The answer caught in her throat, so she asked instead, “Why are you opening your own door?”
Prince Aris leaned against the frame and crossed his arms. “Is a man not allowed to answer the door of his own home?”
“No,” Blythe said hastily, then grimaced. “I mean yes, he is, of course. It’s just that you’re a prince. My father never even answers the door of Thorn Grove himself.”
“Is that so?” Again, Blythe was struck by the oddity of his eyes, such an impossible shade of gold. They were as unnerving as Signa’s. “I sent the staff back to Verena. So many people aren’t needed to care for a single man.”
“You sent all of them?” she pressed. She’d never heard anything so absurd.
When Prince Aris cocked his head, Blythe feared he would shut the door in her face. It wasn’t as though she was making pleasant conversation by continually insulting him, but nerves were getting the best of her. To her surprise, it seemed that the corners of the prince’s lips quirked. Then, as if deciding he didn’t care for it, Aris abandoned the expression.
He was every bit a prince as he assessed her—like a predator before its prey. A boot ready to squish an insect beneath it. Blythe could imagine how many people had shrunk back from those eyes; there was a second when even she felt the urge to. But she would be damned before a prince made her feel less than, and so she squared her shoulders and stared right back at him.
He ran a hand down his jaw, smoothing out the tension of his clenched teeth. “I kept a cook, the butler, and someone to care for the horses.”
Though Blythe couldn’t place why, it felt as though she’d won some miniature battle that was warring between them, and victory had her puffing her chest as Prince Aris extended a hand into Wisteria.
“Shouldn’t the butler be answering the door?”
“Have you come all this way to offend me,” he asked, “or do you intend to come inside?”
All at once, Blythe’s heart was in her throat. No matter how many scenarios she’d envisioned for today, none of them had been of Wisteria so empty, or the two of them so thoroughly alone. A single butler, a cook, and a groom she’d likely not see in a palace this large meant nothing. Anyone who discovered her whereabouts would surely assume that Blythe’s visit could mean only one thing, though she couldn’t let that sway her. Not with the stakes being what they were.
Aris was a prince. Blythe had seen firsthand the power he held over others, and the way people clung to his every word. He had gotten her and Byron a visit with her father on no notice. If he could do that, then she could only imagine what else he could manage.
“What’s wrong, love?” Aris cast her a look from over his shoulder, eyes glittering. “Afraid I’ll ruin you?”
She wasn’t afraid. Not of him, at least. And so she clenched her fists, sent William a firm look to tell him to remain exactly where he was, and followed Prince Aris inside and to a parlor warmed by the largest hearth she’d ever seen, several times her height. He motioned for her to take a seat on a plush leather sofa and sat across from her.
A tray of tea was already on the table between them, filled with light sandwiches and pastries, and to her surprise, a second porcelain teacup.
Her skin prickled as he poured steaming tea into the cup and handed it to her. Blythe didn’t drink it immediately but made a show of adding a splash of milk. She kept her eyes on him all the while, waiting until he took the first drink before she tested a small sip.
Black tea. Simple, and without a trace of belladonna. She exhaled a relieved breath as steaming tendrils spread across her skin. It wasn’t that she expected the prince to try to poison her, but one could never be too careful with whom they trusted.
Aris cast her the most peculiar look before he leaned back on the couch and folded one leg over the other. The smallest sliver of his ankle was visible, and Blythe did her best not to pay it any attention. It was strange how scandalous such a small slice of skin could seem when it was just the two of them.
The tea was warm in her hands, and she used the heat of it to reel herself in as she straightened and began, “I apologize for an unprompted visit. I was hoping that I might speak to you about—”
“About your father.” Blythe flinched as Prince Aris tapped his spoon along the side of the cup, the clanging too loud for such a quiet space. “I’m no fool, Miss Hawthorne. It can be no coincidence that you’ve decided to pay me a visit the day of his sentence.”