The Immortal Prince ✔️

10

My throat tightens, and I'm forced to look away before the amused glint in his eyes has my cheeks burning again. He says these things because he knows it makes me uncomfortable, my expression revealing all.

"Do you have many people around?" I force out.

In other words, I'm asking whether I can expect others to be dwelling in this cave in the duration of my mortality. And I'm also wondering whether he will be bringing beautiful women up here to amuse himself.

Instead, he shakes his head. "Never."

"But you converse so easily with me." He even taunts and teases with ease, and I have no doubt his ability to seduce would be otherworldly.

He shrugs. "I'm old."

My eyes trace over him. "You don't look old..."

He strides a little closer, gaze pinning me. "What do I look like?"

The ulterior meaning in his tone has my nerves fluttering. Were I to be honest, I have no doubt he would punish me with it for the rest of the time I'm stuck here. He's beautiful, and he's very aware of that.

I look down at his chest, and then his arms, too afraid to answer his question. "What do these tattoos mean?"

They are beautiful. I could stare at them all day, trying to decipher their meaning. Most are just patterns, some phrases in unknown languages, and others are images. Every single one has been done with silver ink, a few shades lighter than his eyes.

"They mean I have a past." He looks grim at just the mention of his past. It's lengthy and dark, which is what I garner just from his expression.

Curiosity bites at me. "Tell me about it?"

Something flashes in his eyes. I want to grab onto it, to physically draw it out and demand some answers from him. The enigmatic nature of him only has me wanting to know more, which I know he's reluctant to give to me.

"Not tonight," he murmurs.

I sigh. I'm not getting anything out of him, am I?

"I'm hungry."

He tilts his head toward the door. "Come. Let's eat."

Eagerly, I follow him from the room, casting one last glance at his personal space before heading toward the dining area. I'm still not used to feeling hungry at most points of my day, although I secretly enjoy Hale's presence while I eat.

Once seated, I immediately serve myself some hot soup and bread, eager to chase off this chill. Hale only eats little, preferring fresh fruits over anything else. And he always watches me, unbothered if I'm uncomfortable.

"Still cold?"

I shrug, stirring my soup around mindlessly. "Never not."

"You may be better for now, but you could get sick again," he reminds me. I hate hearing him mentioning my mortality, a darkness settling over me as a result. It hurts, knowing I can't escape this fate.

"Your concern is admirable, Hale," I drawl, my appetite officially lost. "Why do you even care, again?"

Hale settles back into his seat, the solemn look in his eyes ice cold. "Maybe I thought for so long that I didn't like being around anyone. Maybe you're changing that."

His honesty stuns me into silence.

Shifting uncomfortably, I look down at the table. "The food helps. The soup especially. For the cold, I mean."

Acknowledging how he feels about being around me right now is too much for my feeble state of mind. Mostly because I feel the same way.

The weight of his gaze hurts.