Page 61 of Princess of Air

I pull back and drop my head forward. He kisses my forehead and wraps me in an embrace. Before he says something I won’t be able to respond correctly to, I say, “It’s getting late. I should be getting to bed.”

“Of course.” He releases me and offers me his arm—back to the straight-laced prince I’m used to as he escorts me to my staircase.

On the first step, I turn to face him. “Good night, Jamys.”

“Good night, Arabella.” He brushes a soft kiss on my hand, and we go our separate ways.

Damnit. I thought keeping Jamys at arm’s length was keeping me from developing feelings for him. Apparently, breaking down those barriers doesn’t help either. I drop face first onto my bed as disappointment spreads its coiling tendrils through me.

Do not hang it all on one mediocre kiss.

I fumble with the laces on the back of my dress with no success. A gust rings the bell for my maid, and I close my eyes while I wait.

Chapter thirty-two

Laces loosen. Fingers continue down my back as I lie on my stomach. I sigh and reach back to entangle my fingers with his. “Hello, love.”

The hand pulls away quickly, accompanied by the sound of a sharp gasp. “Oh, Your Grace, I’m so sorry.”

I jump to sit up and face Lucy, who is looking at the floor. “No, no. I’m sorry, Lucy! I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I tried to wake you, but I figured you’d be more comfortable if the dress was at least undone.”

“You were quite right. Thank you.” I stand and turn my back to her. “I’m mortified. I’m truly sorry for that.”

“You never need to be embarrassed around me, Miss.”

She helps me out of my dress, and I slip into a nightgown. I shuffle to the vanity and drop into the chair with a plop. While she braids my hair, I notice a glowing light outside. “What is that?”

“A fire. I’m told there’s nothing to be concerned about.” She ties off the braid. “Shall I bring a tonic for your head?”

My head is propped on the vanity, face in my hands. “I suppose that’s a good idea. Thank you.”

I slide under my blankets while Lucy retrieves it from my washroom. Tonic taken, I let the dark quiet sweep me off into unconsciousness.

When the sun comes into my room, I’m surprised to find that I don’t have any trace of a headache. Either the tonic works very well, or Cerauno wines don’t cause such effects. There’s a metaphor in there, but I don’t want to think about it.

As I dress, thoughts ricochet through my mind. Will Jamys think we kiss regularly now? I hope not. That’s dreadful. How much did he drink last night? Maybe he was drunk. Perhaps he won’t turn out to be such a bad kisser.

Outside, Tomas leans against the courtyard wall, watching Nina turn targets to ash. “Good morning.” His voice is clipped.

“I believe we have multiple disagreements to settle.”

“They don’t matter.”

Do the arguments not matter because he doesn’t care, or because I made things even worse? “Are you angry with me for spending time alone with Jamys last night?”

“No.”

“I half expected you to be in my chambers when I arrived. Based on your absurd display last night, I thought you might be jealous of that sort of thing.” I had the best intentions of smoothing things over, but his nonchalance boils my blood. This man makes everything so unbearably difficult that I dig the hole deeper.

“Is that why you did it?”

“No.”

He drops his chin conspiratorially. “Well, I might have been jealous, but it’s Jamys. It’s not as if anything would happen before you’re married.”

“We kissed.” I’m absolutely pathetic. Why am I saying this?

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