Page 42 of Of Curses and Courtship

“Nothing of the sort.” I set my book aside. “I’m only teasing. That’s what I do with my friends.”

“Is that what I am to you? A friend?”

Ophelia is curious about me, too—she must be. I can hear in the slight lilt of her tone that the answer to her seemingly casual question means something to her.

“I would consider us friends. Quite close, in fact.”

She turns around in time for me to notice how her eyes roll. “This is only our third meeting, Your Highness. I’m pickier with my friends.”

It’s clear she doesn’t possess the mirthful nature many fae do—then again, there are some who are entirely fae and wouldn’t know whimsy if it hit them over the head. My father comes to mind.

I find her grumpy nature entertaining, nevertheless.

“That’s all right,” I say. “You’ll find that, among my other tremendous talents, I’m quite patient.”

“Are you?”

I lift a brow slowly. “Why do you doubt me?”

“It is not that I doubt you, Your Highness, but rather your upbringing. I find it difficult to believe that a man as spoiledasyouis patient.”

“Spoiled?” I laugh. “Is that what you think I am?”

“You have yet to give me a reason to think otherwise.”

Perhaps I haven’t. It’s not as if it’s appropriate for her to get to know me now that I am betrothed, and now that my parents employ her.

I squint. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing, if you think you know so much about me?”

“You’re attempting to distract me, but you still haven’t told me what you’re doing in my bedchamber. Don’t misunderstand me, for I’m not complaining?—”

Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of scarlet, one I’m growing quite fond of. “Helena told me there was a mouse for me to get rid of.”

I shudder. “Gods. I should hope not.”

“A mistake was made, but I am not the one to blame.” She gestures wildly to the door. “Nor is Helena. She must have sent me to the wrong room… and the lock. The lock on your door is broken. You should see to that. Or rather, have someone see to that.”

“Perhaps I should.” I finally rise from the bed, letting my covers drop away.

Her eyes trail lower, widening, when I remember—ah, yes. I haven’t had time to get dressed today, have I? A glance in the looking glass tells me I lack a shirt entirely. With how she watches me, it’s almost as if she’s never seen a shirtless man.

I pay her no mind as I strut to my closet. “I do hope Helena can free us soon. I have places to be today.”

“Do you? You could have fooled me.” She clears her throat. “You seem quite… leisurely.”

I smother my smile and the butterflies in my stomach. “That’s your assumption. I have people who are expecting me.”

“Who’s expecting you, then?”

Ophelia is so bold. It’s precisely what intrigued me in the tavern, but then, she was blunt because she did not know my title. Now she knows who I am, and she still treats me as if I am ordinary. That makes her extraordinary in my eyes.

“My father.” I glower as I pick the outfit—one that’s already been approved by my parents. In the safety of the closet, I let my white short drawers drop and step into the fresh pair of trousers.

“I suppose a meeting with the kingisimportant.”

A scoff slips past my lips as I pull on my white shirt. I step back into my bedchamber with a waistcoat draped over my arm.