I could only manage a whisper. “To take advantage of your servants. You’re in a position of authority, you know. Even if she makes it appear as though she welcomes your advances, that doesn’t mean she does. There’s a pressure that she feels—”

“Ellie,” Evander said, blanching as he touched my hand. “By Alondria, please don’t finish that sentence. Nothing happened between me and Imogen. Unless you count me making myself look like a fool for being too nervous to ask you to dinner myself lest you chuck a glass slipper at me or something.”

I jerked my hand away, the phantom brush of his touch still warm on my skin. “I—nothing happened with Imogen?”

“No. Why did you think something did?”

Out of habit, I searched his face for signs of a lie. Until I remembered that he was fae. He couldn’t lie. “Because she…” I fumbled over my words, realizing only now how many leaps I had taken to come to my conclusion. My conclusion that had been false. “Well, she seemed off after talking with you. And when I asked her about it, she said she didn’t want to talk about it. And then your comment about her enjoying your company made me think…”

“Go on,” Evander said, clearly suppressing a grin as he pressed his lips together.

I scowled at him. “I won’t have you make me say it and embarrass myself.”

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, despite the fact we hadn’t begun eating yet. “It appears it’s too late for that now, doesn’t it?”

I thought to bite back at him, the mortification of my poorly placed accusations stinging at my cheeks and threatening to prod me into lashing out. But then I remembered how allowing my tongue to loosen at dinner with the king and queen had ended—with the queen despising me, and for good cause. I sighed. “You’re right. She was probably upset about something else entirely.”

Evander shrugged and traced the patterns on the wooden table with his fingers, avoiding my eyes.

My jaw dropped. “You do think she was upset over you, don’t you?”

Evander threw his hands up. “I open my mouth, and you accuse me of being an arrogant pig. I keep it shut, and you come to the same conclusion.”

I rubbed my forehead. Of course. If Imogen had a crush on Evander, it would upset her that he was inviting me to a private dinner. And that I had accepted it. And that she had been forced to deliver the invitation herself.

Evander sighed. “I didn’t pick up on it until I saw how red her face was when I was flirting with you earlier. Had I known, I wouldn’t have asked her to deliver the message. And I certainly wouldn’t have made a scene about inviting you to dinner in front of her.”

“It seems a bit unnecessary for a prince to change his actions just to spare the feelings of a servant.”

Evander scoffed, placing his elbow upon the table and tucking his chin into his palm. “You don’t believe that. You just don’t want to admit that I can be a nice person.”

I smiled softly. Apologetically. It was true. I was surprised that Evander considered anyone’s feelings other than his own. Especially those whom I would have assumed he thought beneath him. He hadn’t even offered an explanation as to why Imogen had been upset. Why? To save her from embarrassment? That was a kindness I didn’t expect from civilized company, much less the careless prince.

But hadn’t he already shown me that he cared? After all, during the first trial he’d gone to great lengths to assuage my fears. He’d also kept me from plummeting to my death, I supposed.

Mercifully, the cook entered not long after with a serving cart, from which he produced two large, steaming plates and set them before us.

Lobster.

I loved lobster.

I inhaled the main course, though I could have cursed the crustacean for making it so difficult to get to the delicious soft meat underneath its exoskeleton.

When I was done with the meat and had ventured on to the garlicky noodles, Evander spoke. “So, you made those shoes?”

“Are you still trying to convince yourself that your mystery lover isn’t a thief?”

“No, I’ve resigned myself to being in love with a petty criminal. But at least she’s pretty.”

I laughed, despite the fact that my mouth was full of pasta.

“How long did it take you to perfect the design?”

“I’ve been working on them for over two years.”

He frowned. “You must have been devastated when they went missing.”

I nodded.

Half of a smirk stretched the corner of his mouth. “But not devastated enough not to shatter the only pair you had left?”

“Well, being tricked into an unsavory engagement will do that to you. And it wasn’t a pair. The other one is still out there somewhere.”

He raised his glass to that and took a sip. “Are shoes your passion, then?”

I cocked my head at him, surprised by the question. No one had ever asked me that before. Not even my parents. What was my passion? Certainly not shoes, of all things. That seemed too simple, too inconsequential to label as a passion.

“The shoes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made. So yes, in that way, I guess they’re my passion. But it’s about more than just the shoes. I want to reframe the way the world looks at glass. I want to bring beauty to the common people. The rich have their crystal and diamond and gold and precious stones. But to take sand and fire and craft something that makes people’s eyes sparkle—that’s what I enjoy. It could be stained glass, or glass slippers, or even just glass-blown globes. It doesn’t really matter. I’d just like a workshop named after my father, where people come from miles and miles just to see a Payne.”

Evander’s eyes flickered. “So you’re an artist at heart, then?”

“That. And I like to think of myself as a businesswoman.”

He laughed, but not in the dismissive way I might have expected from nobility hearing what must seem like such an insignificant dream to someone like him. Someone who had probably traveled all of Alondria by the time he was weaned. “I assume you have a lot to prove to your fellow humans.”

I nodded, suddenly sad at the reminder of the dream that had been ripped away from me, so I changed the topic. “And what’s your passion?”

Evander’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, so much so that it almost looked like a grimace. “That, I’ve given up searching for.”

I shot him a knowing look. “That didn’t directly answer my question.”

“You’re getting good at detecting my tactics. I’m not sure that I like it,” he said, though his smirk might have suggested otherwise.

I shrugged. “Don’t yank me out of a perfectly good nap to come to dinner next time, then.”

“By the looks of that poor, devastated lobster, I’m sure I could find a way to bribe you out of bed. Or if I couldn’t, my chef could.”

I rolled my eyes and gestured, as if to stab him with the tiny lobster fork. “So what’s your passion, then?”

He sighed and locked those deep, sea-green eyes on me. My stomach whirled. Probably from the lobster. “Her.”

It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to gag. So I cleared my throat, the whirling in my stomach turning into something deep and heavy and not entirely comfortable. “And by her, I’m assuming you mean the mystery girl who swiped my shoes?”

“That would be the one,” he said, resting his chin upon his hand, lost in some dreamlike state.

Everything in me wanted to say that any respect I had gained for him had been lost in that one word. Her. Blech.

In fact, I found it irritating that he had gone to the effort of arranging this private dinner, even going as far as flirting with me about being too nervous to ask me himself, yet he still found it appropriate to bring up another woman.