A Beast's Tale: Act 1 (His Maid)

Chapter 86

I felt movement and rolled onto my side, pulling Ivetta closer. This was comfortable. Soft sheets, a warm blanket, her curves pressed against me—I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to stay in this fuzzy, drowsy state, where everything was right and nothing else mattered. But she was squirming too much.

"Where do you think you're going?" I mumbled.

"Prince Chevalier, I-I shouldn't be here."

I sighed and nuzzled into her neck. Her hair didn't smell of soap. She smelled of sweat. The scent wasn't overpowering, though, and it wasn't bothersome enough to make me want to release her. "Go back to sleep."

"Prince Chevalier—"

I squeezed her tighter and inhaled of her, rubbing her back and feeling the coarse fabric of her dress under my hands, and then I exhaled another sigh as I settled my cheek on the pillow. When I opened my eyes, I saw green. Round green eyes, a little confused, very nervous, set beneath a wide forehead and above cheeks dusted with pink. A tendril of raven hair blocked my view. I tucked it behind her ear, and then I followed the taper of her jawline to her chin and swiped my thumb across the indentation below her pink lower lip. It parted from the Cupid's bow of her upper lip.

I traced the contours, lifting my eyes to hers. She was still staring at me, unmoving. Her hands were on my chest, and her breath was hot on my finger, and when I brought my face nearer to hers, black eyelashes fluttered as her eyelids closed. I smiled and kissed her. She returned the kiss, her lips hesitant as they pressed into mine. When I pulled back, she looked away from me, rolling her lips inward and licking them. I cupped her cheek in my hand and coaxed her to face me. Her eyes remained somewhere on the blanket off to her right and my left.

"Good morning, Ivetta."

Her eyes snapped to mine. Her lips parted in a soft gasp. I kissed the tip of her nose. She averted her eyes again.

"G-good morning, Prince Chevalier. I—I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize, and don't say you shouldn't be here. I decide with whom I share my bed."

She hid her face in my chest. "Don't say it like that!"

I chuckled. "You were the one who wouldn't let go of me last night."

"I'm sorry," she moaned.

"Do I seem upset to you?"

She shook her head. The tips of her ears were bright red. I knew I shouldn't tease her like this, but her reactions were too adorable for me to resist. I sighed and stroked her hair, resolving to behave myself. Now was not the time. In a moment, she would remember her mother and the reason she'd come here, and then all levity would disappear.

I knew the instant it happened. She tensed. Her fingers curled into my shirt. Her shoulders shook with the sudden onslaught of sobbing, and I tightened my embrace, holding her close until she'd exhausted her tears. It didn't take as long as it had yesterday morning, but that made it no easier to endure. When the crying eased, she rested her cheek against my chest, eyes closed. Small. Fragile. Drained.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she whispered.

"Nothing." I kissed the top of her head. "I have everything under control."

She nodded. I continued stroking her hair in a slow, even rhythm, and she lay there, still and silent. Her hair was greasier than usual, lacking its fine, silky texture, but touching it was far from reprehensible. She could use a bath, though. Beyond the practicalities of cleaning herself, soaking in hot water had a soothing effect, and her body had other physical needs that would demand attention before long. She'd slept over twenty-four hours, after all.