“I thought it wastoo dangerousfor me to go out there.”
“With me? Pf, no.” He ushers me with a hand. “Go, get ready.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know what to wear.”
“You want me to pick out your clothes?” There’s a hint of a threat in his grin.
“No,” I say quickly. Definitely not. My shoulders sag. “I want to blend in…I don’t want to stand out.”
“Just use the mirror.”
The mirror twines myhair into one single braid and dresses me in a long sleeved black gown that cinches around my waist. It’s tighter than what I’m used to but inconspicuous enough I don’t think I’ll draw attention.
We weave our way through dimly lit halls. He’s switched out his usual black for a white top that hangs loose on his long frame. Something about the way he carries himself is so damn dignified. I crinkle my nose. The unmistakable, distinguished arrogance of aprince.
We shuffle down a set of stairs that opens up to a significant dining hall. A huge chandelier casts the room in a warm glow. Like his chambers the floors are a dark mahogany. White tables are dispersed around the room and every witch seated among them stops and stares as we enter. If the prince notices the abrupt change in atmosphere he doesn’t acknowledge it, a bored expression painted across his face. I scurry after him using his large form as a shield.
The loudest of the bunch is a substantial group that can’t be too far in age from us. They sport a wide variety of spectacular hair colors—purple, green, blue. The hair colors aren’t the most curious thing. A few have wings, horns, and animal ears, the same as the ones I saw when escaping to the Blood Wood. They fall into hushed whispers as their gazes sweep over us. Sitri turns, and I shift with him to keep my hiding spot, forcing him to turn to the other side to find me.
“What’re you doing?” He pushes me in front of him. “You’re so weird.” I tip my head, letting my hair curtain my scalding cheeks.
He leads us to an extensive buffet filled with an extravagant variety of food. I pick a few things that are familiar to me and leave the food I don’t recognize. I stand there lamely as Sitri takes an eternity, filling his two plates to the brim. Eyes track our path as we venture to a table at the corner of the room.
He doesn’t waste a second before he begins scarfing it down. The sound of his chewing is grating, but it’s not that which deteriorates my appetite. It’s the many eyes casting in our direction, lingering on my newly exposed face. I catch the word ‘nought’ and ‘Nightshade’ out of the jumble of voices and squirm in my seat. It all feels so much worse now that I know my true purpose in being here. To cause Sitri shame.
“Princess.” My nerves are stretched so tight that one word makes me flinch. “You should eat. You’ve barely eaten.” His voice is soft and coaxing.
“I’m not hungry.” I can sense him scrutinizing me, and my face flushes as I pick at my food just to have something to busy myself with.
“You blush often,” he notes.
“I’m not used to being seen,” I hiss.
“It makes me feel guilty. Like I’m doing something wrong for merely looking at you.”
“Then don’t,” I snap.
He laughs. When I look up, he’s still staring. I raise a closed fist in front of my face to block his view.
“You do know we have to live together, right?”
“Figured that out, thank you.”
“Would you rather still be wearing that thing over your face?”
“No—but,” I look around, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be seen with me?”
He feigns an expression of shock. “Ofyou?”
Not buying that for a second, I fix him with a bland stare. “You told me I was your punishment, that it was emba—“
“I said that was the idea, not that I was,” he interjects. “I quit caring about the things they say about me long ago, pet.” He stands swiftly and pulls my plate away from me. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere more private so you’ll actually eat.” He heads for a swinging door on the far wall and holds it open. The kitchen is vast. Glistening silver cabinets occupy every inch of the walls, along with numerous stoves and sinks. Rags scrub at white plates of their own accord. They filter into the opposing sink and rinse themselves clean under the tap by that same invisible force.
At the center of the kitchen, seemingly unaware of our entry, a woman is leaning over the counter, scribbling in a notebook. “I think tomorrow we’ll do the roasted chicken—so go ahead and set it aside and prepare the potatoes.”
