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
