This Woven Kingdom(This Woven Kingdom #1)(77)

Alizeh gasped. “How dare y—”

She stopped herself, the words dying in her throat at the muffled sound of his laughter, the palpable tremble of his body as he struggled to contain it.

“Why do you rile so easily?” he said, still fighting a laugh. “Do you not see that your effortless outrage only makes me want to provoke you more?”

Alizeh stiffened at that; felt suddenly stupid. “You mean you were teasing me? Even after I asked you not to?”

“Forgive me,” he said, the smile lingering in his voice. “I was teasing you, yes, but only because I’d hoped it would distract you from your fear. I see now that you do not laugh easily at yourself. Or others.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling small. “I see.”

He touched her then, a brush of his fingers down her arm, leaving a fiery path in its wake.

Alizeh dared not breathe.

She didn’t know when they’d arrived here, or how, but in such a brief time she felt closer to this peculiar prince than she had with most anyone. Even the way he touched her was familiar—his nearness was familiar. She could not explain why, but she felt safe by his side.

No doubt it was the work of the nosta, without which she might’ve questioned his every word and action. Indeed, knowing unequivocally that all he’d said to her today was true—that he’d sought her out in the interest of her protection, ostensibly against the wishes of the king—had deeply affected her. It was not even that he was handsome or noble, or that he acted the part of a chivalrous prince—

No, her pleasure was far simpler than that.

Alizeh had long ago been forced into a life of obscurity and insignificance. She was accosted and spat upon, beaten and disrespected. She’d been reduced to nothing in the eyes of society, was hardly recognized as a living being, and was promptly forgotten by most everyone she met.

It was a miracle, then, that he’d noticed her at all.

How, she wondered, had this prince been the only one to see something notable in her, something worth remembering? She’d never have said the words aloud, but his discovery—however dangerous—meant more to her than he would ever know.

She heard him draw breath.

“I want very much,” he said softly, “to tell you what I am thinking now, but you will no doubt think I exaggerate, even if I swear it to be true.”

Alizeh wanted to laugh. “Do you not think it a kind of cheat, sire, to make such a declaration when you know full well I will insist upon your confession? Does it not seem unfair to you to place the burden of interest entirely on my shoulders?”

There was a beat of silence then, during which Alizeh imagined she could feel his surprise.

“I fear you’ve mistaken me for a different sort of person,” he said quietly. “I displaced no burden. I do not fear the repercussions of honesty.”

“No?” Now she was nervous.

“No.”

“Oh,” she said, the word a breath.

The prince closed the narrow gap between them until they were dangerously close—so close she suspected she’d need only to tilt up her chin and their lips would touch.

She could not calm her heart.

“You have consumed my thoughts since the moment I met you,” he said to her. “I feel now, in your presence, entirely strange. I think I might fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again.”

Once more, the nosta flashed warm against Alizeh’s skin, proof that only terrified her heart into a gallop, sent a flood of feeling through her body. She felt disoriented, hyperaware, and still confused; only dimly cognizant of another world waiting for her; of danger and urgency waiting, waiting for her to surface.

“Tell me your name,” he whispered.

Slowly, very slowly, Alizeh touched her fingers to his waist, anchored herself to his body. She heard his soft intake of breath.

“Why?” she asked.

He hesitated, briefly, before he said, “I begin to fear you’ve done me irreparable damage. I should like to know who to blame.”

“Irreparable damage? Surely now you are exaggerating.”

“I only wish I were.”

“If that is true, sire, then it is best we part as anonymous friends, so as to spare each other further harm.”

“Friends?” he said, dismayed. “If your intention was to wound me, know you have succeeded.”

“You’re right.” She grinned. “We have no hope even of friendship. Best to simply say our goodbyes. Shall we shake hands?”

“Oh, now you really do wound me.”

“Never fear, Your Highness. This brief interlude will be relegated to a graveyard populated by all manner of half-forgotten memories.”

He laughed, briefly, at that, but there was little mirth in it. “Do you take pleasure in torturing me with this drivel?”

“A bit, yes.”

“Well, I’m pleased to know I’ve rendered a service, at least.”

She was still smiling. “Farewell,” she whispered. “Our time together has come to an end. We will never again meet. Our worlds will never again collide.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, suddenly serious. His hand moved to her waist, traveled up the curve of her rib cage. “Say anything but that.”

Alizeh was no longer smiling. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might bruise. “What shall I say, then?”