I sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening.
“Na’laa,” Prince Thorne rumbled softly, the blue of his eyes a brilliant shade. The glass shattered into nothing— absolutely nothing. Not even tiny shards remained. It was simply obliterated.
I took an unsteady step back.
He smiled, and I shivered like any prey would upon realizing they’d not only come face-to-face with a honed predator but had taunted them. “You have a very good arm on you,” he said. “Though, I would’ve preferred to discover that in a way that didn’t involve an object being thrown at my head.”
My heart thumped so fast I feared I might be sick. “I . . . I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Really?” he drawled.
Swallowing, I nodded. “The glass slipped from my fingers.”
An eyebrow rose. “Slipped all the way across the room?”
“You startled me,” I argued, fully realizing how ridiculous my excuse was. “I wasn’t expecting someone to unlock the door and barge in. Though, I should have. You do have a habit of such.”
“You know very little of what habits I have.” One side of his lips tipped. “But I do know you have a habit of lying, which I do enjoy immensely.”
I stiffened. “I beg to differ. I know of at least two habits. Barging into places you’re not invited and insisting upon insulting my honor each time you see me.”
“How is it an insult to your honor when it’s truth?” he countered. “Perhaps you dishonor yourself by lying.”
My chest rose as anger lanced through me. “Why are you here, Your Grace?”
“We have an arrangement.”
“We do not, but that’s not the point. I have a headache.”
“Yes, one that is six feet and seven inches in shape?”
I gaped. “It was not I who said that.”
“I know. Those were Lord Bastian’s words.” He glanced around the room, gaze skipping over my shoes and the uncorked bottle of whiskey. “He always likes to shave an inch from my height so that I’m not taller than him.”
My brow creased; then I gave a small shake of my head. “Be that as it may, I still have a headache and I’m not feeling up to company this evening.”
Those swirling irises settled on me. “You and I both know that’s not the case.”
“How would you know?” I crossed my arms. “Are you telling me that you can be so tuned in to a person that you can sense if they have a headache?”
“No.” His laugh was low and soft, sending a chill up my spine. “I simply don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s rude.”
“The truth is never rude, only unwanted.” His grin spread into a hint of a shadowy smile, causing the irritation to prick away at my skin. “You look like you wish to throw that whiskey bottle at me next.”
“That would be a waste of fine liquor,” I retorted.
“And much harder to claim it only slipped from your fingers.” He’d come closer in that silent way of his. “We have an arrangement. Are you going to honor it?”
“No.” I lifted my chin. “Because there is no arrangement for me to honor.”
“Figured.”
I stepped back an inch. That was as far as I made it. Prince Thorne was on me before I could take another breath. One of his arms went around my waist as he bent, and a second later I was hoisted up, onto his shoulder. For a moment, I was so shocked I could do nothing as I dangled there, my hair streaming over my face and the woodsy scent of his overwhelming me.
Then he turned.
“Oh, my gods,” I shrieked, grabbing a fistful of his tunic. “Put me down!”
“I would, but I have a feeling you’re going to want to argue.” Prince Thorne strode into the bedchamber, passing the bed. “And I prefer to do that while I’m close to the bed I plan to sleep in.”
“You can’t do this!” Fury erupted, erasing all common sense. I pounded my fists against his back, kicking my legs— completely forgetting what I was hitting. “Put me— ” I hissed as pain radiated across my balled fists and up my arms. “Fuck.”
“You should stop,” he said, amusement clear in his tone. “I really don’t want you to break your hands. We may have need of them later.”
“Oh my gods.” My eyes widened as the chamber door swung open. He was truly going to carry me to his quarters? He was out of his mind. “You can put me down.”