Page 39 of Tall, Royal and Grumpy

She caught my side-glance of disgust and burst into a chortle. “Oh, come on,” she said, bumping my arm with hers. “What is it exactly that you don’t like about the cold?”

“There is absolutely nothing to like about the cold.”

“Yes, there is.” Her swaying steps had her knocking into me again. “Like the crisp smell of a cold morning. The look and feel of snow. Gathering around a cosy fireplace with a book and a hot drink. Oh, and of course, the wind against your skin and in your hair. Doesn’t it make you feel like you’re soaring high in the sky with the birds, free and wild?”

I couldn’t have felt more horrified by what she described than I did. “No.” She threw her head back and laughed. “No. Cold mornings are miserable. Snow turns to slush and ice and makes everyone’s lives difficult. Fires are lit to mitigate the cold, so they aren’t a reason to like the cold. And wind is the bane of all existence. It makes your mouth taste of blood and your face burn until it feels like it’s going to fall off, not to mention it slowly kills off all your extremities too.”

“Wow,” she mouthed slowly. “So much hate for the cold, Mr Perfect Prince.”

“You asked. I answered.”

A gasp cut through her husky giggle, interrupting my stride. I pivoted to face her where she’d stopped. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Books.” She blinked round eyes at me. “I promised to finish reading that book with Pierre after dinner. How could I forget? You don’t think he’s waiting for me, do you?”

My jaw locked tightly as the green burn of frustration made itself known in my chest again. I didn’t like that she was thinking about the plans she had made with him when she was with me.

“No,” I said, feigning calm. “He most likely forgot himself, so I doubt he’s waiting. And he was in the kitchen when we made our plan, but he didn’t remind you of it.”

“I guess. He didn’t say anything, did he? But still, I will have to make it up to him.”

She walked past me, and with a deep, calming breath that didn’t really quell my frustration with my best friend, I followed her. But I couldn’t stay quiet.

“He was flirting with you. In the kitchen.”

“Hmm? Who? Pierre. Oh, I know. But he doesn’t mean it. He’s just being playful, so it’s fine. And I don’t really think I’m actually his type. And he’s not mine.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t fucking ask.

“What’s your type?” Dammit, Kai!

Her lashes fluttered as some unreadable emotion passed over her face. Then she stared ahead to the lamp-lit path, the smallest smile tugging on her mouth. “My type? I, uh…” she muttered, appearing both shy and amused. “Tall, dark, and handsome I guess.”

I frowned.

How tall? Over one-hundred-and-eighty-four centimetres? Jahandar used imperial measures, so six-foot? Under? A specific height?

And dark what? Dark-haired? Dark-skinned? Dark eyes? Dark personality?

And what was handsome? She wasn’t being very specific. A lot of men fit the description of tall, dark, and handsome. Without meaning to sound full of myself, even I fit the bill.

Esmeralda’s eyes slowly travelled over my body, lingering on my shoulders, skipping up to my hair, then slipping down to meet my gaze. She flicked her head away, the corners of her mouth twitching.

I narrowed my gaze on that cheeky smile she was trying to hide. “Are you taking a jab at me?”

She hooted up at the sky and my cheeks flamed. Fuck, she was.

“No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t taking a jab at you. If I had been then I probably would have said my type was…tall, royal, and grumpy.”

My face fell and she laughed again.

“Prince Kai?”

I stopped and turned back. Rocco with his warrior, two-metre frame stood in a fitted black coat, his bald head shining. He had his phone in one hand and Gary lingered behind him.

“Is everything okay, Rocco?”

He tilted his head. “Shehryar rang and requested that we ensure Princess Esmeralda is back in the palace before half ten—”

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