“What sorts of games?” he asks. “Perhaps we can do them here.”

With just two people? I don’t know how effective that will be, but it’s sweet of him to want to try. “Well, there’s a game where one of the king’s rings is hidden into a cake, and everyone gets a piece. If you get the ring in your piece, you get to rule court for a day. And then there is a dessert full of minced nuts and if you get a whole nut in your dessert, it’s supposed to be lucky. That you’re supposed to be exceptionally fertile in the next year.”

“Mmm. We can avoid that one, I think.”

I chuckle. “It’s pretty useless for one such as me anyhow.”

“Why is that?”

I wave his question aside. “Most of court likes drinking games, or flirting games. Things that involve kissing.”

There goes his cloak again, shaking with agitation as the wings underneath move. Is he even aware that he’s doing that? It’s such an obvious tell that I think perhaps he has no idea. “I doubt you would want to play such things with me.”

“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I am up for any kind of game. And while I’m not a huge fan of kissing old men in a game, I’ve done so in the past, just because I like to win.” I give him a sly look. “Did I mention that I’m competitive?”

“Gods help us both,” he mutters. Nemeth gestures at me, his big hand motioning where I’m nestled in bed. “You pick the game. I will play.”

I consider, turning the onion over carefully in my hands. “Do your people have games they play?”

“Ours are mostly ones of skill. Flight games.” He shrugs. “I do not think you would be able to play.”

No, I suppose not. I consider the games I know that can be played without additional props or people. I can’t think of anything that doesn’t involve rather lascivious sorts of things or court frivolity, so I decide to make one up. “I suppose we could play…Secrets.”

“Secrets?”

“Yes. I give you a challenge. Something small, like ‘Go across the room and touch the wall’ or whatever. If you decide not to perform my challenge, you must tell me a secret instead.”

Nemeth frowns at me, moving to sit on the stool beside the bed. “This sounds like a foolish game.”

“Highly foolish,” I agree. “But did you have another way you were planning on spending the afternoon?” I give him a challenging look. “Is your day full of meetings? You have many things to discuss with your advisors?” I lift a corner of the blanket and peer under. “Are your advisors hiding under here?”

He chuckles. “Fine. Fine. You win. We shall play your secrets game. All right?” When I beam approval at him, he says, “Who goes first?”

“Me, because I’m the lady.” When he raises a brow, I nod. “Those are the rules. I swear. All right. For my first challenge I…” I look around the room, trying to decide. Then, the idea hits me and I hold out my onion. “I want you to eat another one of these peppercorns.”

Making a face, Nemeth takes the onion from me and pulls another peppercorn free with his lips. They lock around the kernel in a rather impressive sort of way that fascinates me, and then he pulls the toothpick free and crunches down on the peppercorn. A moment later, he grimaces and gives his head a shake, but he doesn’t sneeze once.

“Very nice,” I tell him. “Now you’re doubly my suitor, aren’t you?” I give him a sly wink. “I suppose it’s a good thing we don’t have the minced nut cakes for fertility.”

His cloak shakes violently even as he narrows his eyes at me. “You are trying to embarrass me.”

“I am,” I agree. “I find your embarrassment utterly charming.”

There’s a pained expression on his face, but his cloak gives another vigorous flutter.

“I told you I’m a flirt,” I warn him.

“You did.”

“Should I stop? I can tone myself down if you feel uncomfortable.”

Nemeth shakes his head and runs one hand over his cluster of horns. “I would rather you be yourself. Pay no mind to me. I am just a blushing, bookish sort and not the type to go toe to toe with a court lady.”

“So you are blushing,” I tease. “Excellent.” I shift in the bed, curling my legs underneath me as he hands the onion back once more. “Now it’s my turn. Dare me something or force me to tell a secret.”

He scratches at the base of one horn. “A dare, eh? Let me think.”

“Don’t vex yourself,” I tease. Oh, I’m having so much fun.

Nemeth gives me a quelling look. He rubs his chin, thinking, and glances around the room for inspiration. “I should dare you to…”

“Something wicked,” I encourage, practically bouncing with anticipation. “Something naughty. Make me do something naughty!”

His nostrils flare and the cape flutters again. He looks everywhere but me, and then says, “I dare you to put a finger up your nose.”

I groan. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not very ladylike,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, shoulders stiffening. “Are you going to do it?”

I roll my eyes and jam a finger up my nose, making a face at him as I do. “You need to get better at this game, friend. Allow me to show you the way.” I crack my knuckles (also not very ladylike) and pretend to consider. “All right. My dare for you is that you take off your kilt.”

Nemeth recoils in surprise. “What!?”

“You can keep your cloak on for modesty,” I say, flicking my fingers at him. “But that’s my dare. I dare you to give me your kilt.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you have to tell me a secret.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “Make it a juicy one, please.”

He puts a hand on the belt of his kilt, as if determined to protect his modesty from me, and narrows his gaze in my direction. “What sort of secret would you like?”

Is he letting me choose? Well that’s just delightful. “Tell me a secret about a past lover.”

He rubs his ear. He truly is the twitchiest man when he’s nervous. “There are no past lovers.”

I suspected as much, and I can’t help but smile. “Is that part a secret? That there wasn’t anyone?”

Nemeth shrugs. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. The monks back at the Alabaster Citadel might have known the truth of it. It was a secret to you, so that counts, does it not?”

Was it truly, though? As skittish as he is, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, especially if he grew up at the Citadel with my sister and surrounded by monks, priests, and prophets. It’s not exactly a setting conducive to sensuality. But he’s clearly disconcerted at confessing such a thing to me. He looks uneasy, and those brilliant green eyes won’t look at me directly. Does he think I’m going to judge him?

I sit up, reaching out toward him, and touch my fingertips to his chin. “Look at me, Nemeth.”

He does, and his eyes are shuttered, as if he’s afraid to show emotion.

“This is just a game,” I say gently. “A game between friends. Whatever you tell me here in this tower remains with me and only me. I make you that promise, all right? I would never tease you about your experience or lack thereof.”

Nemeth just grunts. I suppose that’s some sort of agreement.

I hold my hand up. “Want to swear it in blood? I’m happy to slash my palm in dramatic fashion and mingle my blood with yours.”

That makes him roll his eyes. He snags my wrist and turns it face up, towards me. “Here is a hint from a warrior to a princess,” he says, and his claw brushes over the middle of my palm. “You never cut down the middle. A vow in blood doesn’t mean you have to slice your hand open. If you do so, not only can you not hold your sword, but you run the risk of destroying the tendons in your hand. If you truly wish to make a blood pact, use a fingertip.” His claw moves to the tip of my finger and he rubs it, his callused hands warm over mine. “Fingers bleed. And no blood pact says that great amounts of blood must be used.”

“Such an expert,” I say coyly, amused that he’s educating me. As if I’d ever hold a sword. “Does this mean you don’t want to do a blood pact, then?”