Chapter 28
Divine Immaru, I didn’t have enough time to pray for the heaps of patience I needed to deal with that male.
After Dion had ended our discussion in one of his usual oh-so-charming ways, I dwelled on the spot where I’d come to rest after my not-so-elegant stumble through the carved door the prince had shut in my face.
Staring at the polished wood, all I wanted was to yell at him.
This overbearing, insufferable bastard. He could go drown in a puddle for all I cared.
Sure, my anger might have been exaggerated. Yet I clung to the annoyance like to a lifeline because raging was a million times better than paralyzing every time I thought of eventually meeting the High King.
The brief summary of the assassination of Dion’s mother and the execution of his father—both orchestrated by Galrach—had done nothing to lessen the dread.
Instead, a sharp knife stabbed my heart with each beat.
I hurt for the prince who’d endured so much at such a young age.
And I was sure this was just the tip of the highest Hungry Giant.
After all I’d gathered, Galrach was the real monster and the one to fear the most.
Honestly, I wasn’t as mad as I’d pretended to be about not getting a room on my own, more that he had dismissed my desires outright—if he’d acknowledged their existence at all.
When would Dion understand that he’d have such an easier time convincing me of his plans if he took my opinions into consideration and discussed them with me like the adults we were?
If he didn’t learn this and fast, we would indeed be miserable for as long as I lived, just as he’d stated in Amalach as something he wanted to avoid.
Yet being angry with Dion all the time was so godsdamned tiring, and if having the same argument on repeat wouldn’t also be tedious, my exasperation might not have dimmed forever ago.
That my anger hadn’t switched into resentment or pushed me into outright rebellion was something close to a miracle. One I credited to how this male had wormed his way into my heart and how special our friendship was to me.
Yes, exactly—friendship. Even though the memory of him washing me, caressing me—tasting me—was still lingering on the forefront of my mind. But by the gods, why had pondering about Dion’s controlling demeanor morphed into indecent daydreams again?
Damn.
If I didn’t cool down and distract myself, his stupid, ultra-sensitive fae senses would alert him to my filthy musings.
I couldn’t even decide who was worse off. He, who was forced to smell everybody’s desire all the time—on top of all the other, often unpleasant odors—or everyone else who couldn’t indulge in raunchy private fantasies when he was in the vicinity.
Ugh.
With a sigh, I shut out all immoral thoughts and examined the washroom instead.
Of course, every little detail screamed luxury. A giant marble tub dominated one side of the room. The pool was already filled to the brim, luring me closer, and I had to pinch myself to believe that the waterfall flowing into the basin nonstop was real.
I couldn’t resist dipping my hand inside to test the temperature, and to my delight, the water’s warmth was perfect.
Gods, although I’d cleaned myself this morning, I yearned for an extensive bath just as not to miss out in case I’d die later today. Sadly, I suspected Dion wouldn’t grant me the time to appreciate this marvelous masterpiece the way this gem had to be worshiped.
Well, another reason to fight to stay alive at all costs.
Sulking, I wandered over to the smaller washing basin—although calling the bowl small was a major understatement since its expanse could easily double as a decent flat tub for someone normal-sized like me—and observed the area.
As with the marble beauty I’d dubbed the love of my life, water streamed perpetually into the basin.
Of course, royalty couldn’t be bothered with the inconvenience of opening a tap.
Since my bag was still somewhere in Dion’s suite, I grabbed a glass container filled with liquid soap standing on a crested shelf and lathered some of the mixture between my hands.
Instantly, my eyes widened because evergreens and petrichor invaded my nose.
Except for the missing remnants of magic, this was almost Dion’s scent.
Once I’d washed and dried my hands, I found a silver hairbrush—encrusted with faceted onyxes and lying on a tray decorated in the same manner—and disentangled my tresses, allowing them to tumble down my back instead of trapping the locks in a braid.
Another tray, gold and ostentatious, inlaid with rubies and sapphires in abundance, contained something suspiciously looking like kohl, as well as some red powder and balm to color cheeks and lips.
Hm. No, Dion wouldn’t use cosmetics. Did he entertain female visitors at the regular?
Fire flared in my chest.
Fine, who he invited to his place overnight was his decision.
