Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

All I could do for several moments was stare at Prince Thorne, thinking I must be hallucinating that he sat on the settee by the terrace doors, the ankle of one long leg resting on top of another. A beam of sunlight cut across the dark tunic stretched across his chest, but from the shoulders up he was cast in shadow.

“Good afternoon.” Prince Thorne lifted a glass of amber-hued liquid. “Did you have a restful nap?”

As I blinked rapidly, a rush of disbelief snapped me out of my stupor. “You seem not to be aware of this, but you appear to have lost your way to your own chambers.”

“I’m exactly where I intend to be.”

I could practically hear the smile in his voice, and it made me bristle. “Then what are you doing here?” And how long had he been sitting there? My gaze swung back to the glass he’d taken a drink from, then lowered to the arm of the settee, then narrowed. “Did you help yourself to my whiskey?”

“I’m sightseeing,” he answered. “And I needed refreshment while doing so.”

The pounding of my heart slowed. “There is nothing of interest to see in my private quarters, Your Grace.”

“Thorne,” he corrected, and though his eyes were hidden to me, I felt his heated stare move over the curve of my hip . . . to the length of my leg, and a whole lot of my legs was exposed to him. “And I disagree. There is an . . . abundance of interest to look upon.”

Whatever modesty I previously lacked decided to rear its head. I sat up, pressing my legs together. My wrist ached as I tugged on the chemise, which did very little to cover me. Even in the low light of my bedchamber, the material was basically transparent. Something I had a feeling he was well aware of as I glared at him.

A deep chuckle radiated from the sun-streaked shadows, sending an odd mixture of sensations rippling throughout me. Wariness. An acidic burn of unease. Worse yet, a sweet trill of anticipation, which I would blame on being half asleep. There was a hefty dose of curiosity, though. I couldn’t fathom why Prince Thorne would attempt to seek me out in private like this unless . . . unless he was in need of being serviced?

Logically, that made no sense. He didn’t believe that I was a courtesan. Still, my body had no plans to listen to common sense. A pulse of desire lit up my veins, causing several parts of my body to throb to life—

Good gods, what in the whole realm was wrong with me? Actually, I knew the answer. It was what he was that was wrong with me. A Hyhborn’s presence and their sensual effect on lowborn. It made sense that a prince’s presence would be even more . . . hard to ignore and stronger.

In reality, if he had sought me out to service him, it was likely only because, as he had said, he was always hungry. So, there was no reason to allow myself to be controlled by my apparently easily influenced hormones. I lifted my chin. “I’m not . . . working right now.”

His head tilted to one side. “It pleases me greatly to hear that.”

My mouth puckered. “And why would it please you?”

“Because I’d rather our interactions going forward be between you and me,” he said. “And not dictated by a third party.”

“There will be no interactions between us going forward,” I said, which was a lie since there would be, but his uninvited presence irked me . . . and thrilled me, which also served to really irritate me.

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

My chest rose with a deep, short breath. There was something different about him. I didn’t know if it was his unexpected visit or the fact that I couldn’t see his face, or if it was his words. It could’ve been all those things, but a different kind of instinct came alive then, one that had nothing to do with my abilities and was purely mortal. Primal. It urged that I rise slowly and leave this space— that I didn’t run, because if so, he would give chase like any predator would.

In the shadows, the starbursts in his eyes brightened. Prince Thorne’s entire body appeared to tense, as if he sensed I was about to take flight. His chin dipped into the stroke of sunlight. The curve of his lips was full of predatory intent.

A skipping motion went through my chest as I quickly looked away, feeling a little breathless.

“You didn’t answer,” Prince Thorne said, drawing my attention back to him. He took another sip of my whiskey. “Did you have a restful nap?”

“It was quite restful until I was woken up to find someone uninvited in my chambers,” I pointed out. “Why are you here? Honestly?”

Those long . . . devilish fingers of his tapped along the arm of the settee. “Would you believe me if I said I missed you and wanted to see you?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Your lack of faith in my intentions wounds me, na’laa.”

“I don’t know you well enough to have any knowledge of your intentions or faith in them.”

