Page 47 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom
“Well, since you said please,” he replied, his voice low and rumbly with suppressed laughter.
I ignored him and picked my sandwich up again, biting it more viciously than the soft bread deserved.
My non-social cues only dissuaded him until he finished eating. “How did you learn magic?”
I wiped my face with a napkin and said, “I followed directions. Fran prefers novels, but I’ve always been more interested in things with practical applications.” I started to stand up to look for a book, then fell back onto the couch when my leg wouldn’t hold up my weight. Between the pain-numbing ointment and conversation, I’d temporarily forgotten about my recent injury.
Brendon had leapt out of his chair to catch me, but when I settled back onto the couch, he slowly sat back down. “You shouldn’t move around so much,” he scolded.
“I just wanted to grab a book to show you,” I explained, gesturing to the bookshelf. “There’s a Practical Guide to Magic that has some basics in it, and I have a few more advanced texts that help you configure the spells for personal use. Once you know where to start, it’s mostly a matter of practice and having the right materials.”
“What kind of materials do you need when creating magical binding rope?” Brendon asked skeptically.
I pursed my lips. “Trade secret.” No reason to remind him about the fairy dust. Although it could be used on humans for temporary control, its true purpose was to make inanimate objects obey the owner. That was why so many of my enchanted objects required command words.
He snorted and rolled his eyes, then pushed himself to his feet and perused the bookshelves, hands clasped behind his back. In this pose, with his sleeves rolled up, I could see the flex of his forearm muscles.
God, I needed to get laid so I would stop drooling over every little flex.
My inner voice whispered insidiously:there’s a bed upstairs.
Which was absolutely not what I meant and my brain should know that. Then again, the wizard did suggest …
“What am I looking for?” Brendon asked.
“Green and about nine inches, so it should be somewhere in the middle.”
He muttered something about ‘stupid organization system,’ yet he found it before he even finished speaking, so it couldn’t bethatstupid.
I adjusted myself, placing my foot on the table and stretching my leg out, giving him room to sit next to me so we could peruse the booktogether. The couch cushions sank down from his weight, and his shoulder brushed mine, a slight, constant pressure as we opened the book between the two of us.
“What was the first spell you tried?” he asked, flipping idly through the pages.
I took the book from him, and he stretched his arm around the back of the couch. At first, I missed the pressure of his shoulder, but then the tips of his fingers dangled over the edge, barely grazing me.
I continued flipping pages for five minutes before I remembered that I was looking for something, then had to backtrack because I’d passed it a while ago. “This one, actually,” I said, pointing to a section entitled Lock & Key.
“Is that how you locked the tower?” he asked, leaning forward for a better look.
In this new position his fingers touched my left shoulder, his chest touched my right shoulder, and his thigh was pressed against mine. Was he doing this on purpose? I eyed him suspiciously, but he was fully intent on the page, not even sparing me a glance.
“Yeah, it keys the lock to a specific person instead of an item.”
“What happens if you die?”
“Depends on how the spell is performed. In this case, I’ve put in a second and third key—Franny and my mother. It only reverts to them in emergency cases. Some mages have reason to lock away their secrets after their death, so they don’t put in any safeties.”
“Does the tower have any other safety measures?” Brendon asked, glancing at the windows covered in vines, blocking out all light. “Like a way to call for help?”
“Not as such, but Franny knows I’m here—she sent me to get a book. She’ll come looking for me when I don’t bring it back to her.”
“What book?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again.
“You’re not saying any words if that was your goal.”
“No, I just realized—she never told me which fucking book.”
