A messy masterpiece.
I count the faint freckles dusting her nose. Once. Twice.
Twenty-eight.
She shifts, and I still as she tucks her hands beneath the side of her face, now covered in strands of silver. Propped up on my elbow, I gently brush my fingers across her smooth skin, tucking her hair away so I can continue admiring the face I’d been in the middle of memorizing.
I blame her for the tiredness settling in my bones. It’s her fault I didn’t sleep much. I was up most of the night listening to her breathe—breathing her in. Just like I’ve been doing for far longer than I care to admit. She’s captivating, even while crumpled up and claimed by sleep.
Sighing, my fingers run through one last strand of silver hair before I ease off the bed and creep to the door. I leave on my thin pants and throw a shirt over my head before stepping into the hallway, heading for the kitchens. The least I could do is let her wake up to the smell of fresh food, especially after what she did for me last night.
After a nightmare in which I held her cold corpse, waking to find her very much alive and warm on top of me was startling to say the least. And I reacted without thinking. I hurt her. Though a little scratch means nothing to the girl who’s used to bleeding, it means everything to me. Killing is what I do. Killing and hurting are what I was trained to do, created to do, controlled to do.
But not with her.
I was one swift movement away from holding her very real corpse in my arms, and yet she did nothing to fight back. She held my face in her hands while I held her life in my own. She looked at me like I was worthy of being seen, like she wanted to see me. And when she said my name, the sound of it rolling off her tongue finally had my head clearing, heart racing, thoughts reeling.
And then I asked her something I have never asked of anyone before.
Stay.
I’m out the door of the kitchen and balancing a tray of hot food down the hallway in a matter of minutes. The quirked brow Gail gave me makes me smile, and it’s not long before I’m leaning against my door and backing into the room, clutching the tray in front of me.
I turn around and—
A shoe is aimed at my face.
She’s standing at the edge of the bed, one hand clutching a blanket around her shoulders while the other clutches my dress shoe, a sorry excuse for a weapon. Her arm is cocked back, prepared to fend off the intruder by launching footwear. I see her exhale in relief when she realizes it’s me and reluctantly lowers the shoe. But barely.
“Not your typical weapon of choice.” I’m grinning, choking back a laugh.
Paedyn gives me an exasperated look that I’ve grown very familiar with. “You scared me.” She sweeps back the curtain of hair shielding her eyes with a smug smile. “And I’m sure I could do a lot of damage with a shoe.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
I’m in front of her now, though I don’t remember moving to get there. Reaching around her back slowly, I place the tray on my bed, juice sloshing over the edge of cups and biscuits rolling. Then I straighten, staring down into eyes that threaten to drown me. “Good morning, Gray.”
The slightest frown tugs at her lips with the use of her last name. “Back to formalities, are we?” She says it casually, but her eyes speak a question she will never voice.
What is going on between us?
“Well, you were just about to attack me. Formalities seem fair.” I take a step closer, and she tips her head back to hold my gaze.
“Yes, well, you should be used to that by now.”
“Oh, but I doubt I’ll ever get used to you or your violent tendencies, darling.”
She gives me a sly smile. “I like to think of it as keeping you on your toes, prince.”
“Yes, because life is far more entertaining when you aren’t expecting a knife to the throat or a shoe to the face.” My gaze drops to said shoe still clutched in her hand. “Speaking of which, still planning to use that on me?”
“Still deciding.”
The smile I give her is a real one, a rarity that has recently become a rather common occurrence when I’m in her presence. She turns her head to nod at the tray on my bed. “You brought me food.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And how do you know that’s not for me?”
“There are blueberries on the porridge, Azer.”
Still wanting to play with her, I shrug. “After rambling about the fruit, you convinced me of how delicious they are.”
She outright laughs at that. “Then that would mean you’re admitting I was right, and that is highly unlikely.”
“You know me so well,” I sigh, smiling at her. “Of course the food is for you. I wouldn’t touch that porridge.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “Picky prince.”
“Clever Pae.”
We stare at one another, each of us smiling slightly.
My eyes drop to her free hand still clutching a blanket around her shoulders, pulling it tighter when my gaze sweeps over her. “Are you cold?”
She stiffens slightly. “No.”
“Then what is this?” I’m eying the blanket before my fingers graze over hers, the ones still fiercely fisted in the folds of fabric. Her gaze trails from my face to my hand that is now trailing over her knuckles, her wrist, her fist and the fabric in it.
The way her breath hitches has my heart halting. “It’s a blanket.”
My laugh is quiet. “I can see that, smartass.”
My fingers lazily brush down her arm, though the movement has my mind stalling, pulse skipping. Every touch is intoxicating, every look shared is entrancing.
“You look flushed, Gray.” My fingers catch a strand of long hair falling over her shoulder. “Probably thanks to the blanket.” I can feel the smirk spreading across my face as I say, “Unless I’m the reason for your blush.”
I watch the emotions flit across her face. First, there is something akin to what I’m sure is reflected in my own gaze—wanting. Then she blinks, and I glimpse shock, realization, and denial before she settles with annoyance.
“No, I’m definitely just overheating.” She’s confident as ever despite the strain in her voice.
I tilt my head, eyes dancing between the blanket and her cool gaze. “Then I suppose I’ll help you once again, only this time it will be a blanket dropping to the floor and not your dress nearly doing the same.”
I smile at the thought of the last ball, but before my fingers can close around hers, she lets the blanket billow down around her ankles.
She’s standing so close to me, wearing nothing but skimpy shorts and a silky tank. Teasing me, taunting me, toying with me. I hadn’t been able to see the black fabric clinging to her body last night, blending in with the darkness around us. But now I can see it, see her, clearly.
There is a fire in her eyes, burning and breathtaking. “Just to be clear, prince, I don’t need your help—undressing or otherwise.”
“Oh, of course not. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”
She huffs out a laugh. “And are you unable to help being a shameless flirt as well?”
“Apparently not when I’m with you.”
“Oh? And what else are you when you’re around me, hmm?”