Page 71 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

His eyes flare slightly, but his lips curl at the corners. “Yes.” A pause. “Disappointed?”

“No,” I say forcefully, scrambling to my feet. “I’m not anything.”

I have no feelings whatsoever about his situation, or whatever political tightrope he appears to be walking. None at all.

“Is that lemon cake?” he asks.

“What?”

“Lemon cake.” His gaze drops to my tray. “You appear to have stolen some.”

“I did not steal—”

He reaches down before I can stop him and plucks one neatly from the plate.

“Hey. That’s not for you.”

“Don’t tell me they were all for you.” He inspects the cake as if expecting to find a hair. “You don’t seem like the type to sneak off and stuff your face behind a statue.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not—”

I am distracted by him as he takes a bite. His jaw works slowly. Thoughtfully. His eyes are alive with something bordering on mischief, a light that was not there a moment ago when he spoke with Victoria.

My throat goes dry.

He takes another bite, chews, and swallows.

“The only one stuffing their face is you,” I snap.

A lame retort, but it is the best I seem capable of.

“Well,” he says, dusting crumbs from his fingers, “one must never waste an opportunity to eat lemon cake.”

“Favourite of yours, is it?” I mutter the question, making a mental note to leave him a plateful before I escape. Just as soon as I find some poison to lace it with.

“Might be.” His gaze sharpens. “How much did you hear?”

Right. His conversation with Victoria.

“Enough to know she’s wiping the floor with you,” I reply.

His smile fades slightly without quite vanishing. “Yes. Well. Standard practice for vampire courtship.” A pause. “And how is your first day—been learning about tea ceremonies, have you?”

I lift my chin, my cheeks burning hotter as I remember that I’m still wearing the frilly apron.

Ugh.

I lift the tray higher. “Mastering them, actually. My high tea is to die for.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

He licks a trace of lemony sugar from his thumb, slowly enough that it seems more thoughtful than intimidating. Which is worse, somehow. Everything else about him is intimidating. His height. His stillness. The shadows beneath his carved cheekbones. The way his eyes study me intently.

I have no idea what he wants from me.

Maybe he doesn’t even know.

“Show me,” he says.