Page 27 of Downfall of a Princess

I frowned at the key, then shoved it into the pocket of my riding dress.

“Good night.” I nodded to Gem, then followed the man whose hands were meant to end up on my naked body tonight. My composure wavered at that thought, and I almost tripped when entering the bedroom.

Salas stood in the middle of the room. His hood pushed back, he stared at the sword displayed on the wall over my bedroom’s fireplace.

Warning pulsed in me with alarm. I should’ve hidden the weapon earlier instead of leaving it in the open like that. But the sword had been hanging in the same spot for years. In my mind, it had become simply a part of the room's décor by now.

“The creation has outlived its creator,” Salas said softly.

I didn’t think he intended for me to hear that because he looked a little startled to find me standing next to him when I asked, “Do you know who made it?”

“Don’tyou?Since it’s yours?”

That deep voice of his instantly made me feel lightheaded. I had to focus to muster a reply.

“My father gave it to me years ago. It came from the arsenal of the royal gladiators. Father thought it was appropriately small and light for me to practice with if I happened to have any aptitude for swordsmanship.”

“Doyou have the aptitude?”

I exhaled a laugh, adjusting my glasses. “No. No aptitude, no interest in any kind of weapons. I never used it. It’s been hanging here as a decoration ever since. It’s pretty.”

“The hilt is.” He nodded. “But it doesn’t match the blade.”

Father had found the sword’s simple hilt with the worn leather on the grip too plain for a princess. He had the leather replaced and the pommel gilded and inlaid with gemstones before gifting it to me.

“How do you know this isn’t the original hilt?” I asked, watching him carefully.

Under my attention, his expression shifted to a masterfully crafted indifference.

“I never said I knew for sure. I just pointed out that they don’t match. The blade is strong, well-made, and functional. The hilt is... well, pretty.”

“You know a lot about swords?”

“Just the most common things.” He turned away from the wall.

His behavior didn’t seem threatening. Removing the sword from the wall now would be weird and, likely, unnecessary. But I couldn’t neglect my own safety either.

Walking past Salas, I unlocked the patio doors and swung them wide open. The warm evening air rushed in. The wild colors of sunset streaked the sky. But most importantly, the patio provided me with another place to escape the bedroom if things with my visitor ran astray at any point of the night. My rooms were on the second floor, but palace guards usually patrolled the gardens below regularly. They’d hear my screams for help if it really came down to that.

“I’m in control here,”I repeated in my head.

Fabric rustled behind me, along with the soft clinking sound from earlier. I turned around and... found my control slipping from me.

Salas took off his dark cloak and casually tossed it over the back of the couch. Underneath, he wore a floor-length sarong tied around his hips and an equally long robe. Both were made from white material so thin, it was nearly transparent.

The robe was open in the front, revealing his bare chest. His skin was completely smooth there with a ruddy glow. The bare chest surprised me. By how scruffy and unruly his hair and beard were, I’d expected all that hair wouldn’t be just on his head and face.

Realizing I’d focused on his chest for far too long, I blinked and jerked my head up. His hair had been cut and tamed into a neat style with a slight wave to it. His beard was also trimmed and smoothed. I was glad it hadn’t been shaved off. It suited him somehow, though it also made him look slightly untamed no matter how much care went into his grooming.

I met his eyes and realized that the awkwardness was all mine. Salas seemed relatively relaxed and comfortable in this rather unusual situation. Not a single ripple ofreflectionran through his large frame. Which meant he didn’t feel scared or ashamed to be here. He simply appeared to hold back, waiting to see what I would do next.

“Thank you for coming over,” I muttered.

The evening light darkened his honey eyes to the color of black coffee, and they gazed at me with amusement. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile that his trimmed beard couldn’t hide.

“Thank you for the invitation, Princess.” He attempted a bow, the clinking sound finally drawing my eyes to his hands.

Wide fur-lined metal cuffs circled his wrists. The pretty designs embossed in the metal almost made them look like jewelry if it weren’t for the black chain connecting them. The chain ran from one cuff to the other, then down to the similar manacles around his ankles.

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