Inside, there are shelves that reach all the way to the front from bottom to top, the space cramped and loaded with too many items to count.
My eyes skim over the shelves. There seems to be a little bit of everything. Glass vials filled with exotic perfumes, baubles, shiny gems, books, spices, teacups, honeycombs, and candlesticks. It’s all a mishmash of odds and ends, my eyes unable to take in every piece.
“You have quite the collection. Are you a traveling merchant, then?” It would explain why I don’t recognize his name and why he looks and behaves the way he does.
“Something like that, Your Majesty,” he replies with an ambiguous curve of his lips. “I collect rare and priceless items.”
“Is that so?” I muse, picking up a silver hair brush and testing its weight and shine. Real. I can’t help but be intrigued. “What is the rarest and most priceless thing you have then, Sir Pruinn?” I challenge.
His magnet-gray eyes latch onto mine. “That would be my power, Your Majesty.”
My brows rise up in surprise. “You have magic?”
He nods. “I do.”
For the second time today, jealousy wells up inside of me. If only I’d been born with magic, then I wouldn’t be here now, struggling to take control of my own damn kingdom.
“What kind of magic?” I ask, eyeing him in a new light.
A wry grin pulls at his cheeks. He leans an inch closer, and that sense of being pulled toward him returns. “I can show someone how to gain their greatest desire.”
All of my interest fizzles out, and I pull back with a disinterested sigh. “I don’t take kindly to charlatans,” I tell him, my tone cross.
He shakes his head adamantly. “No tricks, Your Majesty, I swear it.”
I arch a condescending brow. “I’m sure,” I say sardonically.
“Please, let me prove it to you,” he says, probably because he knows I’m quite close to calling my guards over and having him arrested for being a swindler.
“And how will you do that, Sir Pruinn? Have me close my eyes while you read a crystal ball?”
“Not at all. I only need to hold your hand.”
“You won’t be touching the queen,” one of my guards intervenes.
Sir Pruinn ignores him, his attention staying on me. “No tricks, Your Majesty.” He holds out his hand palm-up.
I don’t take it. “If you think I’m going to fall for silly palm reading, then you are a very poor charlatan, sir.”
“Again, not a charlatan,” he vows. “And I won’t be reading your palm. Like I said, I’ll only be holding it.”
I’m impatient now, but I can’t deny that I’m also quite curious. My guards are watching warily, hands on the hilts of their swords, but they know that ultimately, they have no say whether he touches me or not.
I study the man, trying to get a read on him. “Alright, Sir Pruinn. Prove it to me.”
I place my hand in his, his palm surprisingly smooth for a traveler who’d be catching his own food and fixing his own wagon. The guards move closer.
Sir Pruinn gently curls my fingers into a loose fist and wraps his hand over mine.
The moment he does, there’s a sensation—a static that pops on the surface of my palm and the back of my hand, the energy jumping between us.
My gaze shoots up to his face, but his gray eyes are closed, arched brows tucked down in concentration.
“My queen...” my antsy guard says nervously.
“Quiet.”
I stare down at my hand in awe, because I canfeelit. I can feel the magic coursing over it, coming from his touch. It crinkles and snaps, little bursts of magical bubbles that nearly sting, but not quite.
