Chapter 11
Derian
Dinner is served below deck.
The women chatter amongst themselves while they eat, tossing flirtatious glances my way. The bolder ones lean in closer, their voices honeyed, their smiles practiced. Like I said, every girl wants to marry a prince.
I simply ignore them.
In truth, I want a wife less now than I did before this damned contest began. No amount of fluttering eyelashes or feigned shyness is going to change my mind.
I eat in silence, half-listening to Roland prattle on about my brother’s plans to explore the Wastelands. The conversation should interest me, and yet it doesn’t. At first I'm not even sure why I'm so uneasy and struggling to pay attention to him. Then it hits me.
I can't seem to relax because she’s not here.
Lady Lachlan.
I scan the room again, slower this time.
But there’s no dark curls, no sharp blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.
I’ve been busy since we started the voyage, discussing the Conclave with Roland and meeting with the ship's captain to get updates on when we should arrive.
The other ladies seemed to always be nearby, watching me from a distance, but she went straight to her cabin and stayed there.
It didn’t bother me at first, primarily because I figured she would eventually emerge and join the other women at some point. She has to eat, after all. Doesn’t she?
I’m on my feet in an instant.
“Excuse me,” I say abruptly, grabbing a plate of untouched food and climbing the steps to the top deck.
Power rushes through me when I finally spot her, and wind blows suddenly, brushing back the hair from her face and rippling the soft fabric of her blouse. It’s an odd choice of wardrobe for a noblewoman.
The black leather of her pants catches the faint glow of the setting sun, the snug fit a stark contrast to the flowing skirts of the other noblewomen, and Gods, does she fill them out.
I’d had to physically stop myself from staring at the curve of her ass when she’d climbed aboard the ship.
She’s seated on the deck, leaning back against the rail, as she stares up at the starry sky. When the wood creaks under my feet, though, she jumps to alertness.
“You expecting trouble?” I tease as I lower myself next to her, setting the plate between us.
“Trouble seems to have a way of finding me.” She eyes the food suspiciously. “I find it best to remain prepared.”
“And what kind of trouble are you expecting, exactly?”
She finally glances at me, holding my stare. Those sharp blue eyes flick over my face, then down to where my arm rests on my knee, assessing and shrewd.
She’s always watching. Always thinking.
I wonder if that mind is ever at ease.
“There’s plenty of dangers on this boat,” she murmurs.
I smirk. “The Conclave won’t officially begin until we’re in the Fae kingdom. I think you’re safe enough for now.”
Lady Lachlan rolls her eyes, and I suspect she wants to refute my claim, but she holds her tongue as I nudge the plate toward her. She glances towards it but remains still, not taking it.
“So.” I stretch out my legs, crossing them at the ankles, making myself comfortable despite the way she glares at me. “Are you really so desperate to avoid your competition that you’re willing to miss meals?”
She exhales slowly, the wind lifting the edges of her hair. Her scent curls through the night air, winding around me, settling low in my stomach. Dark, floral, and faintly sweet.
The woman doesn’t have to do anything but sit here, and I want her.
As subtly as possible, I trace over her figure with my eyes, memorizing the line of her breasts and curve of her hips.
That dress at the ball had managed to hide a delectable body, but now, even while sitting, it's impossible to deny the perfect proportions of her.
And Gods, that mouth. Full lips, tinted nearly red despite the fact that her face is free of cosmetics.
I barely know the woman, but I can just imagine the things she knows to do with that mouth.
Fraternization with the contestants of the Conclave is encouraged. It’s expected that I would want to bond with whomever my future wife will be. Intimate relationships, however, are forbidden.
Again, though, she might be worth breaking the rules for.
“Who says it’s the women whose company I want to avoid?”
I bark a laugh. “No need to lie.”
Those blue eyes narrow at me slightly before she turns away, all too effectively dismissing me as if I’m not a damn prince, a powerful Fae prince at that. She returns her gaze to the sky, content to sit in silence and wait for me to leave.
“I didn’t peg you to be so boring.”
She bristles, twisting towards me with a look of frustration. “That’s a bit rude.”
“And staring at an empty sky for hours is a bit uninspiring.”
Her mouth twitches. Those full lips pucker ever so slightly while her jaw works, and I’m practically holding my breath waiting for her retort.
But then she turns away again.
Magic rises in me, bringing another sharp breeze that rustles back her hair.
