His other hand starts to inch lower on my body, but then suddenly, his lips leave mine and he stands up.
“We can’t… Not here,” he says, his voice strangled.
But this feels so, so, so good.
“Why?” I rasp, reaching for him.
Dietan paces the small cell, taking deep gulps of air as he puts his shirt back on. I feel cold everywhere our bodies just touched. I watch him, confused, still flushed, my breathing ragged. Why did he stop?
He groans, rakes his fingers through his hair, and begins to pace again. What the hell is going on? Is this how I envisioned my first time? No. But did I want him to stop? Also, no.
He stops and turns to me, finally finding the words he’s looking for.
“You deserve so much better than this. You deserve my four-poster bed, my window overlooking the sea. You deserve the world.”
I don’t know what this means. My mind races. He can’t even look at me. He’s staring at the grills high above us.
He takes a deep breath, then another. Then he finally lowers himself to sit beside me. “I’m sorry… I can’t… I don’t want our first time to be here, in a dungeon,” he whispers.
He leans down and kisses me again—first my cheek, then my ear, then softly on my lips. I don’t know what to make of this. I’m angry at our situation. I’m annoyed at his thoughtfulness. But mostly, I’m left wanting.
He pulls my robe back over my chest, fastening the hooks into place. I have to stare at the ceiling and ball my hands into fists to keep the tears at bay. I won’t cry. Wewillget out of here alive.
For what feels like forever, we are silent.
“Fuck this dungeon,” I finally mutter.
He snorts. “We can’t fuck in this dungeon.”
I can’t help but laugh. He laughs right along with me.
That’s better.
We lie back and snuggle side-by-side. Dietan kisses the top of my head. His presence is no longer an aggravation but a comfort.
We close our eyes and try to get some sleep. I cannot stop replaying every kiss, every touch, in my head. Has the prince become someone I can trust with my heart? My heart has never been this open, this vulnerable. I’ve never felt like I have a safe place to land.
I can’t bear the thought of him walking out of my life if—when—we make it out of here.
I drift off to sleep thinking of Dietan and his four-poster bed.
When morning comes, I jolt awake at the sound of the cell door groaning open.
A guard in full regalia stands at attention, looking down at the two of us entwined on the mattress.
“King Osian will see you now.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Aren
It’s a rude awakening, going from dreams about Dietan holding me in his arms to the shriek of the cell door opening.
“Come on,” Dietan says as he helps me to my feet while a fully armored, gruff-faced guard waits impatiently.
I comb my hair with my fingers, trying to put it in some semblance of order, undoubtedly failing spectacularly. Once it’s wound into a bun on the nape of my neck, I shake out the skirts of my desert linens and meet Dietan’s gaze. He smiles, but I can see the shadows under his eyes. He didn’t sleep a wink.
He takes my hand and links his fingers through mine. “Ready?”
