Gravesley deflates in his seat, and I momentarily feel bad for being so harsh, but I stand by my reasoning.
With obvious hesitation, Gravesley leans forward and steeples his fingers. “Have you looked at the curse document recently?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe we should.”
Turns out the old man knows what he’s talking about. After scouring over the document detailing the parameters of the curse, I finally come to the conclusion that there isn’t anything listed out saying I’m not allowed to tell Azalea that I’m cursed.
As long as I don’t bring up what exactly my curse is, how it came to fruition, or that it has anything to do with her, I should be in the clear.
The only problem is that Azalea is one of the most clever and curious people I’ve ever met in my unnaturally long life.
Fuck me.
Step one of putting this plan into action is to find Azalea, so I go to the one place I’m almost guaranteed to always find her: the library.
My breath stutters in my lungs when I see her. Her nose is practically wedged in the book she’s meticulously scanning, keeping her from noticing me right away. I use this time to drink her in. A luxury I’m very rarely granted as of late. She’s wearing a simple white, cotton dress today. The lantern sleeves fall past her shoulders before billowing around her arms. The skirt of the dress flows around her as she sits forward, reaching for a quill.
Her slender fingers wrap around the item before dipping it into a pot of ink and underlining a section of the book. Bringing the feather end of the quill up to her mouth, she swishes it back and forth across her pink-painted lips as she continues to read. And just like that, I’m jealous of a fucking feather.
Her eyes narrow slightly, hiding the honey hues of her irises behind her thick black lashes, as she scrutinizes the text in front of her. Her hair falls around her face in a cluster of chestnut curls that makes her look ethereal as the sun beams down onto her from the floor to ceiling windows on her left. Though I would never tell her for fear she would stop wearing her hair like this altogether, this is my favorite way she styles her hair. Embracing her natural curls and letting them fall around her wild and free. The carefree nature of it suits her. It makes me want to tangle my fingers in her luscious locks, and use them to pull her toward me.
My eyes drift around her face, becoming caught on her plump lips as she continues to mouth the words she’s reading without speaking them aloud. As soon as my mind drifts to the memory of feeling the delicate touch of her lips skate across my skin, I clear my throat to announce my presence.
When Azalea lifts her eyes to mine, she immediately becomes flustered, the quill slipping from her fingers. It bounces off of her lap onto the ground, and I watch as a few droplets of ink splatter across her white skirt, bleeding out into the fabric.
She slams the book closed and leans her upper body over it, as if to keep me from seeing what she’s reading. Not her most inconspicuous move.
“Prince Braxton,” she breathes before putting on a forced smile.
I feel a surge of envy move through me as she tucks the stray curls that fell in front of her face behind her ears. Something so simple to miss, but I do. I miss getting to brush my fingers through her hair and tuck her curls away so that I can better stare at her face.
“Prince?” I question with raised brows as I step further into the library.
“That is your title isn’t it?” Though her tone is terse, she continues stretching her mouth into a fake grin.
“You’ve never been one to use my title.”
“A woman can change can’t she?”
“Don’t.” The single word comes out more serious than I intend. “Don’t change.” I clarify, my eyes pleading in ways that my words can’t.
She does little to try and hide the shock that reverberates through her at my sudden somber tone.
“Why are you bothering me in the library?” she prompts, not meeting my eyes.
“Bothering you? I just walked in here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me rephrase.” She looks up with feigned innocence. “Why are you now bothering me specifically in the library instead of simply bothering me with your general existence?”
I place my hand over my heart, feigning as if she’s wounded me. She rolls her eyes.
“What are you reading?” I inquire, knowing exactly what book she’s reading. It’s the same book she’s read at least a hundred times:Everything There is to Know About Magical Deals, Curses, and Bargaining with a Witch.The title is a bit long for my liking, but it always seems to catch Azalea’s eye, though it truly doesn’t have any meaningful information tucked within its pages. This is the first time I’ve seen her actually mark any passages in it, which sparks my curiosity.
“None of your business,” Azalea snaps, pulling the book closer to her.
“Don’t bother trying to hide it. I know you’re reading about curses. Hoping to break this deal we have?” I use my pointer finger to gesture between us.
