The Prince's Captive Virgin. Maisey Yates
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the first time in recent memory, he felt restless. Usually, he was content to conduct his business within the confines of the palace walls, or, if he was feeling like a change of scenery, on the grounds. Often, a burst of energy could be dealt with in his gym.
This was different. He didn’t like it.
He prowled the halls of the palace, his staff members making themselves scarce the moment he approached. He was clearly radiating his foul mood.
If there was business to take care of as far as the country was concerned, Fos would have approached him already. But, he had not seen his adviser today at all, so that meant he lacked for specific direction.
Given the circumstances, he disliked that greatly.
A maid scuttled by, and Adam stopped her with a warning look. “Have coffee sent to the library,” he ordered.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, coffee is already there,” she returned, bowing slightly.
“Why?”
“For...the lady. Was that not... Athena told me to serve her when she asked, and where she asked.”
Of course she had. Obviously, his housekeeper had seen fit to override his handling of his own captive. “You did nothing wrong,” he said. “You may go.”
He continued on his way to the library. And there he found her. She was sitting in an armchair, her legs tucked beneath her, wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday. Yes, that was right; she’d told him she had nothing else to wear. He would have to ensure that something was procured for her.
Her attention was so focused on the book that was sitting in her lap that she didn’t look up when he came in.
“Enjoying the story?”
She jumped, looking up, her blue eyes wide. “I was,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. Her pale cheeks had a rosy flush to them, and he wondered if she was embarrassed about something. Or, if she was angry. Likely, it was anger.
“What is it?”
“Nothing you would be interested in,” she said, closing it, keeping her finger tucked between the pages, holding her spot. She reached over to the table that was placed next to the armchair and picked up a mug that he assumed contained coffee.
Next to that mug was another, and beside that was an insulated carafe. He moved nearer, picked it up and helped himself to a cup.
“I was told I would find you here, along with the coffee,” he said.
“And so you did.” She gave him a sideways glance, her lips pressed against the edge of her mug, poised as though she was about to take another drink. “You said that I could go in any room I wanted, as long as I didn’t invade your quarters.”
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