Page 62 of Prince of Flowers
“Hmm, yes. A battle well-fought. But a stone corrupted, and a stone cleansed? And the Wispwell, too. Fascinating. Thank you for your findings, little dove. Sapling, starling, little darling.”
Tiny Aphrodite vanished in a dramatic puff of smoke, not unlike one of the service imps. Just in time, too. The door from the bathroom clicked open.
Sylvain strutted out with his towel. With it, mind, not wrapped in it, just holding it against his butt, giving me a full view of everything in front. He spread the towel out with both hands, grinding his hips from one side to the other, like a porn star, a go-go boy. Oh, yeah. Sylvain definitely knew way more about Earth than he’d ever let on.
“Put that thing away,” I said, my voice faltering, a little unconvincing. “Maybe a little later. I swear, Sylvain, you’re going to wear me out.”
He grinned as he pulled on the stone-gray sweatpants one of the laundry imps had found for us. He let the waistband hang low on his hips, and just under the two little cords on the front — yes. There it was. Success. Bulge accomplished. Gods, how could he look even sexier than when he was fully naked just seconds before?
“Wear you out? Doubtful. You’re much stronger than you let on, little human.” He blinked, paused. “Sorry. Does that offend you? It’s meant to be a pet name, not a pejorative.”
“I don’t think I mind much. I’m only a couple inches shorter than you, but it works for me. It’s cute.”
“You’re cute,” he growled, pulling close, guiding me up from my bed by the hips.
I chuckled, tickled by the touch of his strong fingers digging into my waist, entranced by the clean smell of him, the droplets of water still dripping from the ends of his hair and onto his collarbone.
“Enough,” I said, pushing him away, wishing my hand hadn’t landed on his abs, as if I needed to be reminded of how hot he was. “Let’s just hang out for now. I’m just — yes. I think I’m just happy that you’re here.”
As if Sylvain could grin any wider, this beautiful man and his radiant smile.
“Told you I’d come back, and you wouldn’t believe me. Then when would I ever get to show you my special secret?”
“Is it a second penis? Gods, Sylvain, I can only handle so much.”
He giggled — actually giggled, my personal trickster — and gently placed the index finger of one hand against my lips. He twirled his other index finger in a lazy circle, like he was swinging around an imaginary set of keys, or a little hoop. And then it materialized, spinning around his finger. A golden circle, like an ornate halo, big enough to fit on a man’s head.
“Your crown,” I breathed.
“Well, my circlet.” He twirled one last revolution with his wrist before laying his hand flat, the circlet making a perfect landing on his palm. “I’m a prince, right? Too young and sexy and supple to be a king, so I have this for now.”
“For now?” I smirked. “Do you mean you have aspirations? Do you want to be king, Sylvain?”
His lip turned up, his unconscious, automatic response to the slightest of slights. Adorable. I wanted to kiss the sulk right off his face.
“Don’t mock me. I could be king. I could most certainly become king. I think.”
“Then my eidolon would be the King of the Autumn Court.”
“Now, hang on a minute. It’s much more complicated than that.” He held up his hand, glancing left, then right. “And keep it down. Someone could be listening.”
I clamped my lips shut, because he was right. I narrowed my eyes at the potted plant, daring Tiny Aphrodite to make another appearance. I scanned the walls and the ceiling, checking for ghostly blue butterflies. Evander Skink would do it, too, that pervert.
“But never mind all that right now,” Sylvain said. “Watch this.”
He played with his circlet again, spinning it around his finger. I blinked, then looked again. Was it wider? Oh. Oh gods. It was stretching. I backed away. The thing had grown as big as a hula hoop.
“This is a little odd, Sylvain.”
He grinned at me out of the corner of his mouth. With a flick of his hand the hoop slid off and fell onto the floor. The floorboards gleamed where the unusually large circlet touched the wood. Sylvain placed one arm behind his back, made a flourish with the other, and bowed.
“Be my guest.”
“Oh,” I said, the syllable stretched out, understanding. “It’s a portal. What in the — wait. This isn’t going to the Verdance, is it? I mean, I’d love to see it some day, but I don’t think I’m ready just yet.”
Sylvain quirked his mouth in thought. “Well, it’s a part of the Verdance, I suppose, but it’s very private. Exceptionally private. So private that only I know about it.”
I held my hands up. “If this is your personal masturbation room, count me out.” My gaze fell on his pelvis, the V-line that pointed straight toward the treasure under his sweatpants. “You know what? On second thought, outta my way.”
