Page 7 of Jon’s Desert Prince Dream

“Feel free.”

Mack poured us both chilled wine, and we split the food. I listened intently as he spoke, weaving the story of how he came to be here. How life had been for the past two years and how he didn’t regret choosing Brandon, not for a second. How his life was downright pampered compared to before. He painted such a beautiful picture, I yearned to follow the path he had blazed.

Eventually, the water became too much, and the urge for a nap came back. Mack coaxed me out, then pushed me toward the bed, saying I’d need sleep before dinner. Apparently dinners were three-hour affairs here, at least the formal kind.

I felt a little odd about climbing into Prince Donovan’s bed, but Mack assured me it was fine, that Prince Donovan had led me here because he wanted me to feel safe and to relax. I eventually settled in the middle of the bed, the gauzy curtains gathered around me to keep any flies off, and almost didn’t bother with a sheet. I’d only put on the loincloth after getting out of the pool, too tired to think of completely dressing. On second thought, I pulled the sheet up to my waist and snuggled into a pillow. My eyes were heavy as they fluttered closed, and I think I was asleep before I fully settled.

Light fingertips carding through my hair woke me up in a gradual way. The touch was so pleasant, I turned into it, humming a little. It had been years since anyone had touched me so gently.

“Jon?” Prince Donovan spoke softly, his tone a caress. “Can you wake up long enough to eat?”

I forced my eyes open to blink sleepily up at him. He leaned over me with a look of concern, brows drawn together a little. The light had faded in the room, and only candlelight gave any illumination. I felt like I’d slept much longer than the hour I’d intended.

“Jon?”

I blinked at him and found myself smiling. “You’re really lovely. Even though you hurt my eyes.”

“Once you’re anchored to me, I won’t hurt your eyes anymore,” he promised with a soft laugh. “Jon, you’re clearly not fully awake. Which would you rather have, food or sleep?”

“Sex.”

Prince Donovan blinked, doing a double take. “You want sex?”

“Mm. Sex with you will be fantastic.” I was too tired to start ripping clothes off, though. Pity.

“That something else you can see?”

“Mm-hmm. You’re very generous.”

“Gods above,” Prince Donovan murmured, amused all over again, “your eyes really are something else. I think you’re too sleepy for sex, though.”

More’s the pity. I could feel myself sliding back into the world of dreams already.

Prince Donovan leaned in and brushed a kiss against my forehead. I hummed and leaned into it.

“Sleep,” Prince Donovan crooned to me. “Sleep and dream and worry not.”

It was like a spell he’d put over me, my eyes falling shut, my consciousness spinning as sleep sucked me back under. I managed to ask one question that plagued me even as sleep sang its siren’s call.

“You put me in your room to claim me, didn’t you?”

“Guilty,” he admitted, no apology in his tone. “Because I desperately want you to be mine.”

I’d just known that was the case. I wasn’t mad about it.

“Don’t start a war over me,” I mumbled—my last parting shot before sleep sucked me under.

“On that, my love, I can make no promises.”

2

I lay on the bed next to Jon, studying his face as he slept. He looked so incredibly peaceful curled up against my chest, a warm and sweet presence. Still, there were aspects I didn’t like at all. The raw skin on his neck and wrists infuriated me, marks of something he’d never should’ve had to endure. He was thin, clearly so, and hadn’t been fed well in a long while. I hated it and wanted to feed everything in the palace to him, but knew I needed to just make sure food was available at all times—let him regain the weight naturally. He was exhausted, too, the arduous journey having taken a toll. Mack had said Jon had lain down an hour before the dinner, but I hadn’t been able to wake him up before the dinner, or after. He’d been asleep five hours solid and only prodding at him had gotten him to wake up for that two-minute-long conversation. He’d likely sleep through the night unless forcefully awoken again.

I’d brought in cold cuts and bread for him, hoping to get him to eat something, but I’d leave it under the basket cover near the bed. If he woke up in the middle of the night hungry, he’d have something to eat.

In so many ways, Jon reminded me of a stray cat. He wanted to be loved, he liked people, but he’d been so poorly treated he didn’t know how to trust. Even with his eyes, which apparently saw everything, he found it hard to trust in the hand I extended to him. Still, he trusted enough to sleep soundly in my bed.

And he apparently desired me as well, since he’d asked for sex.