Page 102
That part pisses me off the most—that my father had the servants continue to dust and polish and sweep, assuming I’d return one day.
“Your room is right through here.” I slide open a door to the massive suite beyond. “I’ll be right across this bridge in the conjoining suite.”
Ramona crosses her arms and strides into her room without another word.
“You’ll forgive me eventually!” I call after her.
Hours pass as I make myself comfortable in the guest suite, trying to appease my more primal side thinking about Ramona in my room.
She would beat me up—again—if she knew she was in my bed, so I’ll just continue daydreaming for now. A few fire monkeys came along with packages, delivering various boxes full of formal wear. I send them along with my notes for adjustments, knowing that the tailors will be offended if I don’t provide at least some feedback after being away for so long.
A scream rips through the trees.
Ramona!
My vision tunnels. I whip away from the window where I was listening to the forest, through the living room, and into my room, where Ramona is staying. She is shrieking with two daggers drawn at the open balcony.
“What is it?”
“Fire monkeys! They were just here!”
Oh. I raise my hands, approaching slowly. “It’s alright. They work here.”
She lowers her daggers, only slightly. “They came blazing through the balcony and dropped this onto the dresser.” She points to a large brown box, complete with a green satin ribbon.
“They were delivering your dress.”
Her eyebrows shoot up behind her curling bangs. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your dress?”
“I heard what you fucking said.”
“You had just asked—”
Ramona’s eyes flick to the arched wooden ceiling where the broad fan circles high above. “The dress. I meant the dress. Why the fuck will I need one of those?”
I take my time trailing down her body, admiring the way her leathers cling to her lithe form. “For dinner.”
“Oh.”
“Right.” I shrug, and Ramona seems to finally notice that I’m not in my usual fighting leathers from the Watch, but rather a long dark green vest trimmed with golden thread along the inner seam where my chest is exposed. Her eyes linger there… where I am most certainly not flexing my muscles. Golden chains hang across my exposed shoulders, dripping in jewels. My pants are loose and low cut in the same dark green of my tunic. My feet are bare, as shoes are not customary in the Palace of Truth.
I adjust the rope of my belt, trying not to fidget too much under her scrutiny. “So… what do you think?”
Slowly, her eyes trail up my body to my face, landing high on my brow, where a single golden band is wrapped around my head, tucked neatly into my dreads.
“You’re… a prince,” she says, slightly breathless.
“I believe we already discussed this, but yes,” I take a few steps closer, grabbing the box on the dresser as I approach. “I am.” A few more steps. “And you,” I say, voice low, “are my guest. So please, wear this. It should fit.” I place the box carefully in her arms.
We stand there, locked in a battle of wills, before she finally looks away first.
“Turn around,” Ramona commands, and I oblige.
I should leave the room, give her space to change privately, but she didn’t ask me to leave. I would have listened then. She only said to turn around. So I stay, helplessly tangled in her web, and she doesn’t even know it.
She lets out an annoyed huff.
