Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 610(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
“I am.”
Opening my mind to his, I saw and felt that white wall. It was like standing with my face to the sun on a warm summer day. “This information that you sought from Muriel? Is that why you’re here?”
That wall— that shield of sorts— kept his mind silent as he said, “Partly.”
“That . . . sounds mysterious.”
One side of his lips tipped up. “Does it?”
“Yes,” I murmured. Could he feel the pounding of my heart against the back of his shoulders as I leaned into him? “Your appearance is also mysterious.”
“How so?”
“One would think with us being so close to Primvera, you would simply request lodging there,” I pointed out.
“One would think that,” he said. “However, my needs are better met outside of the Court.”
My brows knitted. What could those needs be? Whatever vague answers I gained from him only led to more questions. I leaned in, biting down on my lip as I drew my hands over his flesh.
“I’m curious, my— ” I caught myself. “I’m curious, Your Grace.”
“Thorne,” he corrected. “And I’m sure you are.”
I arched a brow at that. “What could your needs be if they cannot be met within Primvera?”
“Right now? I wouldn’t have your hands on me if I were there, would I?”
“As I said before, flattery is not necessary.”
“But appreciated?”
I cracked a grin. “Always.”
He chuckled roughly. “How did you end up here?” he asked.
I glanced down at him, seeing the thick fringe of lashes along his cheeks. The sleeves of the borrowed robe floated along the water as I ran my sudsy hands over his lower stomach. The muscles were tauter there, as if he’d tensed. “Archwood seemed as good a place as any.”
“I didn’t mean the city,” he expanded. “But here, in this manor and in this chamber, a . . . favorite of a caelestia.”
Air thinned between my teeth. He wanted to know how I ended up a courtesan, which I wasn’t. None of the paramours truly were, but I was sure the reasons one chose such a profession varied, so I decided to keep the answer simple. “I needed a job.”
“And this was all that was available to you?” A pause. “This is what you chose?”
Heat burned the back of my throat as my eyes narrowed on him. Did he look down on such a profession? Irritation flared to life, and whether I was a courtesan or not, the idea that he thought less of the trade needled my temper. I started to lift my hands. “Is there something wrong with choosing to do this?”
His hand moved faster than I could track, closing over mine and trapping it against his chest. My heart stuttered at the feel of his hand around mine, and there being no thoughts, no images. He kicked his head back, his eyes meeting mine. “If I thought there was something wrong with that, I would not be where I am and nor would you.”
I nodded, watching his pupils expand and then shrink back to their normal size.
The Prince’s gaze held mine. “I only ask because of the way you speak. Your dialect and words. It’s not what you typically hear from one who is not of the aristo class,” he noted. “Or within those of . . . your trade. You’ve been educated.”
I had been educated. Kind of. It wasn’t a formal education like Grady had received before his parents died of a catching fever, leaving him an orphan. Nor had it been one sanctioned by the Hyhborn, but the Prioress had taught me how to read and write and to do basic math, and the Baron had insisted that I speak properly.
But Naomi spoke properly too . . . unless she was angry. The same could be said about Grady and me, and then we’d slip into a less formal way of speaking.
“My education and how I speak don’t make me better than anyone else, nor less than an aristo,” I said.
He huffed. “What a novel thing for a mortal to say.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“From my experience, mortals seem preoccupied with who is better and who is less than.”
“And the Hyhborn are different, Your Grace?”
His lips twitched at the emphasis on his title. “We once were.”
Now it was I who huffed.
“You don’t believe me?”
I shrugged, thinking it was rather ridiculous since they were the ones who created the class structure.
“You do know that Hyhborn cannot tell a lie.” A smile played over his lips.
“So I’ve heard.”
He chuckled, releasing my hand as he faced forward once more. I remained as I was for several moments, my palm still flat to his chest, to where his heart should be located, but I . . . I felt nothing.
My brows furrowed. “Do you . . . have a heart?”
“What?” He laughed. “Yes.”
“But I don’t feel it,” I told him, a little unnerved. “Is it because your skin . . . is so hard?”