Page 80 of Of Curses and Courtship

Ophelia is moving at a mile a minute, breezing past conversations we must have.

“I’ll help you with whatever you please, but answer me one question first. Why would his death prevent you from holding such a title? Surely, archaic rules about women not owning property are not still a problem for mortals.”

“No, it isn’t that.” The bed dips beneath her as she crawls into my bed with the bottle of wine. “In fact, my father gave everything to his wife, and she”—she hiccups—“she tookeverything from me. But at least it is a woman rather than a man, I s’pose.”

“Indeed.”

She doesn’t give me a moment to admire how she looks in my bed, or in her soft nightgown, before she breaks my heart. It makes little sense to me. How could someone be so cruel to her? The smell of wine and roses hits my senses—too soft, too sweet, tooher. I’m frozen, even though my heart runs like a wild thing.

“Is that the only bottle you’ve had?” I murmur.

“It’s the second.” A devious smile curls on her lips. “Why? Do you wish to take it from me, Your Highness?”

It’s safer to stand a few feet from her. Her wings are a soft, ebbing glow in the dark, making it too easy to see her sweetly flushed cheeks… and she’s in my bed. My heart grows tight. My trousers do, too. The soft fabric of her cream nightgown falls down her shoulder, and my lips part in surprise. She doesn’t seem to realize what she’s doing to me, what the flash of her shoulder does to my chest and cock.

Why do I feel I’ve never been touched before? She lifts her hand and fixes the strap, and I’m afraid there is nothing more attractive than her petite fingers playing with the fabric.

My heart falls out on the floor, a gift for her, but she doesn’t seem to realize it’s there. It’s been there all along. Waiting. Hers for the taking.

“Perhaps I should.” Against my better judgment, I stalk closer. “You did offer to share, after all.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.” I bend down, pressing my face close to hers.

Her eyes lower, flickering to my lips, and time stands still. Her lips part. A soft, pink glow radiates from her.

The drink has made her want to kiss me, I believe. I’m not oblivious to her urges, but I can’t give in, no matter how much I long to taste the sweet wine on her peach lips.

Which is sweeter—the drink or her? It’s far too dangerous to ask.

Perhaps if she hadn’t had so much to drink, I would give in to the desire to taste her lips. It’s easier to pull away knowing she doesn’t truly want it. Of course, she does not yearn for me. Why would she? Ophelia has seen me at my lowest, stained with tears and regret. No one can desire me in such a state.

Pathetic. Powerless. Ugly.

My heart sinks lower into the pit it’s stuck in. I snatch the bottle from her and set it down on the small table.

She stares at the wine.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she murmurs.

I turn to face her again. She looks small, sinking into the bed, and I wonder if the heat on her cheeks is from the drink or embarrassment.

“Why not?” I lift a shoulder. “This bed is as good as any.”

And I want her to be here, to be with me. Safe.

As safe as someone as weak as me can make her.

She groans and pulls the covers over herself, apparently changing her mind quite quickly. “You sure?”

“Mhm.” I pluck the bottle back up and slouch into a chair. Some would say the seat is not fitting for a prince to sleep in, but it’ll do just fine for me. “Sleep well, my little halfling, knowing I’ll be here to watch over you. To care for you.”

The sentiment is soft, creating another plucking feeling at my chest and a lingering moment of silence. It’s more than I should say, but I doubt she’ll remember in the morning.

Did she fall asleep? Did I say too much?

“No one’s ever cared for me,” she whispers, for only me and the uncursed night air to hear. “Not in a long time, and in such a gentle way. Not how you care for me. I am usually the one caring.”