22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
I ’m still replaying last night’s events in my mind when I wake.
It’s only when Tiffy and my ladies’ maids arrive to prepare me for the day that I finally empty my mind of what Viridian and I did last night. Though, despite my trying, I can’t fully clear my focus.
After I eat my breakfast, Tiffy sits me down at my vanity table to style my hair. She starts combing my auburn waves and flashes me a knowing grin.
“So,” she gushes, wiggling her brows. “How did it go with His Highness?”
“Wonderful,” I tell her, doing nothing to fight the hint of the smile that pulls at my lips.
“I knew it! You are positively radiant this morning, Miss,” she purrs. “The Crown Prince is quite the lucky male.”
I hold my hands in my lap and look down at them.
Maybe…
I dare to let myself finish the thought.
Maybe there is a future for Viridian and me.
One I hadn’t allowed myself to consider before.
“In fact,” Tiffy continues, her expression animated, “he’s already asked to see you today.”
I perk up. “He has?”
“Yes.” Tiffy nods. “He’s asked you to meet him by the main staircase once you’re dressed.”
That rustles the butterflies in my stomach. I let them spread their wings. “Then I’d better get dressed.”
Tiffy helps me up and into my day gown, fussing over me like a mother hen until she’s sure I look my best. Even though my outfit and hair today are nothing special.
When I leave my bedchamber, I can see that Viridian’s already waiting for me in the open space between the main staircase and the East Tower’s entrance.
“Cryssa,” he breathes. “You’re here.”
“You asked to see me?” I say, looking at him expectantly.
“Yes. Walk with me?” Viridian asks. He’s practically bouncing on his heels, giddy as if he were a child on the eve of the winter solstice. It makes me wonder if he has something planned for us.
So, I nod, falling in step beside him as we continue down the hall past both of our bedchambers.
“Why did you leave last night? After I…” I let my voice trail off.
“Because,” he says, looking at me now, “if I hadn’t, any self-control I had left would have disintegrated.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. Insecurities flood my mind. Have I misread his signals? Does he not want me the way I want him?
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he assures me, voice firm. “But when I have you for the first time, Little Fawn, there’s no going back. I want you to want it, entirely. Because once I get my hands on you, I will see to it that no other man ever touches you again.”
When he has me.
He says that as if he knows it will happen, one day.
“Oh,” I murmur. The insecurities that once clouded my mind float away, replaced by impure fantasies. Of all the ways he will coax bliss from me, all the places on my body he will shower with tenderness and affection.
Not if , but when .
Just thinking about it makes heat spread through my body. If Viridian can barely touch me, the way he does now, and still give me such pleasure, then I can only imagine how amazing it will be when he finally touches me.
I want him to touch me. To mark me as his .
His eyes darken, and I know he must want that, too.
But then he swallows. “Come,” he says, the child-like glee returning to his demeanor. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow. “What is it?”
Viridian smirks, as if he expected me to ask that question. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
The first time someone surprised me, I was twelve. The morning of my birthday, Father told me that he’d planned a surprise for that evening. It ended up being a small get-together that I loved, but I’ll never forget the anticipation. The constant wondering and uncertainty. I like to be prepared, to be ready for everything that comes my way—Father taught me that. For humans, it’s safer that way. But I can’t prepare myself if I don’t know what’s to come.
“Trust me, you’ll like this one,” Viridian says, confidence bolstering his words.
“All right,” I surrender, and a playful undertone seeps through my demeanor.
“Close your eyes.” He grins. I love seeing him smile—the way his face lights up, free from the stony expression I’d come to know when I first arrived.
The cogs in my mind whirl, and I have so many questions waiting on the tip of my tongue. But I don’t give voice to them, and I do as he asks.
He takes my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine .
My heart flutters, light in my chest. As much as I want to open them, I keep my eyes closed.
I follow him some distance, and the cool air that meets my skin tells me we’ve stayed in the castle the entire time.
What could he have to show me in the castle?
We go a bit farther, and then Viridian stops. The sound of wood scraping stone and creaking of hinges tells me that he’s opened a door.
“All right,” he murmurs, without letting go of my hand. “Now you can open your eyes.”
I do, and I raise a hand to my mouth.
In the room before us, there’s a mid-sized table made from richly colored wood. Its legs are ornately carved, with flowing swirls and curves to the wood—not the straight, plain ones I’m used to. There are shelves lining the walls, filled with leather-bound sketchbooks of varying sizes, and pencils, charcoals, and colored wax sticks for drawing. On the far wall, directly in front of us, there are several large, gold-rimmed windows that stretch as high as the ceiling. Sunlight shines through them, leaving the whole room awash with its rays.
“Your studio had to be on this side of the castle.” Viridian says, noticing me looking at the windows. “So that you’ll have all the natural light in here.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, in awe.
“I didn’t know how you preferred to draw,” he starts, gesturing to our surroundings. “I thought an easel might be an awkward angle for drawing, but I still included some anyway, in case you’d like to use one.”
I follow his line of sight and see two easels sitting on the floor in the corner. They’re not as large as a painter’s easel, small enough that I could pick them up and set them on the table.
I’ve never had an easel.
At home, I never let myself dream that I might have one. For fear of living with the disappointment.
I have an easel.
A whole studio for my drawing.
“And the table,” he adds, rushing to it while pulling me along. “The artists I consulted believed it to be a nice height for drawing. The wood is fine mahogany, smoothed so that you’ll have a flat surface to draw on. If you don’t use the easels, that is.”
I approach the table and run my fingers along its surface. Viridian’s put so much thought into every single detail—from the windows, the easels, the height of the table.
It must have taken him some time to organize this. To turn this space into something I’d like.
And to think that he did all of this, just for me.
“Do you like it?” he asks, looking as if he were hanging onto every slight shift in my expression. “We can make any changes you want.”
“Viridian, it’s…” I shake my head a little, unable to contain my emotion. My gratitude. The overwhelming feeling of joy I feel in knowing he did all of this to make me happy. “It’s perfect. I love it.”
He visibly relaxes, mouth parted into a broad smile. “That’s all I ever hoped for.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around him. “This is… More than anyone has ever done for me.”
“Of course.” He tightens his arms around me and presses his mouth to the top of my head. “You deserve all of this, and more, Cryssa. So much more.”
I close my eyes and breathe in his scent for a moment before pulling away. His amber eyes find mine, holding my gaze. Warmth blooms in my chest, making me feel lighter than air.
The gentle knock at the door has both of our heads turning.
“Enter,” Viridian calls, his princely mask slipping into place. It’s strange watching him shift from just Viridian to the Crown Prince.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.
“Your Highness—” the servant pauses, eyes flicking to me.
“What is it?” Viridian asks, leveling his expression.
“The prisoner, he…”
Viridian casts his eyes to the floor. Annoyance bleeds through his tone. “Go on.”
“He’s injured another one of the guards. And he won’t stop fighting until you let him see her,” the servant finishes, looking at me.
“When?” Viridian’s voice is gravelly, as if someone has a knife to his throat. Though, he doesn’t sound surprised.
Has this happened before?
The servant swallows. “Now.”