She’s a stubborn little creature. Self-assured, seemingly unafraid, entirely unlike the dim-witted girls below the deck.
Entirely unlike most people I interact with actually.
There aren't many souls in this realm that would risk annoying me.
My eyes trail over her. I’m lost in her presence, filled with equal parts of lust and interest. It’s an intoxicating mixture, and so help me, she doesn’t seem to be feeling anything close to what I am.
“I’m weighing my odds,” she finally says, snapping me from my thoughts just as I was about to give up on trying to draw her into a conversation.
“And?”
She looks at me, the silvered moonlight catching her hair, turning it nearly purple.
“Better than most.” She shrugs, the left half of her lips quirking up slightly.
I chuckle, staring at her as she turns back to the sky and leans her head against the wood of the railing. “Confidence looks good on you.”
She rolls her eyes again, an action that sends a bolt of need through me, and the wind catches her hair again, blowing it back over her collarbone to expose some more of that perfectly tanned skin to me.
Lady Lachlan looks to me from the corner of her eyes. “You should save your flirting for someone who’s impressed by it.”
“You liked my flirting at the ball.”
“I did not,” she scoffs, her brow pinching in irritation.
“It’s okay if you aren’t willing to admit that you think I’m cute.”
“I think you’re arrogant.”
“Two things can be true.”
She shakes her head before turning to me with a wicked grin. “You know, if your idea of flirting is not admitting who you are, and telling women that you find yourself cute, you might need to practice a bit more.”
“Oh I’ve had plenty of practice flirting with women. Among other things,” I purr, enjoying the way her eyes darken ever so slightly as I lean towards her. “Want me to prove it?”
“I want you to go away.”
“And I want you to eat something.”
She glances towards the plate quickly before watching me with such intense scrutiny, it's as if she’s the royal and I’m the one vying for her affection. I’ve never seen anything quite like her eyes, neither in their color nor their thoughtfulness.
Finally, with a frustrated huff, she reaches forward and grabs a cube of cheese from the plate and pops it into her mouth. A small, unexpected satisfaction blooms in my chest.
“Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Great, then you can leave.”
Not yet. I’m having far too much fun to leave. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, we’re in a silent standoff.
“What did your advisor mean earlier?” she asks suddenly. “When he said they won’t like it?”
I lean back on my palms, watching her carefully before I look pointedly at the plate again. “Try the sugared pecans.”
It takes a moment, but eventually she gathers that I’m not going to tell her anything unless she continues eating, and she scoops a handful into her palm with an irritated growl. I huff a quiet laugh. “So not just a loner, but an eavesdropper too?”
“I have excellent hearing.”
“You’re nosy,” I counter.
She doesn’t even pretend to be apologetic as she gives me an exaggerated shrug. “I prefer observant.”
That's one word for it.
I consider before answering. “Let’s just say the Conclave hasn’t always been open to Mortals. Some of my people won’t like it.”
She doesn’t react right away, but eventually I see it—the faint tightening of her jaw, the flicker of awareness in her eyes, the way her fingers tighten into a fist around the nuts before releasing softly. She understands exactly what that means.
Good.
She’ll stay on guard.
I don’t know why I felt the need to warn her, to prepare her for the harshness of the fortress I’m bringing them to, but something uneasy in me settles as she nods softly.
“Well, I guess they’ll just have to get used to us Mortals walking around.”
“How’s your head?” I ask suddenly, smirking when she frowns in confusion. I lift a hand, tapping my temple. “You get headaches.”
She blinks, as if only just remembering. “Oh. I’ve had an awful one all day, but it’s finally getting better.”
I nod. “That’s good. If you get one when we dock, you can send for pain tonics.”
She doesn’t answer, just stares at me with that same expression of suspicion and thought, as if she’s searching for hidden meanings in my words.
I push off the railing and stand, stretching, before glancing back down at her. “You should get some rest, Lady Lachlan.”
She scowls, her jaw tightening and her fingers twitching slightly. “Huntyr.”
I pause.
“My name is Huntyr,” she corrects again, her voice sharp.
The spark in her voice strikes odd feelings within me. Confusion, of course, but curiosity too. It’s not that she wants an air of familiarity between us. No, she’s drawing a line between her and her title. It’s a feeling I’m familiar with, but have rarely seen in others.
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Very well,” I say. “Finish your food and get some sleep, Huntyr.”