19. Princess Esemeray #2
“Well, it is just… I wanted to feel normal for once. Like no one owes me anything.” She whispered, “Everyone always acts so strange once they learn my title.”
Riggs stared down at their hands tangled together. “Yeah, I can see that.”
She found herself staring too, watching the way his fingers drifted, the way he swirled his index around her knuckle like he was painting a picture.
“How am I doing?”
“How do you mean?”
They locked eyes.
Riggs inched closer, so close she could feel his breath caressing her lips.
“Am I acting strange?”
She shook her head, inhaling a deep breath. “You were the first person to make me feel normal.” Since Elora…
“So, can I still call you princess?” He cleared his throat, his tone soft, “Because I like the way it sounds.”
She blushed, nodding. “Maybe not in front of people. If I stay…”
“Of course, can’t be too careful.” His hands slowly slipped away from hers, and she could feel her heart sinking. He added, “Only when it’s us.”
Her pulse danced, stomach erupting with butterflies. Us.
Riggs jerked his chin toward his bed. “You can sleep on my bed tonight. I’ll take the floor.”
Esemeray adjusted, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s fine. I’d never ask you to do such a thing.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. The floor can be quite comfortable.”
“I’ll take the floor then.”
“You? On the floor?” Riggs slowly shook his head. “No way.”
Esemeray gulped. “Fine, I can shift into another form so we both fit.”
“Fit?” Riggs winked, and her breath caught. “I’m not worried about fitting…princess.”
“Oh.” Heat blossomed across her face, down her back.
“I wouldn’t ask you to shift, but my father and Killian do like to walk in my bedroom unexpectedly. So maybe it would be for the best.” He cocked a brow. “Just so you know, it’s entirely up to you. I don’t mind either way.”
Shock laced her features. “Your father is home?”
“Oh yeah. He’s around here somewhere. This is his place. Well, as he says, ours.” His voice caught. “He built it for my mother before Killian was born.”
Esemeray placed her hands on her knees and rocked forward. “He built this place? By himself?”
“At least he says so.” The corner of his mouth curved. “But I think he had some help.” He stood, reaching for a journal on his desk. “I’m going to run downstairs to wash up. Would you like something to eat?”
Her belly grumbled, embarrassment snaking down her spine. She hoped Riggs didn’t hear her rumbling stomach. “Sure…I could eat.”
He reached for the doorknob, then halted. “Did I hear you say you don’t eat meat earlier?”
Esemeray’s cheeks stained. “Yes.”
“I may have something for you, but I can’t promise,” he teased. “You know…I may have some kitten chow lying around here somewhere…”
She playfully glared. “Funny.”
He scrunched his nose then walked out the door, closing it behind him.
Esemeray stood, running her fingers along Riggs' tunic and sighed. I cannot believe I’m wearing his clothes.
She stepped toward the window, gazing out toward the thick forest beyond the garden.
Her breathing faltered, noticing Killian kneeled in front of a cross surrounded by lilacs.
His head hung, one hand gripping the wooden structure; the other braced against the ground.
Who did they bury there? Slowly, she backed away, holding her stomach, unable to bear the sight any longer.
By the time Riggs returned with food, her eyelids hung heavy with exhaustion. Esemeray ate his creation of pasta and potatoes.
It was good, bland…but good.
Content with a full belly, her eyes threatened to close once more
Riggs grabbed the empty plate from her, setting it on his desk. His gaze fell to her lips, and her breath hitched. Riggs reached in his pocket, pulling out a silver tin. “Let’s get that lip taken care of.”
Esemeray’s stomach fluttered.
Riggs leaned forward with a smile, dipping his finger in the waxy salve. “This might sting just a little bit.”
“You don’t have to take care of me,” she said, bunching her hands over the comforter, bracing herself for his touch.
“I know,” Riggs said, voice rough.
His finger ran over her lip, and she forgot how to breathe. He was careful. Gentle. Like if he pressed too hard, she’d disappear beneath his touch.
“There. That should speed up the healing process and avoid infection. Apply it three times a day.” He set the tin next to her and leaned back in his chair. “So, what do you want to do?” He reached over on his shelf, grabbing a pencil.
“What is there to do?”
Riggs scooted closer, twirling the pencil between his fingers. “Let’s see. We could watch the stars, read a book, or…you can help me with an art piece I’m working on.”
All his ideas sounded lovely, but she could tell by his inflection what he preferred.
“What are you working on?”
He smirked, the pencil stopping mid-motion. “A portrait.”
She brushed her elbow, rocking slightly. “How can I help?”
Riggs slid the pencil behind his ear. “I need a subject.”
A burst of energy jolted through her, and she was wide awake. “Me?” she asked, eyes gleaming.
“Well, you’re certainly prettier than my brother.” He leaned back, reaching for something on his desk. He slipped on glasses and her chest constricted.
How did he get more attractive?
“Stay right there. I’ll be back,” Riggs said, disappearing behind his closet door.
Esemeray smoothed out her hair, readjusting on the bed, and crossed her legs. Every second of the faint shuffling had her heart palpating.
“Ah, here it is.” Riggs walked out, holding a leather-bound journal. “My sketchbook.”
She blinked, rubbing her sweaty palms across her knees. “What do I do?”
Riggs tucked his book under his arm, and brushed his hand along her chin. “Look toward the window.” His voice was gentle.
She swallowed hard.
His fingers skimmed through her hair and pulled a few strands out, draping them over her shirt. She could feel her power hum along her skin as if it was also enjoying the feel of his hands.
“There.” Riggs stepped back, studying her. “Just like that.”
“Just like this?” Esemeray asked quietly, careful not to move out of the position he had placed her in.
She was certain she was no longer breathing with the twinkle dancing in his eyes, or that infectious smile he had plastered on his face.
He reached for his pencil. “Just like that.”
Esemeray sat still, unmoving as Riggs drew her on his sketch pad.
Once he was done, he slammed his leather-bound book shut with a grin. Esemeray sighed with relief. She’d ask to see the drawing later. For now, she needed to move her body, to regain feeling back into her legs. She didn’t let on as she asked, “What now?”
“Now we go to bed.” Riggs rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, yawning. “We both need to rest.”
She couldn’t agree more.
Esemeray extended her legs, scrunching her toes, hoping it would alleviate the tingles. In the corner of her eye, she watched Riggs remove his glasses, then his shirt and her entire body flushed.
Holy gods.
“Should I—” She lost her train of thought at the sight of Riggs' sculpted body standing before her, and the trail of hair leading down toward his?—
Esemeray’s human form vanished within seconds.
Riggs chuckled, his heart-warming laugh sobering. He playfully shook his head. “I’ll never get used to that.” He scooped up Esemeray, laying her on top of him as he found his way into the sheets. “Goodnight, kitten,” he murmured.
She curled against him, purring as he rubbed his hand down her spine. She closed her eyes and drifted asleep.