A soft curse escaped her lips as the familiar smell of English biscuits flooded her nostrils. The Icelander prince was here again! Couldn't he take a hint? She had no interest in him. Prita didn't care if he had a killer body or if he tasted as good as he looked. She didn't like him, or his insufferable personality.
Rising from where she sat on the ground, she scowled at the prince. He was too early. He should have shown up when she had locked herself away in her tomb.
His smile dropped. "Is my love not happy to see me?"
She glared at him, adjusting the woolen dress he had gotten her. The thing was too itchy. "I'm not your love, and I'm not happy to see you."
"Well, that's a shame because seeing you just made my day."
"Go away, you annoying brat. What are you even doing here? I told y