And I didn’t care even one bit. Yet when he’d told me fae enjoyed their plentiful orgies, I wouldn’t have dreamed that I’d have to lodge in a room regularly hosting those things.
If Dion presumed he could entertain guests while I was in the suite, the princeling would better prepare to be confronted with some choice words.
With my anger returned in full force, I snagged the stick of kohl to frame my eyes, and I wasn’t using the product sparingly.
To even out any imbalance, I applied some of the powder-balm mixture to my lips, then dabbed more of the loose red dust on my cheeks.
Even if I’d still be considered plain next to all the beautiful fae and would be the least noticeable person around, I liked the effect the cosmetics added to my face.
Before I could doubt myself, I left the bathroom behind. Dion was looming near his window. He had his fingers curled into the dark fabric of the drapes and wore the misery he radiated like a heavy cloak. Being home must affect him worse than I’d imagined.
“You’re quite prepared for all kinds of visitors, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean—oh.” Dion canted his head when he suddenly stilled. Only his nostrils flared.
Oh gods, please no. Damn those fae senses.
But his following words surprised me.
“You smell like me.”
“Shouldn’t I have used your soap?”
With inhuman speed, he crossed the space, hauled me into his arms, and buried his nose in the crook of my neck, his breath tickling my skin, transforming into goosebumps.
My heart picked up the pace as I was captured in the trap of Dion’s unyielding arms. Was I imagining things, or was his already poor impulse control deteriorating more and more?
Or maybe this scent was something fae especially enjoyed?
I yelped when my leg tingled all of a sudden—his magic had joined us as well and was currently attaching itself around my calf, nudging my knee.
“Uhm, Dion—”
“One moment, Naya.”
“Uh, sure. But you’re acting weird again.”
Instead of a reaction that would demonstrate he was an intelligent creature, one of his displeased growls vibrated in his chest.
“Your breath tickles.”
“Shush.”
Although I clung to the pretense that I was annoyed, I couldn’t help but notice a warm fondness spreading through my middle, chipping at my fortifications. One of the problems was how adorable his reactions sometimes were, especially since they lacked an element of reason.
A pet, for example, couldn’t filter its shenanigans as well, and yet, wasn’t that part of a tamed animal’s charm? Not that I’d voice my musings to Dion—most likely, the fae prince would react even more like a beast, would snap at me, bite me. Oh, on second thought, he had those tendencies—
No, fortifying my defenses was mandatory. Dion wasn’t a domesticated pet to spoil; he was a lethal killer. A tiger might be related to a cat, yet no one would be so stupid as to cuddle such a dangerous predator.
When he finally straightened—without releasing me from his arms, though—Dion’s gaze rested on me. “What you did to your face suits you. Just say the word, and I’ll have more delivered.”
“About that—”
“Hold that thought. I need to freshen up as well.”
Dion spun us around, released me, and rushed through the washroom door.
Shaking my head at the whirlwind of strangeness, I sighed. In the end, I was simply a spectator of the prince’s rapidly changing moods.
What would distract me better from His Royal Strangeness than having a thorough tour of his quarters?
Apart from the giant bed veiled in heavy black drapes identical to those in front of his windows, two wardrobes stood on the left and right sides of the room, dominating the space as much as the four-poster and the broken grand piano in the far corner.
When I peeked into the left one, I was disappointed since the shelves inside were completely empty.
The right one, though, was filled with clothes.
Mostly black, with a few colorful dots such as darker shades of green, blue, and purple, tailored from the finest fabrics.
As far as I could judge, the handiwork was impeccable.
Digging deeper, I spotted an ensemble in dark crimson, threaded and richly embroidered in gold instead of the silver adorning most of the other garments. Dion might have a preference for black, but I made up my mind to convince him to wear the red finery sometime.
Shutting the wardrobe the same moment as the door to the washroom opened, my head spun to the prince.
“Ah, someone is snooping around.”
“It’s not snooping, but exploring. After all, you insisted I move in here too, princeling.”
“Meddlesome as always.” Dion’s lips morphed into a smirk, and the view in front of me stole my breath.
Dion’s dimples were a sight to behold, even more so in his fae form. By the Triad, how could that even be allowed?
Also, the fine silk tunic, of course in black with silver embroidery, flattered him. With his hair loose, framing his face and cascading down his back like an inky veil, he looked every part the fae prince he was.