The prince nodded. Stiffly. And then he went back to staring out the window.
Typical fae,she thought.Incapable of a prolonged, civilized conversation.
And yet his mother apparently had been capable of compassion toward small, wounded animals—which didn’t seem to fit the beastly image of the fae that Sephia had built in her mind.
Strange.
Ketzal curled up amongst a pile of throw pillows, stretched out on his back, and promptly fell asleep with one paw resting across his bloated belly.
Sephia set about cleaning up his mess. She moved in a slow, distracted manner; her gaze kept drifting toward Tarron and focusing on him before she could help herself.
Finally, the prince spoke again, keeping his back to her as he asked: “Are you settling in?”
Here we go, she thought, and took a deep breath.Now the real acting begins.
She stood, brushing pastry crumbs from her dress; that dress didn’t appear stained or torn, thankfully. “Well enough, my prince.”
“Good.”
She continued to fidget with the folds of her dress while she searched her mind for a safe topic. “The servants seemed to think that you would like this dress. And they insisted it was more suitable for the fine halls of my new home, as opposed to the one I was wearing before.”
“And what doyouthink of it?”
Sephia was taken aback by the question.
I don’t care for it. I want my old dress back. The one that smells like my real home. Like my sister—
Is that what he wanted her to say? Did hewanther to challenge him? It seemed almost as if he was testing her, waiting for her retort. She hadn’t bowed to him earlier. Had he noticed that?
She quickly decided that she couldn’t risk appearing so rebellious, so early.
“If you like it, then so do I,” she lied dutifully.
He stepped toward her.
She was suddenly, intimately aware of the thinness of her dress once more. Of the way his eyes lingered on the places where the fabric clung most completely.
“You’re shivering,” he commented.
She didn’t reply.
“Are you cold?”
“A…a bit.”
He moved closer. Circled her, his gaze still unapologetically drinking her in. “They tell me you don’t have much skill with magic; but surely you at least have enough to warm yourself? You don’t have to be afraid to use your magic here, you know.”
“I know.”
But she, of course, had nopower to warm herself. That was Sun magic, not Shadow magic. The potion she’d taken could not give her that.
Focus, she commanded herself. She needed a distraction, an excuse to give. One occurred to her almost immediately, and though she was loathe to use it, she didn’t hesitate. She glanced up at him beneath fluttering eyelashes—in a way that she hoped passed for flirtatious—and she quietly said, “It isn’t only the cold that is making me shiver, my prince.”
He stopped moving. His eyes fixed on hers.
So bright.
So intense.
