“I’m impressed, Gray.” I shrug casually before adding, “I’m mostly shocked I didn’t notice with how closely I pay attention to you.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Distraction.”
My gaze sweeps over her quickly before returning to that smile. “You are quite good at that, aren’t you?”
She’s quiet as she watches me closely before looking away. I avert my gaze too, preparing myself for another one of her prying questions.
“What’s your favorite color?”
My eyes snap to hers. “What?” I nearly choke on my laughter.
“You’re favorite color. What is it?”
For once, I almost step on her toes out of shock and sheer wonder. “Of all the things you could ask me, you ask what my favorite color is?” I can’t keep the smile from spreading across my face.
She blows a strand of hair from her eyes in annoyance. “I feel like I don’t know many things about you, so I figured I’d start with the basics.” An amused sigh. “I’m letting you off the hook with an easy question, so don’t disappoint. What is your favorite color?”
I spin her if only to give myself some time to think. I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before. It never seemed important.
Not until I looked into a pair of ocean blue eyes and realized that perhaps drowning was a beautiful thing.
Not until I looked into a pair of fiery blue eyes and realized that perhaps burning was a painless thing.
Not until I looked into a pair of sky-blue eyes and realized that perhaps falling was a peaceful thing.
I’d never thought about what my favorite color was before because I hadn’t seen one that was worthy of the title. Until now, that is.
“Blue,” I say, my voice low.
“Hmm.” She’s looking at me thoughtfully, studying me sincerely. “I would have never guessed.”
Neither would I.
“And yours?” I ask, watching her as she thinks.
She opens her mouth and then shuts it, considering something. Her jaw sets. “I don’t have one.” With a small shrug, she asks, “Favorite food or dessert?”
“We’re in the middle of a Trial, and you’re asking me about my favorite food?”
She ignores me. “Well, I know it’s not rabbit. I see the way your mouth twists when you eat it—”
“I do not twist—” I pause, grinning. “Have you been looking at my mouth, Gray?”
She opens her own mouth to argue only to huff instead. “Just answer the damn question, Azer.”
I chuckle and spin her slowly. “Easy. Lemon tarts.”
She snorts. “You’re kidding. Lemon tarts? You’re a rich prince who could have any food he wants, and you would choose lemon tarts?”
“Yes, lemon tarts,” I mimic. “And now I’m making you eat some with me when we finally get out of here.”
“Over my dead body.”
My smile is wicked. “That can be arranged.”
And there she goes, making good on her threat to stomp on my toes, seeing that her feet are her only weapon at the moment. “Oops.”
“Vicious, little thing,” I murmur under my breath.
“You don’t know the half of it, prince.”
“Oh, but I hope one day I will.”
We are silent for a moment, studying each other before I finally say, “Tell me, what’s your favorite food then, since you seem to think it’s so much better than lemon tarts?”
“Oh, trust me when I say that it is far better than lemon tarts.”
“Well don’t keep me guessing, Gray.”
She tilts her head up towards mine as she confidently says, “Butterscotch.”
“Butterscotch,” I repeat, committing the information to memory.
“Yes.” She smiles, but I see the sadness in it. “My father used to give out the candy to his patients. And every time he would fix up one of my wounds, or I would help fix up someone else's, we would eat butterscotch after as a sort of reward.”
We are quiet for a moment. “You two were very close.”
“We were,” she states. “But you and your father aren’t, are you? Not after what he’s put you through.”
I’m thankful for the lack of pity in her voice, though her disgust is clear. A quiet, bitter laugh escapes me. “No. I’m more soldier than son, and he’s more king than Father. It’s hard to be close when our only time spent together was training, and I didn’t exactly look forward to those encounters.”
“And your mother?” she asks quietly.
“She’s everything I could have asked for,” I state simply. “Everything I needed as a boy. She’s been one of the only constants in my life, a source of kindness and caring.”
“And yet,” Paedyn says hesitantly, “she let your father do what he did?”
I pause, speaking to her even as I remind myself. “She didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. And becoming the future Enforcer is my duty, no matter the methods it takes to get there.”
She eyes me with that expression I can never quite seem to place. Is it wonder? Confusion? One moment she’s an open book, and then the next, I can barely crack the spine.
And then she’s peppering me with questions. Most of them random, though all are deemed equally important to her. She tells me stories of growing up, and I do the same, listening to her laugh at Kitt and I’s stupidity.
“So, tell me about the split lip you had when we met?” I ask, brows raised.
She laughs and the sound snakes up my spine. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that it was a gift from one of your Imperials.”
“Right. You informed me of that when you had your dagger to my throat, I believe?”
“Sounds about right.”
“Well, I’m still unaware of the details behind how you earned it.” My eyes darken at the thought. “I don’t react kindly to my Imperials hitting women.”
“Oh? Then you should probably know that this wasn’t the first time.” Her words are casual, blunt. “Long story short, he didn’t believe I was a Psychic, so I proved it to him. And clearly, he didn’t like what I had to say.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “And, what, you just took the hit?”
“Yes, but not before I took some of his pride.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?”
She gives me a sly smile. “Probably because you’ve gotten so used to me humbling you, prince.”
“That I have.” I pause, taking her in. “You never cease to amaze me, Gray.” I smirk as I release her hand to flick the tip of her nose lightly.
She bats my fingers away with a huff. “And you never cease to annoy me.”
I grab her hand again and guide it up my arm until both of her palms rest on my shoulders. Then I slip my hands around her waist and behind her back, careful of her injured side as I pull her closer.
And then we just sway.
No fancy footwork, no waltz to step in time to. Just us, in the middle of a forest, surrounded by thousands of winking stars. Her lashes flutter, and then her fingers are laced behind my neck.
The tension between us pulls taut, like an invisible tether connecting the two of us. My pulse quickens and so does her breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly.