“Princess. Violence. Starling.” Each word is accompanied by the staccato of his steps into the room. Messy strands of hair fall over his forehead as he tips his head, his teeth digging into his lip as he holds back a smile. “You’ve lost weight since the last time I saw you.” He hums. “It suits you.”
When I look back at the mirror, all I see is jutting bones and pale, dull skin shadowed with ill health. Still, I try and force a smile as if what he’d just said was a compliment.
“I’m pleased that you find my appearance so...”
“Appealing. Satisfying. Seductive. Inviting.” With one lifted brow, the servant quickly scuttles from the room. He’s walking so close to me now, I can smell his cologne. A sweet but musky scent that stings like pepper in my nose.
“Yes.” I’m thankful that I’d been offered silk slippers instead of torturous heels as I turn and walk around the prince toward the door. I clasp my hands in front of me, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Shall we?”
His smile only widens. “Eager too. I think I may like you, Princess.”
“We will see about that,” I whisper under my breath.
The door is open to the hall, a castle I have yet to explore, not that I really want to. As I expect him to, Prince Dalziel offers me his arm. The sleeves of his billowy cerulean shirt have been rolled to reveal his forearms. I wrap my arm around his, my fingers gingerly settling against his warm skin.
He hums to himself for a moment, looking at my hand on him. “We are quite opposites in appearance. I wonder what our children might look like?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Prince Dalziel,” I tease with a smirk, though underneath it, I’m nothing but bitter.
His chuckle vibrates through me before he pats my hand. His skin is silky soft as if he has never lifted a finger in his life. I doubt he ever has. Would he hate the rough feeling of my own callous hands?
“You’re so right. We have all the time in the world." With his free hand, he gestures down the hall. “Shall I show you around?”
If you must.
“That would be lovely.”
The halls are lined with large, framed paintings of various landscape scenes. There is much to admire in several of them, high quality art that no doubt came with its own heavy price tag. We walk slowly from frame to frame as he gives me brief descriptions of which part of his court they are depicting. They’re all sunshine, flowers, and crashing waves.
Then there is another picture, this one of a dark ,wooded area with glassy, beastly eyes watching from the shadows. I can practically hear the howling of wind and the snarl of something waiting to eat me through the delicate brushstrokes. This picture is different. Beautiful but haunted. There is something off about it, as if the image has been slightly distorted. I stop to stare at it for longer than the others.
Dalziel watches me as I inspect the art. A smirk plays at his lips. “Do you like this one?”
“This one reminds me of home.” I lean a little closer. “It’s not the same as the others. Itfeelsdifferent. Who is the artist?”
“If you like it, then you shall have it.” He nods. “I’ll have it wrapped and sent home with you as my gift.”
“Oh, no, no.” I try to wave a hand. “That’s too generous.”
“Nonsense. Call it a gift from the artist.” He winks.
I try not to laugh with surprise. My mouth falls open as I look from the painting back to this beautiful man at my side. “You painted this?”
“Don’t sound so shocked!” Dalziel feigns offense. “The arts are highly valued here. I’ve been painting since I was old enough to pick up a paintbrush.” Those golden eyes examine me. “I’d very much like to paint you.”
“I’m not interesting enough to paint.” I blush.
The hook of his finger tips my chin upward. “You would be my most captivating subject. I’d start with your lips.” A single finger lifts to trace the outline of my lips. “The perfect cupid’s bow and subtle pout. Then these cheekbones and your eyes.” His touch wanders over my face, touching each feature as he speaks it.
That hand travels down the side of my neck. “Your slender neck. Collarbones.” He moves lower still, drawing a line over the top of my chest. “These breasts.”
I catch his hand in mine, holding it tightly. “This is hardly appropriate, don’t you think?”
His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “Ah, it can be quite nerve-racking to lose your virginity.” His fingers slip out of mine, and he guides me forward again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with you the first time.”
Who the fuck told him I was a virgin?I want to laugh at the lie.
“How considerate of you,” I deadpan.
