CHAPTER 8
ELLIE
Consistent with his reputation, it took the Prince of Dwellen less than a day to seek me out in my chambers.
In fact, he appeared that evening, just after the last streak of pink faded from the sky, following the sun over the edge of the horizon.
“I have an idea.” Prince Evander strode into my room halfway into me telling him it was alright to come in, thinking I was inviting in Imogen.
I wasn’t convinced the prince had yet come to the inevitable conclusion that the easiest way out of this bargain would be to kill me, but I wasn’t keen on taking my chances either. I jolted to my feet and grabbed the lamp stand on my bedside table. It wasn’t much, but it was heavy, crafted of wrought iron, and the detailing at the base looked intricate enough to do some damage. If I could land a solid blow on the prince’s head—or elsewhere, if the prince’s actions deemed such a scandal necessary—perhaps I could buy enough time to escape.
The prince’s sea-green eyes brightened as he scanned the lamp stand, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. “You know if you bludgeon me with that, you’ll be charged with treason, right?”
“Well, better a treasonist than dead,” I said, clutching the lamp stand tighter.
“Pretty sure that’s not a word.”
“You knew what I meant.”
He rolled his eyes, picking at a stray piece of fuzz on his shoulder, as if that were more worthy of his attention than the woman wielding a potential murder weapon. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
He shrugged, flicking the piece of lint at me. It hit my nose, and I had to stifle a sneeze. “I suppose you don’t have to. But we have a long conversation ahead of us, and I figure your puny human arms are going to tire of supporting double their weight in wrought iron at some point.”
Not quite ready to relinquish my grip on the lamp stand, even if it was only a false sense of security that it provided, I continued, “You could make it easier for me and give me a reason to trust you.”
“Fine.” Faster than I could blink, he’d closed the distance between us. He reached around my body, pinning my waist with his firm arms as he plucked something from the bed behind me. I tensed, and a wicked grin spread across his striking face, the flame from the lamp stand reflecting in his vivid eyes. “I could suffocate you with this fluffy pillow you’ve drooled all over and blame it on a jealous ex.” He flourished the pillow in question before tossing it and its incriminating drool stain onto the bed.
Dread consumed me, and his gaze swept downward, his pointed ears twitching as if he could sense my heart hammering against my ribcage. He leaned closer, pinching the wick of the candle and stealing the flame’s last breath between the pads of his fingertips.
The room went dark, his violent green eyes banishing the shadows, reflecting the silver glow of the barely waning moon that peered through my window.
“Tell me, Miss Payne. Is this the kind of story you’d like to read about? One you’d be inclined to believe?”
His gaze landed on my neck, to where my pulse pounded at the divot in my skin. I wondered then if there were things we didn’t know about the fae, things they’d kept hidden over the centuries, distracting us with their unparalleled beauty and their fancy balls and their coveted immortality.
But then the wick on the lamp stand flickered with new life, and a flame doused the room in light once more.
Prince Evander tore his brilliant eyes away from my pulse, and that carefree nature settled over him once again as he laughed. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. Even if I wasn’t, my father wouldn’t believe me, anyway. Any attempt to frame your murder on someone else, he’d trace back to me immediately. In fact, if you ever decide to exact revenge against me, save yourself some time and fake your own death. He’ll blame me for your innocent life and ruin me, I assure you.”
As he stepped away, I let out a breath, much louder than I intended to, and the edge of his lips quirked. Then, mostly because he was right—my arm was getting tired, and there wasn’t much I could do if an immortal fae wanted me dead anyway—I laid the lamp on the table.
“Good. Now we can talk without distractions.” He sauntered over to the bed and plopped atop it, sprawling his legs out and propping the back of his head in his hands. “Care to join me?” His eyes flickered with the mischief of the sea, egging its prey into its treacherous waves. The look, and all it insinuated, had the muscles in my back tensing until I must have looked as stiff as the cedar bedposts that supported my mattress.
“No, thank you. I prefer to keep my dignity intact.”
“Your loss.” He shrugged, ruffling the bedsheets in the process. “Your mattress is comfy. Perhaps when we’re married, we can move it up to my suite.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I did my best to hide the trembling in my voice. “Yes, and then you can move to a mat on the floor.”
“Suit yourself. You’ll be missing out, though.”
“That’s my hope and prayer.”
Quick as a fox, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward. “And why, might I ask, are you so intent on rejecting me?”
“Do you always throw yourself at women who’ve made it clear that they despise you?”
The insult didn’t land as I’d intended, and his green eyes sparkled. “You haven’t seen me throw myself at you yet.”
He sprang from the bed and landed right in front of me, his face a breath away from mine. He craned his neck down so that his nose almost rested against my forehead. My breath caught, and for a moment I froze, my heart pounding.
“Would you like to see me throw myself at you?” he whispered, his breath a gentle caress against my skin.
My heart thudded against my chest, an unwanted warmth pooling in my belly.
A wicked grin tugged at his mouth, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. He leaned in, his lips…
Fates above, he really was going to kiss me.
Shocked by the prince’s audacity, I shoved his chest, propelling myself backward. “What do you think you’re doing?”
That dimple was still on full display, highlighting his cocky smirk. “Just a little test, that’s all.”
“A test?” I asked, unable to tamp down the scoff in my voice. Not that I was trying too hard.
Prince Evander flicked his eyes back toward me, and that assessing look took on a judgmental tint where the hunger had once been. “For all I know, you planted the shoes on Cinderella and fed her that lie about the shoes only fitting her feet, all the while intending to trick me into a bargain. Which I maintain works out fairly well for you. I had to be sure you were the honest sort of human. There aren’t many of you out there.”
