“Does the prince not sleep?” she asked, setting her things down on the table nearest her. Arcas was tucked in the window’s cushioned seat, a book in his lap as he stared at the flowing silver pools beneath.
“The prince does not sleepwell,” he laughed. His eyes flickered to hers. “Are you all right?”
Lunelle wanted to laugh. She wasnotall right. Not the least bit. The panic in her chest as she’d realized she felt anything but a casual disinterest in her sister’s fiancé set her on edge, and she was more interested in throwing herself into the silver pools for relief than she was in admitting it. She moved closer to the window, maintaining an acceptable amount of space between them.
In her dream the other night, the pools sparkled in a way that felt otherworldly, and she was pleased to find they held their shine.
“They’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
“They’re a dream,” he sighed. She turned, his eyes fixed on her face. Arcas tossed her a tilted smile and held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know how it works.”
Lunelle blushed a deep crimson. If he’d really been there in her dream, where else could he be?
“But I did not mind it,” he said softly.
Something about the way he stared at her hit a release valve in her chest. Shelikedthe hunger in his eyes. It made her forget what a fool she’d been just moments ago.
“At least you mostly behaved yourself,” Lunelle laughed, her brow arched as she sat back on her heels. “Though perhaps I’m a little disappointed in that.”
Arcas sighed, leaning his head back on the wall behind him.
“You always say the exact opposite of what I expect.”
“That’s because you’ve painted a portrait of me in your mind that is not remotely accurate.”
“How do you figure?” He crossed his arms, eyeing her as she relaxed against her side of the window.
“You think me a stiff princess, groomed to be perfectly compliant to her mother’s wishes. Here to smile demurely and court befuddled princes.”
“Befuddled,” he scoffed. “That’s generous.”
Lunelle only tilted her head in response.
“You are none of those things, then?”
“I’msomeof those things,” Lunelle sighed. “But I am so much more.”
Arcas thought about that for a moment.
“What is it you really want, Princess?” he asked. The question needled at her, like a sharp breath caught between her ribs.
“I want people to stop asking me that,” she huffed.
Arcas leaned forward, the smoky scent of him wafting over her, tempting her to sort through the layers of it.
“Perhaps… if you just took what you wanted, no one would have to ask.”
His eyes fell over her lips—she watched the calculations flash across his face as he measured the distance between them. On any other night, she might have excused herself and retired for bed, the weight of her exhaustion dragging her down. She might have come up with a clever way to turn the conversation on its head and left him pondering the many facets of her.
She might have at least leaned away from him, silently dismissing the plans he drew against his knee, his fingers nervously twitching against the fabric.
But tonight, she rather liked the idea of taking something she wanted. And she wanted to know if the venom in his heart tasted as bitter as she suspected.
Arcas leaned forward, sending her back against the wall. Her heart stuttered as his eyes seared into her.
She warred with herself. Perhaps her dream had been in pursuit ofsomethingromantic, and the foreign nature of admitting she might actually enjoy that simply confused her senses.
What if all those feelings Mirquios stirred within her were merely that—a yearning for any of it? Not with him specifically, but a jealousy for what he surely had with her sister.
