Eyelids fluttered open. Very slowly, clearly taking effort.
Not wanting him to slip back into slumber, I shook him again. “Prince James, you can’t sleep here any longer. You must go to your own bed now.”
“Unnnngh, why?” He groaned and tried to snuggle back into the pillow.
Do not give in to the cuteness. Resist. Resist, dammit!
“A warm, soft bed awaits you,” I coaxed, shaking again. “Come on, you don’t want to stay in such a cramped place. Come on, come out.”
There was much grumbling, snuffling noises, the works, but he finally did crawl out. I kept a hand under his arm to help pull him, which was to my benefit, as he almost gave up and crawled back under. Never mind tired, this man was past exhausted. He was about as awake as a growing child right now.
Even standing, his eyes weren’t really open, and I feared shoving him toward his own rooms wouldn’t end well. He’d likely find some other flat spot and immediately make use of it.
I better take him to his rooms myself. I got his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist, and towed him along. He went quite amiably, shuffling along and not at all belligerent. Which surprised me. If you got me this tired, I was worse than a sick hedgehog.
No one frequented this area of the palace at this hour of the night. If there was a formal dinner or a soiree or something going on, it would be happening in the main palace, not the auxiliary wing, which had been given over to Prince James for his exclusive use. He’d done many a thing to make the area more personable, more convenient for everyone else, including adding a rather sizable break room, training yard for his knights, and several overnight rooms for us to stay in if the hour got too late and we didn’t already have our own room.
Fortunately, his room was only a five-minute walk, and I had him there without any fuss or bother. No one attended the door—rather odd, come to think of it, someone should have been on hand—so I opened it and walked him through.
Well, no one was about, so I supposed getting him into bed was on me. I’d just take off his jacket and shoes, pour him onto the mattress, and he’d sleep fine. I think.
Using some dexterity, I got the covers turned down, then sat him on the edge of the bed. “All right, jacket off.”
He cooperated as I tugged on a sleeve, eyes still not properly open.
“Edwin,” he said with this happy little smile, “you’re handsome.”
I…beg your fucking pardon? I was nice looking, but handsome? I’d never in my life been accused of being handsome. Also, rich, coming from someone absolutely fucking gorgeous.
“Thank you,” I responded, not sure what else to say.
“I promised to tell you more often,” he murmured, the words sort of slurring together. “But you still don’t believe me.”
When the hell had he made such a promise?
“It’s fine, we’ll…” He trailed off, concentrating as he got the other sleeve off. “Oh, good show.”
Yes, because taking a jacket off a willing, half-asleep man was such an achievement. Rolling my eyes, I hung the coat on the back of a nearby chair, then knelt to deal with his shoes.
“It’s really late,” Prince James said. “Just stay tonight. You can use your extra closet suit for tomorrow.”
My hands paused on the laces, feeling like someone had taken a chair to the back of my head. No one knew I’d stashed a suit in a nearby unused storage closet since it was closer to the office than my palace rooms.
“It’s not like you snore, anyway,” Prince James continued in the mutter. “You’re a good bedmate.”
We had never, not once, shared a room. Much less a bed. So again, how the hell would he know?
I automatically took his shoes off, my hands in motion even while my brain whirled. This made no sense. I didn’t think he was lying or being manipulative—he was mostly sleep-talking. If not for him talking of my extra suit, I’d assume he was dreaming of someone else. Maybe he was? Dreams often mixed and didn’t make sense.
I rose, intending to lay him down flat and under the covers. The second I stood upright, his hands fumbled until they latched on to my waist, snugging me in. I landed with anoofagainst his chest, hands awkwardly on his shoulders. Why was he hugging me?!
His nose rubbed up my neck before he settled in with a sigh. The hot breath against my throat sent a shiver racing over my nerves, and I just about came out of my own skin. “Edwin. Stay.”
He wasn’t dreaming of someone else. He was dreaming of me.
Why? This was not a rhetorical question. By Nimus, I wanted an answer.
“James,” I whispered, determined to get to the bottom of this. “What do you want from me?”
