Page 10 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

“What do you say, Lenore?” At my mother’s expectant gaze, I scramble to recall what words were spoken during my obvious ogling. I smile, buying time. Was it something about flowers? “You wouldn’t mind giving Prince Cassius a tour of the gardens, would you?”

I lift my brows in a silent thank you for not making me reveal my distracted musings. She shakes her head in slight disapproval.

“I’d be delighted.”

The prince rises, offering me his hand to do the same.

His skin is indeed as warm as it appears.

Heat flares between our palms as he clasps my fingers in his.

“The flowers of Roseheart are renowned for their beauty. Will they be able to hold up against the beauty of the princess? That will grant the gardens quite the challenge.”

“You are very pretty as well,” I say, mouth slightly ajar.

Cassius makes a curious expression before softly chuckling. “Why thank you, Princess. It is not often I am called pretty.”

Now my face is full-on aflame. “Yes, I’m sure you don’t get called pretty too often.

It is an odd way to compliment such a face.

I only meant that your features are enjoyable to look at.

Not deformed at all and pleasingly symmetrical…

” Deformed ? Symmetrical ? What the hell am I saying?

I shake my head at myself. My mother cringes.

It would probably be better if I stopped letting my inside thoughts become outside thoughts.

Cassius offers me his arm, his smile effortlessly genial. “After you, Princess.”

The company of Prince Cassius is surprisingly enjoyable to keep.

His flow of conversation is easy and his charming nature feels genuine and only slightly masked.

There’s a sharp regality that commands the air around him, but an aura of gentleness floats atop the fiercely masculine energy.

He reminds me of Heelin, one of the castle’s guard dogs.

He weighs in at over fifty kilograms with the tips of his sharp black ears reaching the top of my breastbone.

I’ve seen him strike down an unruly villager or violent visitor with no more effort than I would expend swatting a fly hovering above my dinner plate.

He’s menacing, teeth-bared and drool raining down.

But in the moments when he’s not at his post, he’s an absolute softy.

Rolling over for belly rubs, chasing mice up and down the halls, tongue lolled and ears floppy. Playful, sweet, but still lethal.

That is how Prince Cassius’s energy reveals itself. To me, at least. But I’ve always had a good sense of people.

His admiration of the many plants and trees is comical.

I can’t imagine a prince takes any real interest in botany or gardening.

Still, he smiles, complimenting the vast prism of petal colors and decadent variety of floral fragrances.

Even with the dulled sun of this grey day, the garden feels more vibrant, more alive with him walking between its rows of flowering shrubs and hanging vines.

He stops short, his overly polite mask slipping for just a moment as true wonder and surprise pass over his warm features. “You have a labyrinth?”

A smile draws my cheeks up. Aside from my secret garden, this is my favorite part of the castle.

The hedge maze stands twenty feet tall and runs in a complex pattern of tunnels and dead ends that will have you turned around and lost to your surroundings in minutes.

Six stars make up the majority of the maze’s structure.

I’d bet it’s quite beautiful from the point of view of the birds.

I spent hours in the labyrinth as a child, memorizing its swirls and secrets.

I’ll admit, I called for the guards on more than one occasion.

Twelve sentries line the outer wall of the labyrinth.

They’re stationed equal distances apart from corner to corner and wall to wall.

Their posts consist of thin-laddered platforms that allow them to see into their particular section of the maze.

During every celebration, at least one couple wanders into the labyrinth for “privacy”.

They almost always end up lost, screaming like banshees by morning.

It’s the guards’ job to spot them and plan a rescue-and-retrieval route.

On days when royal duties are too much to endure, I lose myself in the labyrinth.

It abuts the dark forest. Which is why few venture within its walls without the borrowed confidence of the castle’s fine wine.

Several have actually been lost. Even I’ve searched for those who never reemerged from within the shadowy green hedge maze.

Not a bone or bit of clothing to be found.

It remains quite the mystery as to where they go and what happens to them.

“Indeed,” I say. “It is known to be one of the most intricate in existence. Would you like to go inside? I assure you, I know the way in and out.”

“Are you not fearful? Labyrinths are known to be a favorite home for monsters.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

“Roseheart is far too lovely for monsters. I hear they prefer to make homes on isolated, sea-faring kingdoms run by handsome, mysterious princes.”

“Handsome and mysterious? To obtain two such compliments from the fair Princess of Roseheart is a treat indeed. Please continue.” A broad grin spreads across his face, his dimples springing into view. The cockiness in his tone is both attractive and infuriating.

My throat goes dry. Did I really say the handsome part out loud?

Princes are used to getting their egos stroked.

I’m sure girls fall all over themselves for him.

I swallow, reining myself in, a mask of poise sliding over my face.

“Handsome and mysterious? Apologies, Your Highness, but you misheard me. I said loathsome and delirious.”

“Ah, far more fitting for some batty foreigner prince.” He tucks his lips together, suppressing a laugh.

My own laugh sneaks out. “Batty? I never said batty. Though now that you mention it?—”

A gust of icy wind barrels through the rose garden, kicking up fallen petals, whipping them high in the sky.

Pieces of carefully placed hair break free from my braid and whip around my face.

Just as quickly as the wind materializes, it dissipates.

In the silent moments that follow, a flurry of movement catches my attention from above.

What at first appears to be snow is in fact…

flowers. Rose petals rain down around us, dotting our hair and clothes with shades of pale peach, deepest red, and lemony yellow.

We both stare, admiring the unusual weather phenomenon that so perfectly fits the theme of Roseheart.

“Well, I dare say it would be a travesty not to ask you to dance beneath a shower of roses.” Cassius offers me his hand.

My fingers are quick to meet his. Warm, so warm.

His other hand reaches for my waist, drawing me tight to his body.

A small squeak escapes me at the close contact.

This is not like my lessons. Those I dread.

My back aches from keeping my posture appropriate and my feet swell from confinement.

No, this is dizzying, light. I’m but a simple petal, weightless, drifting, and Cassius is the gentle breeze guiding my path.

He leads our dance, moving effortlessly.

My skirts sweep along the ground, leaving swirls of petals in their wake.

We waltz, the sounds of nature our only music.

I stare up into those tawny eyes. They remind me of fall, of perfectly ripe pumpkins and brilliant autumn leaves.

There’s a twinkle in those eyes. Mischief, glee, maybe both.

My gaze drops to the soft shape of his mouth. His full lips are perfectly relaxed save for the tiniest hint of a smirk quirking up the right corner. Not enough to reveal his dimples, but enough to make him dangerously alluring.

We dance beneath trellises of jasmine and past rows of flowering shrubs, covering the distance of the garden, laughing when one of us stumbles on an unruly root.

Cassius halts our dance beneath an archway that’s bursting with braided purple wisterias.

He runs a finger along the snow-white hair that falls across my face.

My stomach tightens as he tucks it, his fingertips ghosting across the edge of my jaw for a moment before returning to his side.

My eyes again track down to his mouth. His lips part as he notices my attention.

I could swear his head dips, a fraction closer.

The muffled, soft sounds of petals landing on the stone below are in sharp contrast to the wild thumping of my exhilarated heart.

I peer into his eyes, seeking clarity from his thoughts.

I have the overwhelming urge to kiss him, and the sneaking suspicion that he’d let me.