I’ve randomly remembered my sister’s telling me not to look shabby in front of the prince.
With him so close to me, I can’t discreetly pat off the dirt I’ve accumulated from working all day. But it’s a welcome distraction from the intensity of his gaze. His presence itself is dominating the air, but his gaze is something else, sharp enough to pierce right through my armor.
I glance at him through my lashes to see he is just watching me. Quietly.
“Is it natural? Your eye?” He asks.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Your eyes remind me of the jewelry you make. Striking and mosaic.”
“M-mosaic?”
“You’ve got flecks of gold in your eyes. Did you know that?”
I did. But they’re hard to see. I can’t tell if he can see them because he hasn’t stopped studying my eyes since we meant. Or because of something much simpler like the amount of light coming from the chandelier.