She pressed the knife harder. “Speak the truth now,” she said. “Or I will slit your throat.”
Not for a moment did he doubt her.
“I have been sent here as a spy,” he said. “I come here now to rummage through your room in the hopes of gathering intelligence.”
The blade fell away.
Kamran heard the familiar slicing sound of metal coming together and realized that what he thought was a blade was, in fact, a pair of scissors. He almost laughed.
But then the girl stepped in front of him, and all thought of laughter died in his throat.
She was not dressed.
Her hair was loose; long, obsidian curls fell into her silver eyes, and she batted them away impatiently. Kamran watched, transfixed, as the silky locks grazed her naked shoulders, the delicate column of her neck, the smooth expanse of her chest. The dangerously low cut of her chemise was held up only by a corset, and Kamran discovered, to his dismay, that he could not breathe.
The girl was not dressed.
She was not undressed, not at all, but she wore only her underskirts and corset, and was covering herself poorly with one hand, clutching her sopping dress against her exposed bodice, her right fist still clenched around a pair of scissors.
He’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
This revelation was astonishing to him, for he’d spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about the girl, conjuring her face when he closed his eyes at night. He did not think himself capable of forgetting anything about her, and yet he must have, for he was struck stupid anew, drawing near her now like a hungry flame to tinder.
Kamran did not enjoy the feeling that overcame him then. He took little pleasure in this kind of desperation, in a desire so potent it inhaled him. He’d never felt this, not like this, for this was a uniquely powerful force, one that left him disoriented in its wake.
Weak.
“Turn around,” she said. “I must finish dressing.”
It took him a moment to process the request. Not only had his mind been upended, but Kamran had never been ordered around by anyone but the king. He felt as if someone had shoved him bodily into a tragic inverse of his real life—and what surprised him most was that he did not dislike it.
He obeyed her order without a word, silently castigating himself for his own incomprehensible reaction to the girl. Women wore all manner of scandalous garments in his presence; some wore gowns so dramatically low-cut that corsets were done away with altogether. What’s more: the prince was not a green child. He was not unaccustomed to the presence of beautiful women. How, then, to explain what overcame him now?
“So,” the girl said quietly. “You have come to spy on me.”
Kamran heard the distinct rustling of fabric, and he closed his eyes. He was a gentleman of honor. He would not imagine her undressing.
He would not.
“Yes,” he said.
More fabric swishing; something hitting the ground with a dull thud. “If that is indeed true,” she said, “I wonder why you would dare admit it.”
“And I wonder why you would doubt me,” he said with impressive calm. “You told me you would slit my throat if I failed to give you an honest answer.”
“Then you, of all people, should understand my suspicion. Certainly it will not surprise you to hear that none before you have ever accepted my terms.”
“None before me?” He smiled to himself. “Do you often find yourself in a position of negotiation with spies and cutthroats?”
“A great deal too often, in fact. Why—did you think yourself the first to find me a subject of interest?” A pause. “You may turn around now.”
He did.
She’d pinned her hair back, buttoned a clean dress up to her throat. It had not helped. The modest frock had done nothing to diminish her beauty. He felt bewitched as he drank her in, lingering too long on her arresting eyes, the delicate curve of her lips.
“No,” he said softly. “I daresay I’m not the first.”
She stared at him then, surprise rendering her, for a moment, inhumanly still. Kamran watched with some amazement as a faint blush burned across her cheeks. She turned away, clasped her hands together.
Had he made her nervous?
“I gave you my word,” she said quietly, “that I would leave you unharmed in exchange for your honesty. I meant what I said, and I will not now go against myself. But you must leave at once.”
“Forgive me, but I will not.”
She looked up sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
“You asked for a confession in exchange for my life, which I readily offered. But I never once promised to forfeit my task. I will understand, of course, if you’d rather not stay while I rifle through your things—and I suspect you are anxious to return to work. Shall I wait to begin until you are gone?”