Page 22 of A Kingdom of Destruction

An assortment of oils and soaps lined the side of the tub on a silver tray, absorbing the amber light from outside. She undid her braid and chose one at random before scrubbing it into her scalp. A moan burned the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down.

Damn it.

Her family was dead, and here she sat, soaking in hotter water than she’d ever had for a bath and moaning at the delicious scent of the soap. She did not deserve it. Her lower lip trembled. Ducking underneath the water proved enough of a shock to shoot the guilt and shame out of her head for a brief second.

The light outside began to change, darkening into the peachy glow of the approaching afternoon. When she finally felt clean enough, her skin scrubbed to a glowing pink and her hair a ripple of darkness around her, she stepped from the tub, wrapping herself in one of the giant fluffy towels laid out for her on the vanity.

A framed mirror reflected her body back to her, where the darkness of the runes she still had left was a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes were wide and black, the circles beneath them like paint. The gauntness of her cheeks surprised her, as did the white knuckles of her hand gripping the towel.

The accommodations didn’t change reality. She ducked her face down, unwilling to look at herself anymore, hating everything she saw. Then sucked in her breath when she opened the bathroom door and found a golden-haired fae male seated at the small table, staring at her empty food platter.

“I trust everything is to your liking, Princess Aven.”

9

His slippery smooth tones mirrored the dark, rich voice of Roran.

This must be Crown Prince Cillian, then. His gaze dropped to the front knot of her towel and lingered there. Robin’s-egg blue eyes simmered with something she couldn’t quite place as he took her in, crossing one leg over the other and never breaking eye contact. Aven wore only the towel, and it offered hardly any protection against the almost physical caress of Cillian’s attention.

Warm where his brother was cold, hoops of metal pierced his ears all the way up to the pointed tip. His strikingly handsome face broadcast interest, but rather than repeat his earlier statement, he swiped a hand through his blond hair, scattering the long strands. They fell right back into place once he finished.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face,” he continued.

“Mind giving me a second to get dressed?” Aven forced herself to say. Thank goodness her voice remained steady.

Cillian tossed her a grin. “I’ll wait.”

The command in his voice left her no room to argue.

He was the one responsible for this room, for the bath and the food. But she drew the line at letting him watch her change. Making sure to keep Cillian in front of her at all times, she crept over to the armoire and drew a dress from a hanger at random.

He tracked her movements as well with a barely perceptible angling of his head.

“What’s the matter? You think I’m interested in taking advantage of a young woman in a delicate position?” He stared at the towel again. “You’ll soon come to find, Princess, I am not the same sort as my brother, who will dog after any female, available or not, as long as she has a pulse.”

Aven bared her teeth at him and slowly edged toward the bathroom. Without bothering to say anything, she slammed the door shut.

She dressed faster than she ever had in her life. The long skirt of the dress tangled around her feet, her balance lost. She slammed into the side of the vanity, and the marble top dug into her hip. Pain flashed through her, bright and keen.

Thiswas something she could use.

Better for her to keep her mind clear and her senses on high alert. The crown prince might seem like a guardian angel, but she knew better. All of them were devils.

She’d chosen a dress the color of a white spring crocus. Long sleeves tapered down to points just above her knuckles, and a loop of fabric around her middle finger kept the hem in place. The bodice tightened at her waist and cut low in the front to leave most of her collarbones and chest on open display. Tight gold stitching added a glow to the dress, and in the fabric of the skirt were hidden patterns of leaves and flowers.

Aven smoothed a hand down the front of the gown and along the flat plane of her stomach. The fabric was breathable, stretching in just the right places so she didn’t feel constricted. It wouldn’t be the best for fighting if things degraded to a brawl,but she had the ability to move, and that had to count for something.

Her eyes met her reflection a second time as she began braiding her hair, weaving one long plait on either side of her head. The wet strands were malleable, water still dripping as she worked. She found several lengths of golden thread in one of the vanity drawers and carefully wove them through each braid, securing the ends tightly. The braids fell like rivers of darkness down her back, glinting faintly with the gold. The image she made seemed presentable. Exhausted, terribly sad, but presentable.

She squared her shoulders and forced herself to take a long breath, feeling it all the way down to her stomach, before she faced Cillian again.

The fae hadn’t moved from his spot at the table, yet she knew he was aware of her movements, tracking her by sound and scent.

“Will you embarrass me by forcing me to ask my question again?” he began.

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear you ask one. You offered me a statement instead.”

He turned to her, the movement slow and supple, examining her. “Yes, you’re absolutely right.” Cillian’s smile remained in place. “I’ll offer you a question now. Remember, Princess, the choice is yours, always. Will you join me for dinner?” He rose and straightened, holding out a hand for Aven. “It would be my pleasure to wine and dine you tonight. In an attempt to get to know you better.”

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