Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMYR
I’m usually annoyed when my reading is interrupted, but when it’s Ophelia… well, annoyance is not the word I would use.
Amused. I suppose I’m amused.
I knew I would see her again eventually. She’s working in my home, and while our employees don’t usually capture my attention this way, she does. She has since we met.
It was safer to be infatuated with her back then, but that is no longer the case, and perhaps it never was. She’s a halfling, after all, and I shouldn’t let her get too close. It’s a wonder my parents allow her to remain, though there is always the chance they don’t know of her origins.
Just as it did the first day I met her, my curiosity piques. It’s hard to say whether my interest in her is genuine or an act of self-sabotage—specifically, a desire to sabotage my impending wedding.
Mirth dances in my eyes as I look her up and down, trailing over her soft, purple wings. “Well, well, little halfling… what shall we do now that we are alone?”
She spins on her heel and, at once, any professionalism she held dissolves. She’s at my bedside, her hand slipping over my mouth as it did in the tavern.
It was attractive then, and it still is.
“Hush!” she hisses. “I should have known better than to think you would keep my secret.”
As I expected. She’s keeping secrets from my parents—something that would surely get her into trouble, though I have no intention of using it against her.
Spark lifts his head and watches Ophelia, not with judgment, but curiosity. His eyes squint as if he’s sleepy.
Her attention shifts to the large animal, and she stumbles back, removing her hand from my mouth. “Is that—”
“That is Spark,” I drawl. “My good friend. He doesn’t take commands from me, so I hope you don’t expect that I’ll tell him to sit.”
Especially because he’s already lying down.
Her eyes are as wide as a full moon. “That doesn’t answer my question, Your Highness!”
“And I don’t care.” I grin. Spark seems comfortable in her presence. She truly is harmless, isn’t she? I run my hand along Spark’s back, and he yawns, lowering his head. “What makes you think I’ll keep your secret?”
“What would you gain from telling them? You know I’m not here to hurt you. We have been alone in a room several times, Your Highness.”
“Mhm. Without a chaperone. Very naughty.”
“Must I continue reminding you that I am not a lady?” She lifts her chin higher.
“Besides, this time it is an innocent accident. My friend’s accident, really—though I hope you won’t get her into trouble.
” She exhales, blowing flyaway hairs out of her face.
“What I mean to say is… I will take my leave shortly. Apologies. Your Highness.”
Heavens. She’s cute when she rambles.
“Shame.” I rake my eyes up and down her body once more, stopping at the generous curve of her hips before rising to meet her flustered gaze. “I hoped you would slide that pretty hand over my mouth again.”
I shouldn’t say such things, but the reddening of her cheeks is worth potentially ruining my arranged marriage. I am self-sabotaging, aren’t I?
“You’re in quite an odd mood today.” She crosses her arms and walks through the room, leaving her back to me once more. “I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen you when you weren’t in a mood, actually.”
“Possibly at the tavern.”
“Possibly.” She clears her throat. “Am I to believe you have cold feet?”
“Nothing of the sort.” I set my book aside. “I’m only teasing. That’s what I do with my friends.”
“Is that what I am to you? A friend?”
Ophelia is curious about me, too—she must be. I can hear in the slight lilt of her tone that the answer to her seemingly casual question means something to her.
“I would consider us friends. Quite close, in fact.”
She turns around in time for me to notice how her eyes roll. “This is only our third meeting, Your Highness. I’m pickier with my friends.”
It’s clear she doesn’t possess the mirthful nature many fae do—then again, there are some who are entirely fae and wouldn’t know whimsy if it hit them over the head. My father comes to mind.
I find her grumpy nature entertaining, nevertheless.
“That’s all right,” I say. “You’ll find that, among my other tremendous talents, I’m quite patient.”
“Are you?”
I lift a brow slowly. “Why do you doubt me?”
“It is not that I doubt you, Your Highness, but rather your upbringing. I find it difficult to believe that a man as spoiled as you is patient.”
“Spoiled?” I laugh. “Is that what you think I am?”
“You have yet to give me a reason to think otherwise.”
Perhaps I haven’t. It’s not as if it’s appropriate for her to get to know me now that I am betrothed, and now that my parents employ her.
I squint. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing, if you think you know so much about me?”
“You’re attempting to distract me, but you still haven’t told me what you’re doing in my bedchamber. Don’t misunderstand me, for I’m not complaining—”
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of scarlet, one I’m growing quite fond of. “Helena told me there was a mouse for me to get rid of.”
