He’s never been good at it.
Maybe he should try. Anything beats sitting here staring at the rain.
“That depends,” he says. “What are you offering in return?”
Well, that felt a lot more forward on his tongue than it did in his head.
They’re married, though. It’s fine. This is fine.
She sets down her fork and leans her crossed arms on the table. “A game of political diplomacy. Intriguing. Did you learn such things at the university? Prince Rominy?”
Her eyebrow twitches as she tilts her head slightly, and his mouth suddenly feels like cotton.
She’s better at this than he is.
He clears his throat. “I...I studied the art of diplomacy, yes. No one’s offer was ever quite as...attractive as yours, though.”
Stars above. Hopefully, she takes that the right way. No one was offering him sexual favors in his political science classes. It was all mock treaties and border disputes.
Thank the heavens.
“And what is it you think I’m offering, Your Highness?” She leans back in her chair, and as she lifts her feet to the table, her white dress transforms into her elven leathers.
Air. He needs air. Is it suddenly warmer in their little cottage?
She’sdefinitely better at this than he is. Perhaps he should follow her lead.
There’s nothing for it.
He silently wishes for his elven leathers and painted eyes.
The heartlanding is happy to grant his request, his loose sea clothes transforming into leather around him. He’s not nearly as smooth in his transformation as she was, though. Stars above, that was unsettling.
He gazes at her across the table, and for a moment, she looks a little overcome.
She does like him in leather.
Soon, she’s back to her aloof persona, though, which is a side of her she’s never shown him before tonight.
It’s not doing his racing heart any favors.
“You never answered me, my prince.”
“Is that the Elvish honorific, my princess?”
“You’re avoiding my question. What do you believe I’m offering, Your Highness?”
He is avoiding her question.
He would like to keep avoiding her question.
“Perhaps I want to hear it in your own words.”
Without hesitating, she answers in swift Elvish, and he almost laughs until he catches a few phrases he understands. She looks straight at him as she speaks, and he struggles to breathe.
That was specific. At least the parts he understood.
“You win,” he whispers. “How long should my next lapse in judgment be?”
