The silence around us turns deafening. Hells Bells. I’m still the marquee act in today’s performance of ‘what does the Prince want with that girl?’
Mom lets out a frustrated puff of air. “Show’s over folks. Get back to work or I call the Queen.”
Instantly, bodies begin to move again outside my window. Low chatter resumes in the hallway. I shoot Mom a hearty thumbs-up. She’s acting more and more like her old self every day. It’s awesome.
I flip off the covers and set my bare feet on the cold floor. “So, when do we leave?”
Mom rushes to my side, guiding my body back to lay down. “The doctors say you need to stay here and rest for a few days.” She tucks the covers under my chin.
“I feel fine. Really.”
Mom sits on the edge of the bed, her voice low. “Does this have to do with that thrax boy you were telling me about? I can’t imagine you’re thrilled to finish your recovery here.”
“No, it’s not about him.” But if I’m being honest with myself, it’s totally about him. After my weird lust-filled encounter last night, I want as much distance between us as possible. “I’m ready to go home, that’s all.”
Mom fluffs a pillow under my head. “Doctor’s orders, Myla-la. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Maybe you can go home then.” She rises to her feet. “Get some rest, promise?”
I snuggle under the covers and grin. “Promise.”
Once Mom is gone, I slide out of bed and stretch, catching my reflection in a mirror. I’m now wearing a white linen nightgown. When did that happen?
I shrug. I suppose it’s better than waking up in my armor. I step about the elegant space, running my fingers over the heavy wallpaper and staring at the delicate sculptures. I walk up to the opened window. Rows of cottages stretch off into the distance, followed by a much larger network of fancy tents.
A knock sounds at the door. “May I come in?” It’s Lincoln.
My breath hitches. “Sure.”
The door opens and Lincoln steps inside. “Hello, Miss Lewis.” My body turns gooey. This can’t help my recovery.
“Hi.” I scope out his outfit: jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and leather boots. “Wow. You know about the twenty-first century.”
“That’s right, you’ve only seen me at official court events.” He gestures down his torso. “Welcome to my day off.”
“I like it.” I make the same gesture over my white sheath. “Welcome to this random nightgown someone put on me.” I frown. “That wasn’t you, was it?”
He grins. “I’ll never tell.”
A dumb part of me wants to smile back, but I stop myself and look out the window again. He’s still a creep.
Lincoln’s voice sounds behind me. “I wanted to check that you’re okay. Things were a little touch-and-go last night.” He lets out a long breath. “And you look fine.” There’s a long pause where I keep staring out the window and not talking to Lincoln. Don’t forget that he’s an ass, Myla. Not to mention that weirdness in the stables last night. I must’ve had an allergic reaction to the neurotoxin. My inner demon is wrath only, end of story.
The floorboards creak softly as Prince shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’ll take my leave now.”
His footsteps thud as he walks away. Something in my rib cage tightens. For some reason, I don’t want him to go.
“Hey.” I spin around to face him. He stands by door; his hand grips the handle. Our gazes lock. “Thanks for…You know.”
He arches his brows. “Saving your life?”
“Yes, that.” I half-smile and realize something: it’s hard to hate someone who saved your life, especially if that someone gives a mean massage.
“No problem.” He folds his arms over his chest. “We’re running a special this month on magical horses and lifesaving.”
I full-on grin. “You have a sense of humor. Somehow I didn’t expect that.”
He looks at me out of his slate-blue eye. “Well, it’s not like I wowed you with my dazzling personality when we met.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “No, you didn’t.”
“In fact, I was closed-minded and awful for far too long. I’m very sorry.”
I screw my mouth onto one side of my face. He’s not getting off the hook that easily. “No more nasty ‘demon girl’ comments?”
Straightening his stance, he sets his hand over his heart. “Never again.” He winks. “I got a stern talking to from my mother about that.” His full mouth winds into a crafty grin. “And you know how she can be.”
Dammit, he just got off the hook. “Yes, I do.” I laugh.
He steps closer. “How about we start over?” He bows slightly. “Hello, I’m Lincoln.”
I pause, eyeing him carefully. Why not?
“Myla Lewis.”
He offers his hand. “Friends?”
I set my palm on his. “Friends.” His skin feels warm and firm. I remember his touch on the small of my back, then quickly drop his hand. “I guess I’m stuck here for the next few days.” I shrug. “I don’t feel all that sick though.”
“I have a very over-protective court physician.” Mischief dances in his mismatched eyes.