His fingers laced through hers. Squeezed. Then his grip loosened just enough to allow his thumb to trace her palm as she’d traced his mouth. His fingers stilled against her. His hooded gaze lingered on her lips, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her.
“That…” he breathed.
The low tone of his voice sent another tingle through her. She found herself leaning closer, listening.Hoping, maybe.
“…is incredibly sticky,” he finished, pulling his hand away from hers and studying the bits of sauce that had been transferred to his hand from hers.
She snorted. “At least I didn’t start a fire.”
He laughed again—another taste that proved more dizzying and intoxicating than the first, because now he was close enough to her that the sound vibrated over her flushed skin.
She took a step back.
Shehadto.
“You started a fire trying to boil water,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s so…impressive.” It still felt risky, teasing him like this when she knew how quickly he could turn cold—but she wanted to hear him laugh again.
Her risk-taking earned her a wry smile. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
She smiled back. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He stepped back, putting even more space between them.
She felt a strange desire to pull him back, but she resisted it.
After a moment of gazing around the kitchen, he said, “I know you likely have me pegged as a fool who can’t do anything without my servants, but I actually prefer doing most things for myself. Cooking, however…”
“Perhaps it’s best youdoleave that to those servants, as you said.”
His smile turned crooked. “Or I’ll simply leave it to my wife, if that pleases her. I’ll set one of the tables in the garden for us in the meantime, shall I?”
She nodded, numbly.
My wife.
Her heart had skipped several beats at those words.
But it should have skipped, shouldn’t it? In fear. In regret and anxiety over this delicate, dangerous mission—at the thought of failing that mission and actually being the forever-trapped wife of this mysterious, monstrous fae prince.
Only it felt like… like somethingelsehad made it skip.
Something traitorous.
Chapter 8
When Sephia carried their food outside a short time later, she found that Tarron had wandered off to the adjacent gardens in search of flowers. While she arranged the plates and food, he arranged those flowers in a pitcher in the table’s center. He worked without comment, all the while still wearing his usual brooding, serious frown. He appeared determined not to fail at this the way he’d failed at boiling water.
Sephia watched him with a bemused little smile on her face.
He’d given her a ring, and now flowers, too.
Monsters can give gifts,she stubbornly reminded herself.It doesn’t truly make them any less monstrous. You still need to be careful.
They ate in relative silence, recovering from the various kitchen catastrophes and enjoying the warm sunshine. Several servants checked in on them while they dined. Tarron waved them all away, telling them he wanted to eat with his bride in private, which made Sephia’s confused thoughts race even faster.
Rude awakening aside, this morning had felt entirely too…nice.
Because of that privacy Tarron requested, once they were finished, the mess in the kitchen remained. Sephia tried to help take care of it—her mentor had always taught her that cleaning up was part of cooking, like it or not—but this was where the prince finally drew the line.
