5. Princess Davina
Chapter 5
Princess Davina
“The man who wants you to trust him
is the one you must fear the most.”
— Brandon Sanderson
T his is my personal hell.
I curse under my breath as I struggle to reach a glass in the cupboard, its height making it nearly impossible. Just as I’m about to give up, I feel his presence behind me.
He doesn’t bother to lift a finger to help me. “I thought I told you to get some rest.”
Suppressing a groan, I shoot back, “Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you actually going to help me?”
“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” The corner of his mouth twitches in what might seem like amusement, but he quickly smothers it. “Next time, you might want to use the word please .”
I roll my eyes, ignoring him as I tiptoe and try to stretch just a bit further.
“Rolling your pretty eyes won’t help. You could try asking nicely, though. It might work wonders.”
“Give me one good reason why I should ask you nicely.”
He arches an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my frustration. “One good reason? Because if you don’t, I might just stand here and watch you struggle a bit longer. Or worse, I might start taking bets on how long it’ll take for you to give in.”
I shoot him a withering look. “You’re unbelievable.”
He chuckles softly, the sound mocking. “You’re too proud to ask for help, but not too proud to let me watch you suffer. It’s quite entertaining.”
“I’d say you’re enjoying this way too much,” I mutter.
He spreads his hands to the side in a gesture that practically says, I’m right here, waiting for you to say please.
He really wants to make my life a living hell.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, I give in. “Please.”
“Surely you can do better than that. You’re a princess.” He draws out the last word deliberately. “Didn’t they teach you manners? The Royal Etiquette?”
“Are you always this annoying? Or do you save it just for me?”
“I save it just for you, Princess, and I’m still waiting for you to ask nicely.”
I grit my teeth and force a polite tone. “I would be very grateful if you could hand me a glass, please .”
“There, was that so hard?” He retrieves a glass and fills it with water. “Haven’t you had anything to drink yet?”
“No.”
I was busy questioning my life.
“Then drink your water. There’s food in the fridge as well. Feel free to help yourself, and then you should head back to your room. It’s getting late.”
He hands me the glass, his fingers brushing against mine for just a second. His gaze lingers on me, as if he’s trying to ensure I’ll obey, and it takes all my willpower not to glare back in defiance.
As he walks away, I’m left alone with my thoughts, the silence wrapping around me like a heavy blanket.
“Wait,” I call after him. “Do you have any alcohol?”
He pauses, looking back at me with a raised brow. “Alcohol?”
I nod.
He snorts, the sound almost dismissive. “What?”
“Alcohol,” I say again. “I want a drink. Is that so hard to believe?”
His laughter catches me off guard, revealing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. It’s almost disarming, but I quickly remind myself why I asked in the first place.
“Forget I said anything,” I mutter and turn to leave, but rough fingers wrap around my wrist, spinning me around to face him.
“Why do you need alcohol?” he asks. “Am I so unbearable that you need a drink to deal with me?”
His sarcasm only fuels my anger. “It’s not all about you,” I snap. “I just want a drink.”
He tightens his grip, his gaze unyielding. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me why you need that drink.”
I glare at him, my irritation boiling over. “What, are you suddenly concerned about me?” I half laugh, half scoff. “Let me go.”
“Not until I get an answer.”
I explode, my voice rising with frustration. “Maybe it’s because it’s my twenty-first birthday and I’ve never had a drink before. Or maybe it’s because I should have died today, but now I’m stuck living with you.”
He looks stunned, his grip on my wrist loosening as I pull away and head toward the staircase, feeling sick.
“Come back.” His tone is demanding, yet compassionate. “Come here.”
I shake my head, silently refusing. I want to run upstairs and slam the door shut behind me, to put as much distance between us as possible. So that’s what I do.
Once I’m in my room, I slam the door, only to realize I can’t lock it. “Great,” I mutter under my breath.
Of course I can’t lock him out—why would anything go the way I need it to?
Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave.
I press my forehead against the door, a bitter laugh escaping me as I realize that all my belongings are still at Father’s castle, so I don’t even have fresh clothes to sleep in.
With a sigh, I let my gaze fall to the cold marble floor beneath my bare feet. Turning, I take a hesitant step forward, my foot sinking into the plush, cream-colored carpet by the bed.
Tired, hungry, and dressed in my finery, I collapse face-down onto the bed, my limbs dangling off the sides of my body. A fleeting thought of jumping out of the window crosses my mind.
The door swings open, and a gust of air brushes against my thighs.
“Davina, I—oh.”
“Just ignore me,” I mumble into the white duvet. “I’m just being dramatic.”
I feel his eyes on me, the weight of his presence filling the room, but I can’t bring myself to move. I’m too exhausted to argue any further. The fight has drained out of me, leaving only the raw emotions I’ve been trying to suppress all day.
He clears his throat loudly, prompting an annoyed groan from me.
“What?” I ask. “Am I not allowed to be a brat in peace? In my own room?”
The silence that follows feels suffocating. I open my mouth to say something else, but then I feel it—the growing chill at the back of my thighs.
No. My dress has ridden up. Can he see my ass?
I make a strangled noise. “Please, just close the door. We can pretend this never happened. I’ve had enough humiliation for today.”
The door slams shut.
I close my eyes, my mind spiraling. What am I doing here? What did my father promise him in return? How is it possible that the curse won’t affect me here? My head is starting to throb, and the dull ache is turning into a full-blown headache.
And then the door opens again.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Why won’t he just leave me alone?
“Take off that dress.”
I jump off the bed, every nerve in my body ignited with fury. “How dare?—”
He holds up a black shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs. “I suppose you’d prefer to sleep in something else.”
I blink, taken aback for a moment.
Feeling stubborn, I snatch the shirt and boxers from his hands, and with a huff, I head toward the bathroom. “Well, thanks, I suppose.”
He already thinks I’m a brat, so I might as well act like one.
“I’ll wait outside.”
I frown. “Waiting for what, exactly?”
“For you to finish changing clothes.”
I exhale slowly, trying to stay calm. “I’m asking you why you’re going to wait.”
“Who am I to refuse a princess her wish to enjoy a good whiskey on her birthday?”
Huh?
“Come on,” he sighs. “Let’s get that drink.”