My throat still felt tight even now that I had permission, though perhaps this time it was because of his gaze. Prince Ash was wrong about him staring at me as children. I would have felt it a mile away.
I gripped the tray tighter. The shirt was dangerously close to soaking up the gravy on the plate beside it. All I had to do was give it to him and leave. My palms felt clammy as I reached for the bundle.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
Bennett took it and turned it over, fingers trailing across the linen. “What is it?”
It was difficult meeting his eyes. I settled on the spot between his groomed eyebrows instead.
“A gift,” I said. Scowling at his questioning look, I turned to the window panes. They fogged up at my breath. “People give gifts on birthdays, don’t they?”
The velvet ribbon unfurled. Bennett held up the lopsided garment I had painstakingly stitched together in the past week.
“It’s not my best work,” I mumbled, rattling the tray as I prepared to leave. “I’m assuming you have reports to finish?”
He made a move to stand with me but leaned back at the last second. “No. No, not at all,” he said, carefully tucking the shirt over his arm. “You may sit for longer. If you like.”
The door was tempting. But for some idiotic reason, I returned to the window. “Only if you tell me why you hate birthdays so much,” I said.
He paused. “I do not.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You were as sulky as a child today, Your Highness.”
“Bennett,” he corrected. “I was not sulky.”
I stared at him long enough until he broke his gaze. “Very well, so I was,” he said. He swallowed. I tried not to be too distracted by his open collar. “I’ve lost my taste for birthdays when the Earl of Alevine celebrated his eighty-fifth.”
“The one where he fell into his fountain, drunk?”
I recalled the event vividly, despite being seven at the time. I had been shocked by the elderly earl’s behavior as he sang bawdy tavern tunes and guzzled down two bottles of whiskey. His lordship passed away the week after. I suppose he wanted to make a lasting impression.
Bennett gave me a sidelong glance. “You were there?”
“The whole five hours.”
His lips quirked, but he smoothed the grin away with his fingers.
I wished he hadn’t.
“You know, my birthday celebration wouldn’t have been as distasteful,” I said.
“Yours?”
Of course, he didn’t remember how he had refused to go to my eighth birthday party. Or how rude his rejection was.
I was about to brush it off, but realization dawned on his face. “I—” He stopped. “I should have been more polite. Apologies.”
The injured child in me spoke before I could stop her. “I didn’t have a birthday because of you.”
Bennett tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
My mouth went dry. What was I supposed to say? That Mother desperately wanted us to be friends in hopes of us becoming something more? That she punished me for my failure? That she had given up for a moment and betrothed me to the general’s son when I was still a child? He would be disgusted. Heavens,Iwas disgusted.
“Nothing. I’m bothering you. I should go.” I stood again. My skin felt clammy, a chill biting my collarbones. My dress had yet to dry completely.
“No. Stay...if you please.”
Our gazes collided. My knees weakened on their own accord and lowered me back beside him, closer this time. The ends of my hair brushed Bennett’s arm. His was in boyish disarray, dark locks falling over his forehead. I looked askance, suddenly shy.
