Mortal Fantasy

✴｜chapter fifteen

"Ithena," he whispers, raising a hand.

I immediately tense.

Is he going to kiss me? I struggle to tamp down the undercurrent of thoughts bubbling to the surface. Why would he? Does he mean to toy with me? If he wants to, why am I letting him? I—!

I have no time to act, and to my terrified shock, remain perfectly still as he grips my chin and—

And...

"I knew it."

My eyes flutter open, shock burning in my throat. When did I close them? "I—excuse me?"

"There are literal rings of darkness beneath your eyes," Stephen observes, tilting my chin a bit. It takes me a moment to lean away from his fingers and scowl, my hands fisting in the sheets. Any leftover sensation from my senseless thought that he might kiss me has disappeared—I can't believe I'd be so stupid in the first place.

Why would I even think of it in the first place?

"I've been quite stressed, I have to admit," I say brusquely, scampering off the bed. "Oh, you know, the usual, what with having so many, many woes about leaving everything I know and coming to live with a palace full of golden blooded angels."

Stephen studies me with an impassive, albeit slightly curious, expression. "I don't think I've ever heard quite so much spite in the word 'angel.'"

"Well, Your Highness," I smile, plucking my cloak from the armchair at the foot of the bed, "you may have to get used to it if you intend on keeping me around for a while."

He snorts and slips off the bed, grabbing a robe from a nearby divan. Closing the slip over his bare chest, he mutters, "Don't feel any need to be too honest with me, Ithena."

"That's another thing," I point out, frowning. "Why do you call me Ithena, and other times Avonstef?"

"I choose what I want to call you on a whim's basis," he says, as if he hadn't given it much thought. He raises one lazy brow at me. "Why, are you going to tell the Prince that he has no liberty to do so?"

My mouth tightens. I tug the cloak around my shoulders, feeling off-handedly unnerved as he continues to stare at me. Finally, I mumble, "I suppose not," but his gaze doesn't waver. Stephen makes a noise as if saying, I thought so.

"And that cloak." A dark tendril of suspicion writhes behind his eyes. "Clearly you went somewhere, judging by your exhaustion and inability to even find your own bed. Won't you tell me what's been keeping you?"

The breath goes absolutely stagnant in my throat. "Your Highness, I—"

A sharp rapping comes upon the door, and Stephen lets out the thinnest hiss of frustration. Casting me a last, forewarning look, he crosses the room and disappears into the antechamber to answer whoever has come.

Quickly I smooth over my tousled hair, raking my fingers savagely through the tangles. I fit the cloak's clasp at my throat and move to stand by the wall, where if I lean back I can hear the conversation.

"...no. Tell my father that we won't be needing a specialized escort."

"Of course, Your Highness. He would also like to remind you that the banquet is later this evening." The subtlest of pauses. "Specifically, he has asked you to bring the concubine. I believe he is interested in seeing her."

There is a charged silence, in which I can imagine Stephen grounding the marrow from his teeth. "Fine. But I won't be staying late into the night, we're scheduled to pay the Kyrian border a visit tomorrow morning."