I shudder. “Gods. I should hope not.”
“A mistake was made, but I am not the one to blame.” She gestures wildly to the door. “Nor is Helena. She must have sent me to the wrong room… and the lock. The lock on your door is broken. You should see to that. Or rather, have someone see to that.”
“Perhaps I should.” I finally rise from the bed, letting my covers drop away.
Her eyes trail lower, widening, when I remember—ah, yes. I haven’t had time to get dressed today, have I? A glance in the looking glass tells me I lack a shirt entirely. With how she watches me, it’s almost as if she’s never seen a shirtless man.
I pay her no mind as I strut to my closet. “I do hope Helena can free us soon. I have places to be today.”
“Do you? You could have fooled me.” She clears her throat. “You seem quite… leisurely.”
I smother my smile and the butterflies in my stomach. “That’s your assumption. I have people who are expecting me.”
“Who’s expecting you, then?”
Ophelia is so bold. It’s precisely what intrigued me in the tavern, but then, she was blunt because she did not know my title. Now she knows who I am, and she still treats me as if I am ordinary. That makes her extraordinary in my eyes.
“My father.” I glower as I pick the outfit—one that’s already been approved by my parents. In the safety of the closet, I let my white short drawers drop and step into the fresh pair of trousers.
“I suppose a meeting with the king is important.”
A scoff slips past my lips as I pull on my white shirt. I step back into my bedchamber with a waistcoat draped over my arm.
Ophelia is looking anywhere but at me. Well, sort of—she appears to be fixated on a portrait of me, one where I’m dressed in red and riding a white stallion.
“I’m decent now,” I say.
“You? Decent?” she quips. “I’m sure that has never been the case.”
Conversing with her is too easy, which may be why I have more fun with her than anyone else. Namely, I have more fun with her than I do with Princess Minetta.
The thought causes my stomach to sour.
“You would be right.” I laugh and shake my head. “Now that you’ve seen so much of me, surely you can tell me something about yourself.”
“There is nothing to tell. You're already in possession of my greatest secret.” She gestures to the painting. “Don’t you think having a portrait of yourself in here is vain?”
As quickly as I ask about her, she continues shifting the topic back to me. It’s a game I recognize. In this case, she asks about a portrait I’ve had hanging for decades. I’m so used to it that I almost forget it’s there.
A smirk creeps onto my lips. “Why would it be vain? It’s not as if I painted it myself. I’m admiring a talented artist.”
“Ah…” Her brows furrow. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”
I shrug. “And perhaps I am a bit vain. Who among us is not?”
“I’m not.”
“Saying that makes you the vainest of all.” I step closer as I shrug on my waistcoat, my fingers working on the buttons.
“There is vanity in thinking one is humble. Either way, you believe you are better than the rest. I know I’m more beautiful than some, and you think you’re more morally upstanding. We’re both vain.”
Her lips part, surely with a retort, but there’s a knock at the door before she can answer.
“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!” A flustered voice comes from outside. “I don’t know how this happened, but it’ll never happen again, I assure you.”
“It is quite all right. My son likely has something to do with it.”
I groan and amble toward the door. “Speaking of my father…”
“That’s him?” Ophelia speaks in a shrill voice.
“Afraid so.” I glance at her over my shoulder. “We must continue this conversation later—and trust me. I want to continue this.”
Our eyes lock. There’s something more to be said, but the moment is over too soon.
My father storms into the room with a red face. “You—”
I slip into my overcoat. “What took you so long?”
He deflates. “At least you’re ready on time, for once.”
“I am.” I flash a brilliant smile. “Are you proud of me, Father?”
His flat expression does not shift. “As proud as I’ve ever been.”
The tension in the air is thick, but it’s not from my father and me. I never expected him to be proud of me, and I certainly don’t for something so small. It’s the maids who appear unsure what to make of our bantering, exchanging confused looks with one another.
“Shall we go?” I ask.
My father’s scrutinizing gaze lands on Ophelia, who appears frozen. I should have considered the trouble I could get her into—if not as a halfling, as an employee of the castle. My father is her employer.
“Who are you?” Father asks.
Ophelia drops into a low curtsy. “I am Ophelia Fellowes—a maid. I was only here t-to clean the prince’s bedchamber, Your Majesty.”
No one is allowed to clean my bedchamber; I work best when it’s in disarray.
My father scrutinizes her for a moment. “It is about time. We will leave you to your work. Come along, Emyr.”