“Really?” Prince Thorne drawled, then leaned more fully into the sunlight. My chest felt too tight as he tilted his head to the side. His hair was pulled back from his face and only a wavy strand glanced off his cheek. Multicolored eyes locked on to mine. “You feel you don’t know me well enough after I had my fingers inside you and your hand on my cock?”

Another sharp burst of desire darted through me. That was the absolute last thing I needed to be reminded of. “As if that has anything to do with knowing you.”

“True,” he murmured, an amused half grin forming on his mouth.

I folded an arm over my waist. “How did you even know which chambers were mine? Better yet, how did you get in here? The door was locked.”

One side of his lips curved up. “Do you think a simple lock can prevent me from being where I want to be?”

My stomach dipped. “Well, that is somewhat . . . creepy.”

“Maybe.” He was clearly unbothered by that fact. “As to how I knew which quarters were yours, I have my ways.”

I stared at him. “At the risk of sounding repetitive— ”

“What I just said was also somewhat . . .” The tilt to his lips was now daring. “Creepy.”

“Yes.” My fingers went to the little red bow at the neckline of my chemise. “But I can see that even though you’re aware of being creepy, that hasn’t stopped you.”

“It hasn’t.”

“Well, I suppose being aware of your troublesome behavior is one half of the battle.”

“It would only be a battle if I found my behavior to be troublesome.”

“At least you’re honest,” I muttered, twisting the ribbon.

“One of us has to be.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating.”

“You’re not?” He set the glass of whiskey he’d helped himself to onto the small end table.

“No.” I feigned a yawn as I eyed him. His body was reclined in an almost arrogant sprawl. My gaze went to his hand, and immediately I thought of his hand slipping beneath the water. A taut curl low in my belly followed.

“What are you thinking about, na’laa?”

“Stop calling me that. And I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

“Would you get mad if I said you were lying?”

“Yes, but I have a feeling that’s not going to stop you.”

“It’s not.” That half smile remained. “Your pulse picked up and it was not fear or anger that caused it. It was arousal.”

Inhaling sharply, I resisted the urge to pick up a pillow and throw it at him. “And so what if it was? You should be used to it, being what you are. It’s just a . . . a natural reaction to your presence, not one I can control.”

“Oh, na’laa,” he chuckled. “I do enjoy your lies.”

“What? I’m not lying.”

“But you are. What you speak of sounds more of a compulsion, and that is not what this is. Our presence doesn’t incite what’s not already there,” he told me. “It doesn’t force you to feel pleasure if you were not already open to doing so. It simply heightens whatever is already there.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

He raised a brow. “Your response to me isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not.” I shifted again, putting weight on my right hand. Wincing at the flare of pain, I jerked my hand from the bed.

“Sure.” He rose to his full height.

I tensed, fingers stilling on the ribbon. My pulse was pounding, every part of me wholly aware of how his stare hadn’t left me from the moment I’d awakened. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why?” he questioned as he approached the bed. He didn’t so much walk as he did prowl. “Would your baron become upset?”

“No, he would not, but that’s beside the point. I didn’t invite you in here.”

“I did knock,” he said, stopping at the side of the bed. “You didn’t answer, and I’m glad to hear he wouldn’t be displeased.”

I ignored the last comment. “Then you decided— what? To come right in?”

“Obviously,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the length of my leg. “Then I decided to allow you to sleep. You looked . . . so peaceful.” His stare lifted to mine. “I’m assuming that you want me to apologize for entering without permission. To recognize that I’ve overstepped boundaries.”

“That would be a good start,” I retorted. “But I have the distinct impression that you’re not going to.”

His answer was a close-lipped grin. “I’m going to let you in on something you’re not quite willing to admit. You don’t find my behavior to be all that troublesome.”

I swallowed. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, remember?”

“I remember you saying that.” Heart thrumming, I watched him sit on the edge of the bed, beside me. “But I also remember finding it unlikely that anyone can never be wrong.”

“You might be annoyed that I let myself in,” he said, planting his hand on the other side of my legs.

“Might?”

One side of his lips curled up. “Okay, you are annoyed, but you do not find my presence here troublesome at all.”

