Page 42 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

His nostrils flare and the cape flutters again. He looks everywhere but me, and then says, “I dare you to put a finger up your nose.”

I groan. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not very ladylike,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, shoulders stiffening. “Are you going to do it?”

I roll my eyes and jam a finger up my nose, making a face at him as I do. “You need to get better at this game, friend. Allow me to show you the way.” I crack my knuckles (also not very ladylike) and pretend to consider. “All right. My dare for you is that you take off your kilt.”

Nemeth recoils in surprise. “What!?”

“You can keep your cloak on for modesty,” I say, flicking my fingers at him. “But that’s my dare. I dare you to give me your kilt.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you have to tell me a secret.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Make it a juicy one, please.”

He puts a hand on the belt of his kilt, as if determined to protect his modesty from me, and narrows his gaze in my direction. “What sort of secret would you like?”

Is he letting me choose? Well that’s just delightful. “Tell me a secret about a past lover.”

He rubs his ear. He truly is the twitchiest man when he’s nervous. “There are no past lovers.”

I suspected as much, and I can’t help but smile. “Is that part a secret? That there wasn’t anyone?”

Nemeth shrugs. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. The monks back at the Alabaster Citadel might have known the truth of it. It was a secret to you, so that counts, does it not?”

Was it truly, though? As skittish as he is, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, especially if he grew up at the Citadel with my sister and surrounded by monks, priests, and prophets. It’s not exactly a setting conducive to sensuality. But he’s clearly disconcerted at confessing such a thing to me. He looks uneasy, and those brilliant green eyes won’t look at me directly. Does he think I’m going to judge him?

I sit up, reaching out toward him, and touch my fingertips to his chin. “Look at me, Nemeth.”

He does, and his eyes are shuttered, as if he’s afraid to show emotion.

“This is just a game,” I say gently. “A game between friends. Whatever you tell me here in this tower remains with me and only me. I make you that promise, all right? I would never tease you about your experience or lack thereof.”

Nemeth just grunts. I suppose that’s some sort of agreement.

I hold my hand up. “Want to swear it in blood? I’m happy to slash my palm in dramatic fashion and mingle my blood with yours.”

That makes him roll his eyes. He snags my wrist and turns it face up, towards me. “Here is a hint from a warrior to a princess,” he says, and his claw brushes over the middle of my palm. “You never cut down the middle. A vow in blood doesn’t mean you have to slice your hand open. If you do so, not only can you not hold your sword, but you run the risk of destroying the tendons in your hand. If you truly wish to make a blood pact, usea fingertip.” His claw moves to the tip of my finger and he rubs it, his callused hands warm over mine. “Fingers bleed. And no blood pact says that great amounts of blood must be used.”

“Such an expert,” I say coyly, amused that he’s educating me. As if I’d ever hold a sword. “Does this mean you don’t want to do a blood pact, then?”

“Oh, we can do it, little princess. You make it sound like a challenge, and I won’t back down from a challenge from you.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and then nicks my finger on one of his teeth.

I gasp in surprise. Unexpected…as was the answering pulse between my thighs.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, lowering my hand. There’s a look of concern on his face.

“No, I’m fine.” Strangely aroused, but fine. I watch as the blood wells up on my fingertip and he nips his own finger, then holds it to mine.

Our blood mingles, and his eyes meet mine from across our joined hands.

“Our secrets remain ours,” he says. “Nothing leaves this tower when we do.”

I nod, and when he releases my hand, I automatically put my finger into my mouth to lick off the blood. Here I started a silly game simply because I wanted to tease him and have some fun, and it’s turned into a strange sort of vow that feels rather weighty. Like we’ve just made a soul-pact of some kind.

Nemeth’s gaze is on my mouth as I suck on my finger. He licks his, and I watch as his tongue slithers over his skin. “Do you still want to play?”

“I always want to play,” I whisper, and I wonder if we’re talking about the same thing.

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