A low rumble radiated from the Prince. My gaze shot back to him, my eyes widening. There was nothing remotely human about that sound. It resembled that of a . . . a wolf or something far larger.
“Tell him I’m not here to collect tithes,” he said, turning from me as he drew the towel around his waist. “That I’m here to discuss the situation with the Iron Knights. That should be enough to tide him over until I can speak with him in more detail. Do not tell him you confided in me. I will not speak a word of it.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. His pardon— and that’s what his silence regarding telling him the truth truly was— was unexpected. Yet again, he was unknowingly saving Grady and me.
He nodded, walking from the bathing chamber. “You seem surprised.”
“I suppose I am.” I trailed off, following him. “I didn’t expect you to tell me or . . .” Or for him to cover for me. I cleared my throat. “I also hadn’t expected it to involve the issue with the Iron Knights.” I watched him pour himself a glass of whiskey. He looked back at me, and I shook my head at the offer of a drink. “Is that the kind of information you were seeking when you were here before?” I asked, heart lurching as I thought of Astoria. “Does the King believe that Archwood is somehow sympathetic to the Iron Knights?”
“What I came for before is unrelated to why I’m here now.” He faced me, the towel knotted at his waist and the edges of his hair damp. Tiny drops of water still clung to his chest, drawing my gaze as they traveled down over the dips of his stomach. “And the situation regarding the Iron Knights has changed.”
I started to ask why, but my eyes met his and I fell silent. My skin tingled with awareness. The sense to drop the conversation slammed into me, and this time I listened to it. I glanced around his quarters, my hands going to the sash on the robe. I wanted to thank him for making sure I bore no consequences for what I had taken part in this evening, but I had to choose my words wisely. “I . . . I appreciate you telling me why you have come to Archwood.”
Prince Thorne inclined his head in what I assumed was acknowledgment.
A keen sense of nervousness invaded me as he stared. “If there’s not anything else I can do for you, I should be on my way.”
He stood silent, watching me.
Taking his lack of answer as a good enough response, I gave a quick and terrible curtsy. “Good night, Your Grace.”
He didn’t correct my use of the honorific. He was still quiet, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite make out. Passing him, I made it to the door of the antechamber.
“Stay.”
I whipped toward him. “Excuse me?”
“Stay,” he repeated, his grip on the glass tightening. “Stay the night with me.”
I opened my mouth, but I found no words. He wanted me to stay? The night with him? I glanced at the bed, stomach clenching and dropping at the same time.
“To sleep,” he added, and my attention swung back to him. My eyes had widened slightly. Cracks had formed in the glass he held. Not deep enough to spill the drink, but I could see the fragile spiderweb-like lines racing throughout the glass. “That is all, na’laa.”
My mind went in two vastly different directions as I stared at him. One part of me couldn’t even believe he was asking for such a thing, because why in the five realms would he want to just sleep with me? The other part of me was foolishly wondering what it was like to sleep beside another who wasn’t Grady, and thinking about that caused the skipping of my breath to repeat itself in my chest and stomach.
And that . . . that was unacceptable for various reasons.
“That I cannot do,” I said.
His head cocked. “Cannot or will not?”
There was a difference between the two. “Cannot” wasn’t a choice. “Will not” was. The problem was I didn’t know which it was.
“Both,” I admitted, shaken. “Good night.”
I didn’t wait. Turning, I left the bedchamber and reached the main door. I turned the handle. It didn’t budge. Frowning, I glanced up, seeing that it was unlocked. What the— ? Prince Thorne. He was stopping me from opening the door. I stiffened, feeling his intense stare on my back, and for a wild moment, a wicked thrill went through me, leaving me breathless. The idea that he’d stopped me sent a hot, tight shiver through me.
I didn’t want him to let me go.
That damnable feeling— the one of belonging with him— surged through me, and dear gods, there truly was something wrong with me.