Page 6 of His Forbidden Princess
A man sits alone at a corner table, partially shadowed but with eyes that catch the light. He's watching me. Not in the leering way of the drunk nobles I avoided earlier, but with quiet intensity that feels both familiar and unsettling.
When our eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, he raises his glass slightly, a gesture somewhere between a salute and an invitation.
I should ignore him. I should finish my drink and continue my exploration. The last thing I need is an entanglement with a stranger.
But there's something about him that draws me. Something I can't quite place but that makes my pulse quicken. Before I can reconsider, I'm crossing the room toward his table.
"Is this seat taken?" I ask, surprised by my own boldness.
Up close, I can see him better. Older than me by at least a decade, maybe more. Broad-shouldered beneath a simple black tunic. A beard shadows his jaw, partially obscuring features that seem strangely familiar, though I'm certain we've never met. I would remember those eyes—blue as a winter sky, observant and guarded.
"It is now." His voice is low, controlled. He gestures for me to sit.
I slide into the chair across from him, setting my mead on the rough wooden table. "Do you make a habit of staring at women in taverns?"
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile. "Only the interesting ones."
"And what makes me interesting?" I ask, taking another sip of mead to steady my nerves. I've never flirted before, never had the opportunity, but something about this man makes me want to try.
"You don't belong here." It's not a question.
I stiffen. "What makes you say that?"
"You carry yourself differently. Your eyes take everything in like it's the first time you're seeing it." He leans forward slightly. "And you're not afraid, though perhaps you should be."
"Should I be afraid of you?" The question comes out softer than intended.
That almost-smile again. "Not in the way you think."
There's something oddly comforting about his presence, despite the cryptic responses. The tavern bustles around us, but it feels like we're in our own private world.
"What brings you to the Crown and Sheaf tonight?" I ask, attempting normal conversation.
"I followed someone." His directness startles me.
"A lover?"
"No." His eyes never leave mine. "Someone I'm sworn to protect, whether she wants it or not."
A cold shock runs through me. The timbre of his voice, the set of his shoulders, the intense focus of his gaze—how did I not recognize them immediately?
"Dain," I whisper, the name falling from my lips before I can stop it.
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those blue eyes—acknowledgment, perhaps even approval that I've solved the puzzle.
"Princess." He inclines his head slightly, the gesture achingly familiar despite his altered appearance.
My exhilaration curdles into fury. "You followed me. You're spying on me." I move to stand, but his hand shoots out, fingers closing around my wrist.
"Sit down," he says quietly. "Unless you want everyone in this tavern to know they're drinking with royalty."
I sink back into my seat, anger making my cheeks burn. "I ordered no guard tonight."
"And yet, here I am." His thumb brushes over my pulse point, sending an unwelcome shiver up my arm before he releases me.
"How did you know I'd left?" I demand, keeping my voice low.
"I know everything about you." The simple statement hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to examine. "Your breathing changes when you're planning something rebellious. You've been collecting information about the city gates for months. Your lady's maid left your chambers looking confused tonight because you dismissed her early."
