Page 48 of Of Song and Scepter
“And the ale? You don’t seem to be affected much.”
“It’s fine. Oddly chuggable,” she says, tapping the side of her mug. “I’ve never drunk it without a straw before.”
I choke on my drink, caught off guard. “A straw?”
She rolls her eyes. “That was explosive,” she says, swiping her hand across her cheek.
“Ah. I got you, didn’t I?”
“Seems you might benefit from a straw, Your Highness.”
I fold my arms and lean onto the table. “How does that work?”
“The straw? You put your mouth on it and suck.”
My face warms, and I’m suddenly aware of the curve of her mouth, the way she pauses with her lips in the shape of anO, demonstrating the action on dry air.
“I’m not in need of a lesson,” I say, my voice coming out akin to a growl.
“Aren’t you, though?”
My cock shifts, awakened by the thoughts of that mouth sucking on a straw. “No.” I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to adjust myself. How did we get here? I wrack my brain for an alternative conversation—anything but this one—even as I lean onto the table, arms crossed, dipping my head to get a better look.
“Tell me, pretty prince. Why the sudden outing? After two weeks of silence, you show up, ready to woo my princess.”
Gods above.Any conversation but that. I buy time for my response, taking a long pull of my ale before answering. “I’ve been busy preparing for the wedding.”
Her eyebrow arches, unconvinced. “By taking dinner in your room?”
“I’m poring over ledgers, sniffing an inordinate number of flowers, keeping my council in line…” Is that the end of my list already?
“Yet you have time to visit the kitchen after hours and time for long steam baths, but you don’t have time for Aris. If my princess has done something to offend you, I’d have you tell me.”
Her eyebrow stays raised, mocking me with its perfect, dark arch. At the base of her eyebrow, just at the corner of her eye, there’s a jagged scar. When had a knife been that close to her eye? And why had the Abyssal royal healer not attended to her better?
I push my questions aside, focusing on a more pressing matter: “How do you know about my baths?”
Enna leans closer. “Has she offended you?”
“No.”
“Then, would you please spend more time with her? She’s peeling my scales.”
There’s that humor I met on the beach, that sparkle of mischief in her eyes. I can’t help the smile on my lips. “No.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts. She shoots me a puzzled look.
“I don’t much like her,” I admit.
She takes this in slowly. Her gaze shifts from mischief to a deep, unfathomable sadness. “Then send us away,” she says.
“I can’t do that.”
She blinks slowly, her dark lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. When she looks up, I catch a flash of fear. I don’t like it, not in her, not in the eyes of this female—this fearless, brave, mystery of mine.
“Iwon’tdo that. You have a place here.” My voice rumbles low in my chest and my stomach squeezes into a tight knot.
She shrugs. “Until I don’t.”
