12. CHAPTER 12 #2
“I’m pleased to meet you,” he said.
My gaze drew back up to his. Once he realized I wasn’t going to say anything further, he stepped back, allowing space for me to step into the hall. He raised an arm, indicating the way down the corridor.
“Would you allow me to escort you to your first assignment?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. He was much more pleasant than I had expected. I was interested in exactly how far I could push him before this humorous facade broke, and he turned into the overbearing, hot-headed royal I had been warned to expect.
I raised a brow at him and grinned, furthering the playful dialogue he had initiated. “And if I'm too tired?”
He laughed, shaking his head. He was terribly beautiful when he laughed. I quickly bit the inside of my cheek again, chasing that thought away.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Unless, of course, you wish to buy out your indenture?”
“No, no,” I responded quickly. “I was only—”
“Joking. I know. After you,” he replied, indicating with his hand that I should start down the corridor and he would follow.
The moment I crossed the threshold out of the tiny room and disappeared out of sight, Quinnick came sprinting after me. He wove between my legs, gazing up at the prince with a question in his eyes.
“And who is this?” the prince asked, eyebrows raised as he gestured to the little white fox at my feet.
I bent down to scratch behind his ear, and he thumped his foot happily in response.
“This is Quinnick. He is used to going where I go. He is also used to having free roam of the ca—” My brain caught up with my mouth just in time to avoid saying castle and exposing myself.
Sorin quirked a brow at me when I didn’t continue. “He can accompany you, then…if you’d like.”
A smile pulled up the corner of my mouth. “I would, thank you.”
I continued down the hallway and stopped when I reached the apex of the curved staircase. I turned to Sorin, awaiting his instructions.
“Where to, Your Highness?”
“Follow me.”
He continued walking until I was practically winded from the distance.
This castle was enormous. We ascended another flight of stairs to the fourth level and down another corridor lined with beautiful, ancient artifacts.
At the end of the hall was a room with obsidian double doors adorned with golden, unlacquered brass handles.
I turned toward him, a question in my gaze. He gestured for me to continue onward. I did, grasping the brass hardware of the door in each of my hands and swinging both doors wide at once.
The rooms beyond were so impressive my mouth fell open of its own volition. The prince approached from behind me, and I quickly gathered myself, running my hands down my skirts.
My eye was immediately drawn to the arched grand windows lining the entirety of the back wall.
They reached from the floor to the ceiling, the very top painted in beautiful stained glass.
The view beyond was dark, but I could just make out the glimmering surface of Blackwater Lake beneath the crescent moon.
Grand double doors led out to a stone veranda, an elegant balcony the color of the darkest night twisting and turning in an elegant design.
A massive four-poster canopy bed dominated the right side of the room, draped in deep crimson velvet that pooled toward the floor like spilled wine.
The carved wooden posts rose into the shadow of the vaulted ceiling above.
Candlelight flickered from every corner.
Tall candelabras and clusters of tapered candles cast a warm glow against the dark stone walls.
To the left, a fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow reflecting off the black, polished marble floors.
Before the fireplace were two chairs embroidered with black velvet.
Beyond the fireplace was a dark oak bookshelf filled to the brim from the floor to the ceiling.
The space was adorned with yet another sitting area—an ebony chaise covered in luxurious silk.
The air smelled of smoke, spice, and something darker.
Each item was meticulously placed as if the room weren’t even lived in. Everything in this room spoke of indulgence and control.
The fireplace mantle was golden, dripping down toward the marble floor as if it were molten fire, stopped in time. A portrait of a beautiful woman with amber hair was resting above the fireplace, the frame dark and ornate.
I wondered who she was, though she bore a striking resemblance to Sorin himself.
Before the bed was a heavy oak door that led to a painfully organized study. From what I could gather from the entryway, the room housed a rich mahogany desk, velvet mulberry wine-colored drapes, and books upon books.
The washroom must be the closed door before the fireplace.
I committed every elaborate detail to memory.
If I were to poison him by infiltrating his quarters, I would need to be intimately familiar with this room and everything in it.
I turned toward him, feigning full attention while my mind still reeled with possibilities as I silently cataloged everything I had seen.
A full decanter of liquid sat on the gilded table next to the two sitting chairs. I could add poison to it—assuming it wasn’t for show, and he partook in the spirits. I would make a note of how often I needed to refill it, thus illuminating how often he indulged.