“Magic,” he says simply before I can ask it.
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the same spot in the forest that we visited the other night. It looks exactly the same, and I smile at the beautiful setting that he created. Whatever magic he used to protect us from the rain is also in place here. He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit, marveling at the rain pouring around us.
It’s even better than the other night. He sits across from me, but we don’t speak. I stare at the handsome prince across the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to dinner with me,” he finally says, breaking the stare to pour the rosé into two separate glasses. He hands me one, and I take a big sip.
“This is delicious,” I say. “Great pick.”
He smirks. “I told you I was a wine connoisseur.”
“Would it kill you to just say thank you?”
His eyes narrow, and he looks like he’s about to fire something back at me, but he says politely, “You’re right. Thank you.”
I give him a tight smile, feeling like I’m walking a tightrope with him, as usual.
“Why did you act like that yesterday? With Marik?” I ask. He throws me a confused look, so I say, “After you and I…had our moment. Marik was looking at us, and you seemed kind of afraid of how he’d respond.”
“After we had our moment?” he echoes. “What do you mean by that?” He quirks an eyebrow at me, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
My cheeks turn pink, which I know is exactly what he wanted. I try to ignore the burning in my cheeks and, feeling emboldened, say, “After you fingered me.”
His smirk deepens, a single dimple forming on his cheek. “I appreciate specifics, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes and blurt, “Why did you act like you were afraid of him after I rode your fingers and then came all over them?”
“Oh,” he says with a shit-eating grin, “that. I wasn’t afraid of him.”
This is like fucking pulling teeth. I wait, refusing to ask for more information. He knows what kind of information I’m looking for. He takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down slowly and saying, “My brother has a temper and doesn’t like when what hethinksare his belongings are tampered with.”
“I’m not a belonging,” I say.
“I know that. I don’t think anybody could even attempt to say that. But my brother certainly seems to think he has a claim on you.”
“Well, he does, in a way,” I say simply.
He stares at me, the green in his eyes seeming to recede. “Mae, you are the High Queen, a very powerful one at that. Sometimes, I don’t think you realize that. Do not forget that. Nobody can claim you. The right male will merely sit beside you, hopefully there to encourage and empower you. He will not own you,” he says, anger in his voice.
I swallow, surprised at his sudden passion. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then don’t say that again. Words are powerful.” He sits up straighter, rolling his shoulders back before continuing. “He got mad that I was with you. He was probably more mad that you that you would choose me in that moment. He likes to feel chosen and seen. Whenever our parents chose me over him, he would withdraw, just like he did last night. When his withdrawal didn’t result in my parents trying to console him, which it rarely did, he would turn violent. So, I got nervous that he was about to turn violent. But he didn’t. He went with withdrawal, and it worked. Quite well, from the looks of it.”
I roll my eyes at the insinuation. “What is with you princes? I already told you I didn’t have sex with him. But you and Koa now both seem to think that. And even if Idid,it’s none of your businesswhoI sleep with.”
He looks at me before throwing his head back in laughter, which surprises me. “I don’t give a damn who you fuck. Fuck him, fuck Koa, fuck Elle, fuck Ivan. I don’t care, Mae. Make no mistake, if you choose me, I want it to be because you’ve had everything and chose me because I’m the best for you.”
“You think you’re the best for me?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
Is he forgetting about the multiple arguments we’ve had in the last week? We barely know each other, and we can’t seem to have a single encounter without arguing in some way.
He plucks a grape from the charcuterie board in the center of the table and plops it in his mouth. “No, I know I am.”
“You don’t even want to be with me,” I say, accusation in my tone.
“It’s complicated,” is all he says.
“Un-complicate it,” I demand.
