The Wish Granter (Ravenspire #2)(30)
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
He straightened his jacket and stooped to put the dagger in his pocket. Then, inclining his head to her, he said, “Watch yourself, Princess. Cleo’s life depends on it.”
TWELVE
SEBASTIAN WAS GETTING used to being around the princess. Instinctive panic still hit when she accidentally touched him, but he’d stopped gauging the distance between them as if it might bite him. Stopped bracing himself for her disapproval and anger.
She walked into the arena one evening nearly a week after her first lesson wearing a simple green dress and carrying a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Waving away the instant bowing of the nobility, who were playing a rousing game of pin the dagger on the outlaw, she came straight for Sebastian.
“You have a bruise on your jaw and a cut on your mouth. What happened?” She stood directly in front of him and studied him openly, apparently unaware that her social status was supposed to make him invisible and that the nobility were watching.
He shrugged.
She stepped closer, and he tensed.
“Someone hit you.”
“Sparring session with one of the noblemen. Makario likes to make sure he lands a few punches. It’s easier to let him win than to deal with his temper if he loses. I’m just grateful it was a fist and not a throwing star,” he said, and then snapped his mouth shut. What was he doing? Making a stupid joke about the princess crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
She laughed, and he watched her for signs that she didn’t mean it.
Her eyes were lit with mischief, and her body language was relaxed and open. She meant it.
“That cut on your lip will open again if you aren’t careful. Guess it’s lucky for you that you smile with everything but your mouth.” She winked at him.
Winked at him.
And stars help him, he felt the corners of his lips twitch in response.
She grinned, though there was a shadow of something serious behind it.
This was not how a princess was supposed to treat a servant. He should be invisible. Expendable. She shouldn’t care about him beyond the job he was supposed to perform. She shouldn’t; but if there was one thing he could say about the princess with absolute confidence, it was that she did as she pleased without worrying about what others thought of her.
As if to prove her point, she turned to the assembled crowd, most of whom were only halfheartedly practicing with their weapons as they watched the princess and the weapons master. “There are games and refreshments set up in the front parlor. Perhaps you’d like to reconvene there.”
As it had before, her tone left no room for debate. The nobility filed past them, and Sebastian kept his back to the arena’s wall, working hard to keep from rolling to the balls of his feet as his scars tingled and his heart raced.
This wasn’t the kind of crowd he had to worry about. He wasn’t trapped. He was just doing his job until he could buy true safety.
And speaking of doing his job, he’d volunteered to be available to help the princess after dark if she felt threatened. He’d spent the last week sleeping restlessly, his cudgel beside his bed, but she hadn’t knocked on his door. Either she hadn’t needed help, or she hadn’t been able to get to him to ask for it.
He was betting on the latter, though all he had for evidence was the shadow that had haunted her face since the afternoon of their first sparring session. She’d returned the next day visibly shaken, the faint smudge of a bruise around her neck, but she hadn’t volunteered any information, and it wasn’t his place to ask.
He studied her while she watched the last of the nobility leave the arena. The bruises on her arms were nearly gone, as was the one on her neck. There were no other visible injuries. He couldn’t assess the areas of skin that were covered by her dress, but she hadn’t walked like she’d been injured. He checked the angle of her hips and was satisfied that she wasn’t favoring one leg over another.
“Looking for something?” she asked, and there was an unfriendly note in her voice for the first time since he’d met her.
He snapped his gaze up to her face, and realized with absolute mortification that she’d caught him staring at her hips. A girl of her beauty and confidence was probably weary of having men notice her curves and her skin and her— Had he lost his mind? He had no right to notice anything about the princess except that she had the power to take his job from him with a single word.
Taking a step back, he schooled his expression into a blank mask. “My apologies, Princess Arianna.”
She huffed out a little breath and shifted the cloth-wrapped bundle she held. “I don’t want apologies, Sebastian, unless I know what you’re apologizing for.”
He tried to find words that wouldn’t be offensive, but there really wasn’t an acceptable way to tell royalty he’d been running his eyes over her body because somehow he’d foolishly thought it was his job to make sure she hadn’t been hurt.
“Well?” She looked at him expectantly. “I promise you, this is the wrong moment to choose to be silent. I’ve had my fill of being treated like the way I look matters more than who I really am.”
He opened his mouth to assure her that he hadn’t been noticing the way she looked, but he couldn’t lie. He’d paid attention to the glow of her skin. The way her eyes danced with her every emotion. The curves that filled out her dress in a way that he found far more intriguing than a boy in his position had any right to.