HE LEADS HER UPSTAIRS, stepping over the sign that hangs across the stairwell saying “no entry past this point,” and into his bedroom. despite it being well past two in the morning, the party still rages on downstairs, the music drifting up through the opened windows, the bass shaking the floor under their feet, but maven ignores it. at this point, it’s all basically white noise to the foreign prince. ❝ you can look around, if you want. or we can skip the pleasantries and start taking each other’s clothes off. ❞ he says with a teasing grin. there’s not much to look at in his bedroom --- no photos of his family, no sentimental knickknacks, nothing personal at all. the bedroom looks the exact way it did when he moved, aside from an easel by the window that overlooks the city, a canvas with a half - finished painting sitting on it. he never thought he’d be here so long that he’d need to make it homey. ❝ c’mere. ❞ maven calls, reaching out to take one of her hands so he can pull her into him, and catch her lips in a deep, lingering kiss.
@findslight / sc.
