Page 63 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
I shrugged, feigning innocence. “It just popped into my head.”
He stared at me for so long, I wondered if he knew I was lying. If he did, though, he didn’t call me on it.
“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “Most information about Caldrius has been erased from the Zion family records. He’s not exactly celebrated. I believe he had a wife, but I don’t know much about her.”
The room seemed heavy with unspoken words. I swallowed down the awkwardness with another gulp of wine.
“Tell me what you think of Veric,” Clay said softly. It wasn’t a question—it was a command.
I sighed. “He’s been kind so far. Friendly. Easy to talk to. There are far worse men to be engaged to.”
He took the bottle and drank deeply, staring at it for a moment before nodding in agreement. “That’s true.”
I took the bottle back. “Tell me about Elaina.”
“Elaina is… going to be an incredible queen. We’ve been engaged since before we could walk. Neither of us is the other’s first choice.” A pointed look in my direction. “But she’s kind. Like me, preparing to rule is all she’s ever known. She speaks several languages, has traveled the world, served the poor, and studied under renowned healers. She’ll be a wife in name, but a queen by birthright.”
Jealousy churned miserably in my stomach. Sweet, perfect Elaina. A wonderful woman. A better queen. Everything I could never be.
“Why do you always keep roses in your suite instead of other flowers?” he asked, breaking my spiraling thoughts.
I rolled my eyes. “Surely there are more exciting questions.”
His expression sobered as he stood. Silently, he walked towards where I laid sideways across the bed, head propped up by my bent elbow. Clay never looked away from me as he came to stand right in front of me and lowered himself to his knees so that we were eye level.
“You are exciting to me, Thea," he breathed, reaching up to trail his fingers down my cheek and jaw. "Your likes, dislikes. The way your mind works. Your sense of morality. Your body, especially in the fashions of this kingdom, I might add. It all excites me. Yes, there are parts of you that I don’t yet know, but I want to. I want to know your favorite food, flower, color. I want to commit it all to memory because itallexcites me.”
My heart sputtered and stalled. I knew it.He had been listening in earlier, when I’d told Veric we weren’t friends and hardly knew each other. I’d said it partly to anger him, knowing the words would frustrate him, but I hadn’t expected this answer.
“Roses are my favorite,” I finally answered, breathless as he leaned closer, as he focused so completely on my lips I thought he might just close that inch of space between us and kiss me. “Because they remind me of you.”
His attention on me was absolute. The air between us thickened, every sensation heightened. Warmth was crawling up my body, bringing withit an overwhelming awareness of every place my clothing touched my too-sensitive skin.
He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. "I've never wanted anything as much as I want you."
This game had been very, very risky.
The adjoining door creaked open suddenly. Nessira entered, carrying washcloths and a flickering candle. Her sharp gaze scanned us, even as we jerked apart, then flickered to the now empty bottle on the floor.
She cleared her throat aggressively. “I’ve brought towels, my lady.”
Flushing deeply, I pointed toward the table. “Leave them there, Nessira.”
“It’s quite late,” she said pointedly, her tone laced with accusation as she glanced at Clay.
Clay stood, taking the bottle. “I should let Lady Moore rest. Big day tomorrow.”
Nessira watched him go with arms crossed impatiently across her chest. As the door clicked shut behind him, she turned to me, muttering something about déjà vu before wishing me a good night and leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Chapter Seventeen
Iopened my eyes in Hyrax’s throne room. He sat alone at his dining table, apparently waiting for me, as he used to do so often. Tonight, he wore freshly pressed, immaculate clothes, dark fabric accented by silver embroidery at the cuffs. He had neatly combed and styled his gray hair and beard. He looked every bit as impeccable as one might expect of a God.
When his gaze met mine, he smiled pleasantly and gestured to the chair at his right, silently inviting me to join him.
A part of me wanted to reject him outright—to stomp my feet, curse him for his lies and misdeeds, and force myself awake and out of this realm. As much as that temptation burned within me, though, his words from our last conversation still echoed in my mind, his declaration that I simply didn’t have any memories to recall. I’d been tossing it over for days, tearing myself apart, trying to piece together what that could possibly mean.
If it could be true...
