Page 44 of Stolen
I blink at one, and I swear the characters inside shift slightly.
A warrior lifts his sword.
A woman turns her head and mouths something soundless.
“Are they alive?” I whisper.
Alaric glances at the tapestries.
“They are enchanted. They show pieces of our history. Each time you look, you might see something new.”
Okay. No big deal.
“Like living history blankets. Okay,” I murmur.
Totally normal.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, then we step farther into the room, and the scent of whatever’s on the table wraps around me like some decadent cloud of temptation.
My stomach growls. Loudly.
The table itself stretches long and wide, carved from dark wood that looks older than most countries.
And it’s already filled with food. Plates and platters are piled high with things I don’t even recognize, but they smell amazing.
No servants. No awkward hovering.
Just the two of us.
Thank goodness, because I’d already feel weird enough being waited on in this dress.
Yes, this dress.
The silk one Alaric conjured for me.
The one that clings in the right places and glides everywhere else.
I probably shouldn’t love it as much as I do. But I do.
Especially now that I see him.
Because holy hell.
He’s wearing tight black pants and one of those flowy shirts you only see in period dramas or fantasy movies.
Like if a pirate and a fae king had a lovechild and then trained him in seduction.
“How do you always look like you're ready to ruin someone's life at a royal ball?” I mutter, eyes shamelessly sweeping him.
His smirk is slow and devastating.
“Yours, in particular, would be my preference.”
My mouth goes dry.
“Careful, Lord Alaric. You’ll make a girl feel special.”
“Good. Because you are special,Myrrin.”
