“Well, it doesn’t sound like an offer to me. It sounds like you’re extorting a person who is merely trying to help you.”
“Shouldn’t my servantbeat my service?”
“This is an off-the-books situation—my service would be to hand it to the seamstress.”
Exasperation was now radiating from his face and he exhaled sharply. “All right, what is it that you want, then?”
“Mmm…I want aaa…I want a glass of water—ice-cold—with floating ice.”
I had never seen ice bobbing on water before, but Sand Priestess Constance had told us that although ice is solid, it still floats above water, just like a boat does. It had something to do with their densities. I really wanted to see that with my own eyes. Tasting freshness sounded nice, too.
His expression was close to a wince, but then he shrugged and said, “Deal. Now go fetch her.”
“Wait, but what about the person sewing your shirt? What willtheyget in return?”
“I presume you’re going to say that secrecy itself would not suffice.”
“Again, the secrecy is instinctively part of it.”
“All right, then, what should I offer in return? Another glass of ice-cold water perhaps?”
“Mmm, perhaps two pieces of silver coin would be more appropriate.”
“Onepiece of silver,” he countered, “along with the secrecy, of course.”
“Of course,” I crooned. “It is a deal, then. Wait here.”
Minutes later I returned, closing the door behind me. I took small steps towards the bed and knelt on the carpet.
“Where is she?” the Ice Prince demanded.
I pulled out a small box from my dress pocket and opened it, taking out a spool wrapped with white thread, and a sewing needle. “I can’t promise that it will look as seamless as that of Lina Mounir, but I promise I’ll try my best.
“You?”
“Yes, me. Now take off your shirt,” I ordered in a very low voice.
As he obeyed, I focused on passing the thread through the needle and restrained myself from looking his way. I remembered perfectly well how his built body looked. And how my eyes felt like peeling off at the effort I made not to look lower—despite himself aiming an ice spear in my direction. And now, I again made an absolute effort to keep my eyes pinned only on the shirt as he extended a muscled arm towards me.
I turned the shirt inside out and assessed the tear. To my pleasure, it was near and along the seam, making it easier for the new stitches to be inconspicuous. I started at the underarm and worked my way down, threading small, identical stitches.
He devoured his breakfast while I worked.
I observed my work, grazing the stitching with my finger. My lips curved at the sides. I was so confident, I slid the sewing kit back in my dress pocket.
“Here, try it,” I said, stretching out my arm.
Still on my knees, I watched his back, his carved muscles shifting beneath his golden-brown skin as he moved in front of the tall mirror. I had not seen many shirtless men before, but I was sure that it was not normal to look like that.
Dark ink marked the column of his back. It went from his nape down the whole length of his spine, fading at its end, asif he was stroked once with a thick paintbrush beginning at the back of his neck. I wondered what it meant, wondered if it had hurt. Probably not.
“Hmm.” His arm lifted and lowered. “That’s actually pretty good. Where did you learn how to do this?”
“A Sand Priestess taught me.”
“Hmm.”
My eyes traced his movements. I watched his throat bob as he took a mouthful of water, then replaced the half-empty glass on his desk. Then he opened the top drawer of the desk and fished out a piece of silver, which he offered to me on his palm, extending his hand.
