The door to Gwyneth’s chamber cracks open. A dainty hand shoots out, yanks the pillow from my grip, and slams the door shut again.
I blink at the wood. “Wow. Aggressive.”
From inside, Gwyneth’s muffled voice rings out. “Five tempos.”
“Take ten,” I call back. “Or a turn. Maybe a scalding bath. A scouring of the floof and my eyeballs.”
Nash coughs to hide another laugh.
I spin on him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m enjoying you.”
That takes some of the sting out of the moment, which is annoying and lovely in equal measure.
Nash disappears into the shared chamber with the knights while I pace in small agitated circles around the sofa and try not to think about my sister’s sex face. Fail. Utter fail. After the fourth lap, the door opens and Gwyneth steps out wearing a robe tied high and tight, her cheeks pink and her hair a mess.
I narrow my eyes. “You could have lied. Pretended to be asleep. One of us could have had dignity.”
She folds her arms. “You burst into my room in the middle of the night like a deranged goblin.”
“I knocked.”
“Twice.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t enough of a warning.”
“It would have been if you hadn’t been rutting so loud you couldn’t hear me.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Daphne.”
I throw my hands up. “Fine. We’ll circle back to your scandalous choices later. I had a nightmare, and it wasn’t normal.”
That drains the humor from her face as Hart emerges, shirtless and frowning like he’s been personally insulted by consciousness. Malachi follows, hair a mess, all warm sleep and sunshine until he sees my face and the lightness vanishes. Genie appears in a puff of smoke over the armchair, already offended by being summoned by tension rather than glamor.
“Tell me,” Gwyneth demands.
Charming struts out, trousers on, shirt unlaced, looking entirely too unbothered by the fact I saw their activities byaccident. He leans one shoulder against the wall and quirks a blond eyebrow. “You should begin by apologizing for the interruption.”
I stare at him. “Prince Poopfloof, I saw enough of your technique to know you should be the one apologizing to me.”
Gwyneth makes a strangled sound and covers her face.
Theo snorts.
“I think I’m missing something,” Hart utters.
“You are missing entirely nothing,” I snap.
Charming’s grin widens. “Technique?”
“Yes. Thrusting like a Bunkum is not a technique.”
“Daphne,” Gwyneth groans.
I point at her. “See? This is why sisters need boundaries and separate wings of the castle.”