The breath I took was full of that soft, woodsy scent that I still couldn’t quite place. “I must admit, Your Grace, that I’m disappointed in you.”

“Thorne,” he corrected yet again. “And how have I disappointed you?”

“I would’ve thought a Hyhborn of your power would be better at reading people,” I said. “Apparently, I gave you too much credit.”

He laughed softly as his chin dipped. Another lock of golden-brown hair fell, but to his jaw this time. “I do believe you have forgotten something very important that I shared with you in the gardens. I’m tuned in to you. I know exactly what has caused every catch of your breath and race of your pulse. You’re not troubled by my appearance.” Thick lashes lowered as his gaze swept over me. “You’re excited by it, na’laa.”

Heat hit my cheeks. He was right, but I was troubled by the truth in his words.

Prince Thorne lifted his brows. “You have nothing to say to that?”

I twisted the ribbon tightly around my finger. “No.”

He chuckled deeply. “I see you helped yourself to something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“What?” I frowned; then he glanced pointedly at the dagger resting on the nightstand, beside the sheath and harness Grady had found for me. “Are you going to take it?”

“Should I?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you worried about me using it against you?”

“Not particularly,” he replied, and irritation flared. “That bothers you.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s kind of insulting.”

“It’s insulting that I don’t fear you trying to harm me?”

I thought that over. “Kind of.”

Prince Thorne laughed then, deep and smoky, and I decided I also found those kinds of laughs to be insulting due to how nice they were.

“Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t barge into my space unannounced or invited,” I reasoned.

“No, that probably wouldn’t stop me either.”

“Nice.”

“I do have a reason for being here.”

“Other than annoying me?” I countered.

“In addition to that.” His gaze dropped to my finger. I stopped messing with the ribbon as his eyes returned to mine. “I wanted to see how things went with your baron.”

I started to speak, somewhat relieved . . . and dismayed that he actually did have a reason to be here, but my gaze locked with his, and I suddenly wanted to ask if he ever thought of the young girl he’d found in the orphanage. I wanted to know if he had spoken to me like I believed he had, but Grady said was impossible. I wanted . . .

Clearing my throat, I looked away. “I did speak with him this morning. He was relieved that you were not here due to the King being displeased with him.”

“I never said the King wasn’t displeased with him.”

My head jerked back to him. An unsteady rush of breath left me. He was closer somehow; now less than a foot separated us. “What— ?”

Prince Thorne’s hand curled around my elbow, and before I knew what he was about, he lifted my right arm. The line of his jaw tightened. “You’re bruised.” The colors of his eyes had stopped moving, but his pupils had expanded. He carefully turned my hand over, exposing the inside of my wrist to the thin slice of sunlight. “I know I didn’t do this last night. Who did?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t even know it was bruised,” I lied, because there was absolutely no way I would speak the truth, not even to Grady. It was . . . it was just too embarrassing, and I knew it was wrong to feel that way, but it didn’t change how I felt. “I have no idea how that happened.”

“The bruises look like fingertips.” His voice was low, and a chill hit the air.

Tiny goose bumps appeared over my flesh as I glanced nervously around the chamber. “It must be an illusion.” I pulled at his hold.

Prince Thorne held on, sliding his long fingers over my wrist. They moved in slow, smooth circles. “Your skin is far too lovely to be bruised,” he remarked, some of the ice easing from his tone. “Tell me, na’laa, does your baron not treat his favorite . . . whatever you are well?”

“I . . .” I trailed off as he lifted my wrist to his mouth. He pressed his lips to the skin—lips that were hard and unyielding, and yet somehow soft as satin. My own parted as a strange tingling warmth spread across my wrist, easing . . . then erasing the ache there. I lifted my gaze to his as he lowered my hand to my lap. The bruises were gone. He’d done it again.

Maybe his kisses did heal?

His fingers glided up my arm. “Who bruised you?”

“I told you already. No one.”

He tilted his head, sending a wave of hair across his jaw. “Has anyone told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Has anyone told you that you know not what you speak of?” I snapped.

“Never.” His chin lifted, a quizzical look to his expression. “And no one has ever spoken to me like you do.”

