Page 71 of Heartbreak Prince

“Certainly not. Why would we want to repeat such a delightful experience? It would be silly to assume we could duplicate perfection.”

“Hush. Go to sleep. And no more of that sort of thing in the morning, do you understand?”

“Giving me orders again.” His energy shifts to a ruthless dominance that I can feel through the very muscles and heat of his arm. “What’s my title, sweetheart?”

I hesitate for a second, then murmur, “My lord king.”

He goes rigid. I’m not sure if he likes the title from my mouth, or if he fears it. Perhaps it reminds him of the ones he has lost.

Maybe all three.

After a moment, he relaxes again, but he doesn’t speak. Or if he does, I’m too deeply asleep to hear it.

15

The noises of the house wake Vawn and me at the same time. Children are chattering, running up and down stairs, shouting and giggling occasionally. A spoon rattles and scrapes against a pan, plates thunk against a table, and the smell of black tea slithers beneath the door into our room.

“Children,” groans Vawn, in a tone of deep distaste.

“You don’t like children?”

“I do, but not at whatever the hell time it is now. Not the first fucking thing in the morning, with the noise and the—” He waves a long-fingered hand through the air. “I value my sleep.”

I press my fingers over his mouth. “You’re not supposed to be talking, remember?”

His lashes blink rebelliously over the edge of my hand, and he puckers his lips into a kiss against my palm.

We’re face to face, with me half-draped over him. The position we apparently assumed in the night. And his eyes speak eloquently of what he would like to do to me.

“Don’t give me that look,” I whisper. “It’s not going to happen again.”

His eyes narrow, glittering with determination. Like he’s inwardly betting that he can convince me otherwise.

“Oh, you’ll want it.” I remove my hand, tracing a fingertip along his pillowy lips. “But from now on, you’ll have to indulge your sexual appetite elsewhere. I’m not such a fool as to make this a habit with you. There are professional boundaries that need to be reclaimed and maintained.”

Honestly, my little speech might be more for my benefit than his.

A short time later, I make my way out to the main room of the house, only to find that the oldest girl is apparently in charge of breakfast. She tells me that her mother left early to fetch the supplies for mending the carpet.

I accept a plate of food for myself and take one to Vawn. Afterward I help wash the dishes, leaving Vawn to stew in the bedroom. He’ll be bored, but it’s better than getting caught.

Gwin returns just as I’m beginning to sweep the front room. She carries a bundle which, when opened, reveals several glowing unicorn hairs, red, bluish-purple, and gold, wrapped around a spool.

“Everything went well?” I ask.

“Of course.” She barely glances at me.

She went out into the village. Perhaps she saw the posters featuring Vawn’s face. Perhaps she no longer believes our flimsy cover story. Perhaps we should run now.

But if she intended to turn us in, she would have done so already. There would be someone at the door—assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters, or perhaps the town watch. Instead, she is quietly laying out her tools and setting up an ancient-looking hand-loom.

“Please unroll the carpet,” she requests. “Have you owned it long?”

I’m tempted to lie, but there could be a reason she’s asking—something that might affect how she’ll do the repair. If she goes on to request Severin’s history, I won’t have much information. Anything of that nature would have to come from Severin himself.

“Not very long,” I say. “Only for a couple of weeks.” In reality it’s even less, but she hasn’t earned precise truth from me. If she has a repair-related reason for asking, the timeline I’ve given her should be close enough.

“Have you or your brother linked with the carpet?”