Page 26 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
He holds his hands up in surrender and backtracks, shifting slightly to encroach on the narrow path between the bed and the wall. The cramped space prevents me from walking past him and returning to a more neutral spot. A soft, enticing heat rolls off his body, luring me in.
I didn’t want him to read any of my lyrics, but this is worse. The only escape is to climb onto the bed, which wouldn’t be very subtle.
A smile ghosts over his lips, removing any doubt I had about his awareness of what he just did, cornering me like this. “The Crow knows something is amiss.”
The phrase takes me back to reality, and my eyes narrow. “How could he know?”
“You crossed the marshes quicker than Willow. It’s suspicious.”
I turn my back to him and rummage through my notebooks, picking two at random to cram into the drawer. “Didn’t it help him, though? If we hadn’t cheated, he would have lost the contest, right?”
“Yes, but he’s a real stickler for the rules.”
I bite my bottom lip. I’m new here. As much as it pains me to rely on Aidan for anything, I don’t have a choice, so I stow my misplaced lust and budding anger away. “Alright. You know the ins and outs of this place. What should we do?”
“Just don’t say anything about it. To anyone. And if Damian asks, don’t give him a straight answer. Try to answer all questions with questions. He hates that. I’ll take care of the rest.”
It’s a reasonable request, and I nod. “Alright.”
We both have too much to lose to leave it to chance. Even though we’ve reached a quick agreement, Aidan is in no hurry to leave. The bright light behind him forms a halo around his body, blurring into the glow of the flames creeping just beneath his skin.
“You should go now. And in the future, we probably shouldn’t be seen together?—”
He slides forward, and I flatten my back to the wall, hands held behind me as an ice dagger slowly frosts in my grip.
“Do you love him? Your fiancé,” he asks, inches from my face.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Seems relevant enough. Most royal marriages aren’t based on love, but you’re a moth, so it’s not political either.”
Coming from him, the word physically hurts, and my abs clench. “I agreed to marry him. What do you think?” I try to infer a yes, but Aidan doesn’t look convinced.
“I barely know you.”
“Yet you ask very blunt and personal questions.”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “Which you haven’t answered yet.”
“You just advised me never to give a straight answer.”
He leans closer, shifting his weight to his right foot, and my pulse swirls. “You fascinate me, Songbird.”
My escape path is wide open now, giving me ample opportunity to walk away, but I can’t move. I finally understand what the phrase "a moth to a flame" truly means. The gentle light of Aidan’s fire feels like a hand peeling away my doubts, my clothes, my sanity.It’s lust. Lust that will get you expelled—or even arrested.
“Why did you help me? What do you want?” I croak.
“I want to kiss you again.”
“But you shouldn’t.” I grip the hilt of my dagger, but it melts away and drips on my heels, useless.
His eyes soften. “Do you want me to, yes or no?”
“I never thought this would happen?—”
“This is not a no.”
A nervous hiccup rakes my throat. “You’re an insufferable prick.”