That should’ve been a warning to watch my tone, but I huffed. “I don’t believe that for one second.”

“And I don’t believe you.”

“I think we’ve already established that,” I retorted.

White streaked across the blue of his eyes, then spread into the green. “Does the Baron treat you kindly?”

“Yes, he does.”

Another starburst exploded along the blue of his eyes. “What little I know already tells a different story.”

“How so?”

“I don’t think I need to explain how reckless he was with your life last night,” he said, a muscle thrumming at his temple. “But just in case you haven’t realized this— the Baron sent you into the quarters of a Hyhborn prince that was unaware of your arrival. My men could’ve killed you. I could have. Another of my kind would’ve done that and more.”

My skin chilled, not at his words but because I knew he spoke the truth.

“And he did this when it is clear that you’re not as experienced as you wanted so badly for me to believe,” he continued, and I jerked at the graze of his fingers along the curve of my arm. His featherlight touch kicked off a riot of confusing reactions. I should be angered that he was in my chambers, touching me and demanding answers of me.

Except I didn’t feel anger.

All I felt was the tight, shivery wave that followed the path of his fingertips over the curve of my elbow. How my skin suddenly felt hot as he caught hold of the loosened sleeve of my chemise, and . . . and anticipation.

“So, I already know the answer to my question,” he said. His eyes never left mine as he paused to brush the strands of my hair back. Nor did they lower as his fingers drifted down my chemise, straightening the dainty lace there.

I struggled to gather my scattered thoughts. Without my intuition to guide me, I had no idea why this prince cared about how I was treated. I also didn’t know what he’d do to the Baron, and while Claude sometimes behaved as an overgrown man-child who had made more bad decisions than even me, he was the best many of us had. “The Baron treats me kindly.” I held his gaze, not even allowing myself to consider telling him it had been Hymel. Not because I sought to protect that bastard, but because I knew Claude would react very unwisely to his cousin being harmed. “He treats all of us kindly.”

“All?”

“His paramours. Ask any of them, and they will tell you the same.”

“So, that’s what you are? A paramour?”

I nodded.

“He sends his favorite paramour to the chambers of other men?”

“We are not exclusive.” We weren’t really anything, but that seemed like a moot point at the moment. “None of his paramours are.”

“Interesting.”

I raised my brows at him. “Not really.”

“We will have to disagree on that.” Prince Thorne’s head dipped, and my breath caught at the feel of his mouth beneath my ear, against my thundering pulse. He kissed the space there. “Who bruised you, na’laa?”

Pulling back, I gained some distance between us. “No one,” I said. “I likely caused it while . . . while gardening.”

Slowly churning eyes lifted to meet mine. Several seconds passed with neither of us saying a word, as if we both had fallen prey to a sudden trance. It was he who broke the silence. “Gardening?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t realize that was such a violent activity?”

My lips pressed together. “It’s normally not.”

“And how did you bruise your wrist while gardening?”

“I don’t know. I already told you I wasn’t even aware that it had happened.” Frustration rose, and I scooted back, away from him. Swinging my legs off the bed, I stood. “And why do you even care?”

Prince Thorne angled his body toward me, and the moment he faced me, I realized that standing wasn’t exactly the brightest move. I stood in the filtered beams of sunlight, and I might as well be nude.

His gaze strayed from mine then and drifted lower, over the sleeves and lace he’d straightened. The tips of my breasts tingled, hardening under his stare. A heated shiver followed his gaze over the curve of my waist and the swell of my hip.

I could’ve moved to cover myself, but I didn’t, and it had nothing to do with him already seeing me without a stitch of clothing twice now.

It was the same reason as last night. I . . . I wanted him to look.

And he did as he tipped forward and rose. He looked for so long that muscles all along my body began to tighten in . . . in heady anticipation.

The urge came again, the one that goaded me to turn and take flight, knowing that he would chase. But it was more. I wanted that. Him to chase.

The colors of his eyes were moving again, the stars brightening. Shadows formed in the sudden hollows of his cheeks, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought he wanted to give chase.

