I hear the door chimes tinkle two stories below—another spell, I guess, as it seems impossible I could hear them all the way up here naturally. “Can I leave you to this?” I say. “Someone’s just come in.”
“Yeah, totally,” Sasha says, clearly distracted.
I head downstairs.
“Sorry,” I yell, as I make my way down the last flight of stairs and back onto the ground floor. “Sorting out some chicken books upstairs. Can I…”
My voice trails off. Standing behind my desk, flipping idly through my (empty) accounts book, is the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.
“Can I help?” I say, managing to fumble my way back into my composure.
“Ah,” the man says, straightening. He’s very tall. “I don’t suppose you have any books about breaking curses lying about, have you?”
Chapter 13
Curses. “Curses,” I echo. Is this some sort of horrible joke? Or have my parents already sent someone up here? But no, I know all seven princes of the realm, and this is not one of them. Could this be some other prince, from some unknown kingdom? Someone with an irritating sense of humor, yes. But easier on the eyes than I’d expected for my parents’ first foray into prince-finding. Unlikely; his accent is unmistakably southern Widdenmar. And again, I know all the princes of the Shining Realm. And their brothers and sisters.
“Curses,” he repeats slowly, eyeing me up and down. Having been a princess for most of my life—well,allof my life—I’m used to some measure of deference from the people around me. I’ve rarely been insulted directly, and I’ve never, ever, not once, had a man look at me with the naked appraisal this man is directing toward me. Suddenly self-conscious in a wholly unfamiliar way, I run my hands down my skirt. I can feel a flush creeping into mycheeks, and I can tell that he’s pleased by my reaction, given the little smirk that immediately tips up the corner of his absolutely perfect mouth.
Hisperfect mouth?!
I have never noticed a man’s mouth before, much less paid enough attention to mouths to judge perfection. I scowl, and his stupid smirkdeepens. An insolent little dimple appears in his cheek.
I straighten my spine, pulling myself into my very bestI’m third in line for the throne and you’d better act like you know itposture. His smirk turns into a full-on grin, one so blindingly beautiful it makes me feel weak in the knees. “Curses, you say,” I repeat, coldly. “Any particular reason?” I lift my nose in the air and wait for his answer.
“Perhaps I have a friend operating under a dread curse and I’m hoping to help her break it,” he says.
If this is a joke, it’s in appalling taste—no matter how gorgeous this man is in his tight black breeches and billowing shirt, open just enough to hint at slightly more chest than is decent. I lift my nose higher.
“Your friend ought to have come herself,” I say, hoping I sound deflatingly chilly.
He shrugs, a beautiful movement beneath that buttery-soft shirt. “Perhaps I’m the poor fellow who’s cursed,” he says. “Or perhaps I’m just trying to start a conversation.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Heard tell that Beulah Bonecrusher was a staggeringly beautiful woman and had to come see for myself, perhaps,” he suggests.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I say. I’ve been called many things in my life, but “staggeringly beautiful” is not and will never be oneof them. And yet my stupid, traitorous cheeks are on fire, and he can tell.
He shrugs again and smiles at me, and I huff—much like Sasha had done just yesterday. It’s been a while since a man reduced me to a quivering pile of insecurity, but it’s also been a while since anyone flirted with me quite so blatantly, while also being quite so unfathomably attractive. And by “a while,” I definitely mean “ever.”
“They’re in the back,” I say, and then, without waiting for him to reply, I flee.
I give myself a few moments to regain my composure in my cool, dark little room. Enough time for the blush to die down, at least. I’ll have to poke around and see if I can find a spell to hide blushes if I’m going to be this discombobulated by any good-looking man in tight breeches who wanders in off the street. I don’t remember too many of that particular type—in fact, none at all—at the banquet the night before I was cursed, but this particular man doesn’t strike me as a regular formal banquetgoer. That said, perhaps Little Pepperidge is teeming with handsome men in appealing clothes, and I simply haven’t seen any yet. My traitorous cheeks heat at the thought. Either way, I’ll look into an anti-blushing spell.
Thus decided, I bring all the curse books I’d found last night out to him. The first stack of books I carry out is tall enough that I can’t see in front of myself as I walk back to the desk, and I gasp in surprise when I find them being lifted from my arms.
“That’s a fair bundle,” the man says, his hands brushing my arms as he takes the books. Even through the fabric of my blouse, I can feel the heat of his fingers, trailing across my skin. My heart ratespikes, as does my breathing. Maybe he’ll think I’m merely out of breath from having to carry the books, galling though it is to think that he might believe me weak. Better that than the alternative.
Which he’s already clocked anyway, so why I’m bothering, I don’t know. Perhaps because it’s irritating to be so transparent.
“There’re more; I’ll be right back,” I say, turning away. I hear the thump of the first stack as he sets them down on my previously newly tidied desk.
“Do let me,” he says, following me.
By the time I turn around and say, “Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” he’s already in my tiny room, looking around. Ohno. This won’t do. This won’t do atall.
“Cozy,” he says, taking it in.
