seat, gasping when I hunched over.
“Oh, sorry. Let me help you.” He touched my arm, and I jerked back, bringing more pain.
“Don’t touch me.”
He pressed his lips together in a hard line. “I can already tell how this is going to go,” he grumbled. “I will begin by explaining that I do not wish to be your enemy. In fact, I was hoping we could be friends.”
I snorted, then swallowed my laughter. He couldn’t be serious. I searched his expression, but he gave nothing away. “It’s unlikely.”
He raised a finger in protest. “But not impossible.”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but I’d not spent much time looking at his face. A deep yet short pink scar ran along his head, from the top of his ear to where it faded at his temple. It was the only blemish on his face. I wondered how he got it but didn’t care enough to ask.
He moved his crown and puffed out his cheeks. His eyebrows were thick but tidy. He was clean-shaven, not a shadow of stubble visible around his jaw. His cinnamon-brown hair shone copper highlights when the strands hit the sunlight arrowing through the window. It was short at the sides and long on top. It had been styled with precision, different than most men I met—who didn’t put much effort into personal grooming.
I averted my stare, casting my eyes downward. “Tell me what it is you want.” My patience was already wearing thin.
“You want to rule, correct?”
His question threw me off. I dragged my gaze back up to meet his. “Of course.”
“Then I think I can get us both what we want. I think it would be a waste for you to die. You’re a monarch, and that does mean something to me.” He exhaled slowly and relaxed his shoulders, leaning his elbow against the arm of the sofa. “I’ll be honest with you. There’s no point dancing around the truth.”