All of that sounded . . . insane to me. I didn’t want to be chased or . . . or captured by anyone, especially not a prince.

Trembling, I held myself completely still. When I spoke, I barely recognized my voice. “I asked why you cared?”

Prince Thorne didn’t respond for a long moment, and then he inhaled deeply, the tension leaking from his body and . . . and then mine. “Why would I care about some lowborn girl who pretends at being a courtesan— ”

“I’m not a girl,” I interrupted, irritated by him— by me. “And that is something you should be well aware of.”

“You are correct.” His gaze swept over me in a languid perusal, and the right side of his lips curved up. “My apologies.”

I stiffened at the low, sultry drawl. “That sounded more like innuendo than an apology.”

“Probably because the flush in your cheeks when perturbed reminds me of the same flush of when you come,” he said, and my mouth dropped open. “I would apologize for that also, but I have a feeling that too would sound like an innuendo.”

“Oh my gods,” I hissed. “You are . . .”

“What?” The colors of his eyes were churning again. “Captivating to you? I know. There’s no need to tell me.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Whatever you say, na’laa,” he murmured.

My hands curled into fists.

His faint grin faded as he glanced at the terrace doors. A moment passed. “You asked why I care?” His brows knitted. “There is this . . . feeling that I know you. It’s this strange sensation that we’ve met before.”

The words we have crept up my throat, but I couldn’t get them past my lips. The want for him to know that we had battled with the warning that doing so could be a mistake. I froze in confusion, not understanding either response.

“Other than that?” The line of his jaw tensed. “I really don’t know. You shouldn’t matter.”

I blinked. “Wow.”

“You misunderstand.”

The Prince wasn’t the only one feeling strange sensations. Currently, there was something akin to the sting of . . . of rejection burning at my insides. “No, I think that was pretty clear.”

He turned to me. “I don’t mean that personally, Calista.”

I shivered at the sound of my name.

He tilted his head, seeming to catch that response. “I am a Deminyen. Do you understand what that means?”

“Uh, that you are a very powerful Hyhborn?”

A low, dark laugh left him. “It means that I am the furthest thing from a mortal— from humanity— you can get. I care about mankind as a whole, but that is only because of what I am. How I was created.”

“Created?” I whispered.

His stare held mine. “Deminyens are not born like the caelestia.”

“I know.” Something struck me then as I stared at him. “You were— ” I stopped myself from saying he’d appeared a little younger when we first met. He had appeared younger to me then in comparison to Lord Samriel, but his features hadn’t really changed in the twelve years since. “What are you saying? That you cannot feel compassion or caring?”

“Some Deminyens can. Lords and ladies, if they choose to do so.”

“But not you?” I looked him over. “Or not princes and princesses? The King?”

“Not us.”

“Because you’re more powerful?”

“It’s more . . . complicated than that, but yes.”

My forehead creased. “From what I know of you, I don’t believe that you’re incapable of such.”

“I thought we didn’t know each other at all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I know enough about you to believe that.”

The Prince stared at me in silence before murmuring, “Precious.”

“What is?”

“You.”

Crossing my arms, I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Whatever— ”

“I’ve shown you compassion, na’laa. That doesn’t mean I am a compassionate being.”

Little of that statement made sense to me. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Really?” That tight smile resurfaced. “And why do you think this?”

“Because you said you would’ve been disappointed if you had destroyed Archwood,” I pointed out. “And it’s not like our city represents all of mankind.”

“And I also said that wouldn’t have stopped me from doing so.”

My stomach dipped. “Yes, but you also said that you thought turning a soul into a Rae was unfair. If you were incapable of feeling compassion, wouldn’t you also be incapable of feeling remorse or guilt or even fairness?”

Prince Thorne opened his mouth, but he said nothing as he stared at me. Seconds ticked by, and I thought . . . I thought he paled a little.

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely.

Then he turned and left the chambers without saying another word, leaving me to wonder why the idea of him having compassion would cause him such obvious unease.

Prince Thorne’s strange response to the idea that he had compassion lingered with me throughout the day, but as the evening neared, my confusion was replaced by anxiety.

