Warm. Too warm. My eyes fluttered open slowly, trying to adjust to the dim light spilling through the tiny crack in the dungeon wall. My muscles protested violently when I moved, my back stiff from the stone floor, my legs like lead. And then I noticed it. The pressure. The weight on my thighs. My brain refused to process it at first, and then it clicked.
His head. His stupid, impossibly heavy head was resting on my lap. I froze. My heart skipped, thumped, then galloped like a wild horse in my chest. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. The prince. The arrogant, infuriating, impossible-to-read, can-murder-you-with-one-glance prince, sleeping on me like I was some pillow or… or… furniture. I wanted to scream, I wanted to push him, I wanted to vanish right then and there. My body reacted first. I shoved him hard. He flopped sideways onto the floor with a dull thud and didn't even stir. I scrambled backward, almost tripping over my own feet, my back pressing into the cold, rough wall. I couldn't believe this. I could not believe this.
And then my eyes flicked to the side, and my stomach twisted violently. The guard from yesterday lay sprawled against the wall, bruised, bloody, maybe unconscious. Oh. Oh no. Did he… beat him like that? Because of me? Because of the rat? My stomach churned, but a tiny part of me felt… a little guilty. I had killed his pet. His precious Jesabela. The one thing that mattered to him yesterday. But no. I shook my head fiercely. I had survived. It had tried to bite me. I had no choice.
I glanced back at him. He looked… different. Less sharp, less furious. His expression softened in a way that almost made him look human, almost… calm. Almost… vulnerable. My brain immediately tried to ignore the ridiculous thoughts. Stop. Stop thinking like that. He could crush my skull. He could read my thoughts. He could probably kill me while I blinked. Focus. Focus!
And then he moved. His eyes flicked open, red, sharp, piercing, and locked onto mine. My heart did a flip I did not consent to. His hand shot out before I could move, grabbing my wrist effortlessly. My soul left my body.
"You talk too much for someone locked in a dungeon," he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that lazy, dangerous drawl that always made my stomach clench.
"I-I—why are you on me?!" I stammered, yanking my arm, panic racing through me, my legs almost giving out beneath me.
He pushed himself up slightly, sitting back on his heels, tilting his head like I was some puzzle he hadn't solved yet. "You are convenient," he said casually, and I almost lost my mind. Convenient? I am not furniture! I do not exist to be convenient!
"You did not move. Most people tremble in their sleep around me."
"I was exhausted from being locked in a dungeon, starved, and terrified! That counts for something, right?!" My voice rose, my hands clenching into fists.
"You are dramatic," he observed, red eyes studying me like I was an interesting piece of meat.
"I am imprisoned! I have every right to be dramatic!"
He leaned closer, just enough to make my stomach flutter dangerously, and his voice dropped. "You killed my pet."
I crossed my arms, trying to keep my defiance up, even as my heart raced like crazy. "It tried to bite me."
"It had a name."
"Yes, Jesabela. Still a rat."
The air changed. I could feel it. The warmth in the room drained out, replaced by a tense cold. His jaw tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to make my heart skip a beat again. "It was given to me by someone important," he said softly, and suddenly, my sarcastic thoughts faltered. I swallowed and looked away.
"Unfortunate," I muttered. "But I wasn't going to let it gnaw my face off out of respect for family sentiment."
His lips twitched slightly. "You do not fear me," he said.
"I did yesterday," I admitted.
"And today?" His voice was quieter, dangerous.
"I'm more annoyed than scared," I shot back immediately.
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Not loudly, not cruelly, just a low, quiet breath of amusement.
"You are either incredibly brave," he said, stepping closer, "or incredibly stupid."
"Why not both?" I muttered, heart hammering.
He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell him, the faint metallic scent of blood and sweat, and the shadow of his height fell across me. His hand reached out suddenly and tilted my chin. My stomach fluttered, and I could not look away. "Look at me," he demanded.
"I am looking at you," I said, voice shaky but steady.
"Properly," he insisted, and our eyes locked. There was something searching behind those red irises, something I couldn't name. He released me eventually. "…You are strange," he murmured.
"I get that a lot," I replied, trying to sound casual, but my pulse was still thundering.
"You are not weak," he said, stepping back, folding his arms behind his back.
"That's… comforting?" I asked, although I didn't feel comforted. Not exactly. Something dangerous and thrilling coiled in the pit of my stomach, and I knew I hated it. And loved it.
"You will remain under my observation," he decided.
"That sounds like a downgrade from dungeon prisoner," I said, trying to sound indifferent.
"You have spirit," he replied. "It would be wasteful to dispose of you prematurely."
He extended a hand. "Get up."
I stared at it, suspicious, my instincts screaming at me. "And if I refuse?"
"You won't," he said simply, with that infuriating calm tone, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I pushed myself up anyway.
"Yes, I can walk on my own," I snapped, brushing off my skirts.
"Yes," he said softly, eyes watching me, not mockingly. It felt… different. Acknowledging, almost like approval. My pulse slammed in my chest. Bad. Very bad.
Because I had a feeling this dungeon, this fight, this prince… was only the beginning.