As I walked into the bathing chamber, I thought I really should’ve mentioned the dinner to the Prince when he’d been here. I turned the water on in the sink, dipped my head, and splashed cool water over my face.

Grabbing a towel, I patted my face dry as I lifted my chin and began to turn. I stopped, something in the mirror snagging my attention. My hand lowered to the rim of the vanity as I leaned in closer. My eyes . . . they didn’t look right.

They were mostly brown.

“What the hell?” I leaned in closer to the mirror. The inner part closest to the pupil was a . . . shade of pale blue, and that wasn’t normal at all.

Slamming my eyes shut, I felt my breathing pick up. It had to be the light in the bathing chamber or . . . my mind playing tricks on me. There was no other logical reason for my eyes to suddenly change color. I had to be seeing things.

I just needed to open them to prove that.

My heart fluttered like a caged bird. “Stop being ridiculous,” I scolded myself. “Your eyes didn’t change colors.”

A knock on the chamber doors startled me. It had to be Hymel, and knowing him, he would be impatient as usual, but my heart still pounded. Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, I opened my eyes and leaned in close to the mirror.

My eyes . . . they were indeed brown. Just plain old brown.

The knock came again, this time louder. Tossing the towel into the basin, I hurried to the chamber doors.

“The Baron Huntington has requested your presence,” Hymel announced.

My stomach toppled so fast that it was a wonder I didn’t vomit all over Hymel’s polished boots.

I was expecting this, and still, anxiety surged through me as I joined Hymel in the hall.

Hymel looked at me as we walked, his stare challenging. “You going to tell my cousin about earlier?”

“Are you worried?” I countered, instead of ignoring him as I normally would.

The man laughed, but it sounded forced. “No.”

I rolled my eyes.

Hymel was silent until we neared Maven’s chambers. “I wouldn’t say anything about it if I were you,” he said, staring straight ahead. “You cause me problems— ”

“You’ll cause me problems?” I finished for him. Gods, Hymel was a walking cliché.

“No.” Stopping at Maven’s door, he faced me. “I’ll cause your beloved Grady to have very significant issues.”

My head whipped toward him as my heart lurched.

Hymel smirked, pushing open the rounded wooden door. “Don’t take too long.”

Anger and fear crashed together as I forced myself to walk away from Hymel. I entered the darkened chamber, chest filling with so much hatred I was barely aware of Maven ushering me toward the tub. As her gnarled fingers undid the buttons of my gown, I willed my heart to calm. Hymel had some level of authority in the manor, but there was no way Claude would allow Hymel to banish Grady from the manor or something like that. Not as long as Claude was satisfied with what I could do for him.

That was what I reminded myself of as I bathed and then was dried off. Maven’s hunched form shuffled along the rack of clothing, pulling free a gown of diaphanous black.

After I donned a piece of fabric that could barely be considered an undergarment, Maven dressed me in the gauzy material. A series of delicate lacy straps crisscrossed loosely at my chest, and I was sure my breasts would make an impromptu appearance if I bent in the wrong direction. I glanced down at the skirt of the gown. There were slits on both sides, all the way to my upper thigh. The gown could barely be called that, but it likely cost far too much coin.

Brush in hand, Maven urged me to sit on the stool. She began to work the tangles out of my hair, jerking my head back. Once she was satisfied with the results, the paint came next. Red for the lips. Dark kohl for the eyes. Pink rouge for the cheeks. Her hands smelled of soap, the kind used to launder clothing. She then limped toward the deep shelves lining the wall, retrieving a headpiece from a chest.

Strings of small, oval rubies nearly as long as my hair hung from a circlet. The jewels glimmered in the flickering candlelight. Maven placed the headpiece upon the crown of my head. It was far lighter than the diamond one.

After straightening the strings of rubies in my hair, Maven stepped away, turning her back. I knew what that meant. She was done, and I was dismissed to return to Hymel.

But I was slow to move as I stood, my gaze flicking from the curved line of Maven’s back to the standing mirror. I walked to it, half afraid to get closer and to see my eyes, but I did.

They were still brown.

What I’d seen in my bathing chamber had just been my imagination.

That was all.