**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES!♦
Cordelia, the Princess of Totresia, has alw...
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♪ You have gentle eyes That I love that I hate that I love that I hate that I love that I hate that I love ♪ {BANKS—If we were made of water}
"You wrote this?" Thomas jiggled the book, and the shaking nearly caused Cordelia to spew out the contents of the light and stale-tasting breakfast she'd had.
"Well..." She gulped, desperate for Helen to return with news of their beverages. "I did, but not alone."
"Not alone?" Thomas set the book down and leaned into his seat, folding his arms and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his gaze, but the remnants of a shy smile lingered over his lips. "Explain yourself, Princess. I have been obsessed with this book since I found it, and it is outside of my usual genre. I must know who the creative genius behind these words is!"
Cordelia's throat was dry, but her cheeks were flushed. Explain herself? Wasn't she trying to get him to explain his own actions, first?
Yet her irritation was muffled by her pride, shoved down by what Thomas had said, what he'd called her.
Creative genius? No one, aside from Séb, has ever praised my writing.
"I... I co-wrote it. The story itself... it was not my creation. I clarified the details, intensified the stakes, the drama, and added more to the ideas."
She peered towards the doors Helen had gone through what felt like an eternity ago. Would she return soon? Swoop in and save Cordelia from spilling out too much information? Thomas had put Cordelia on the spot, shocking her with the revelation of the worn-out book he'd kept close to his heart for their entire sojourn. What did that mean? Why would a man take such an interest in a romance novel such as The Golden Girl?
"Do you think Helen is all right?" She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and did everything in her power to avert her gaze. To refrain from witnessing the ever-growing curiosity in Thomas' eyes. "She followed that serving boy inside and has not yet returned, and I am parched—"
"—who did you write it with?" Thomas' voice pierced like a knife, prickling Cordelia's skin, forcing her to return to the matter at hand.
She allowed herself a glance at him, finding that his intrigue danced across his face with twitches of smiles and widened eyes and elevated brows. Knowing Cordelia had participated in this novel's writing wasn't enough; he wanted all the names, all those involved.
"I am still uncertain whether to trust you, Thomas." Cordelia sat up straight and glared at him, summoning a courage she'd lacked moments prior. Recalling why she'd met him outside, why she'd been suspicious, she no longer cared about his questions on The Golden Girl. The world around them faded as she zoned in on him. She ignored his pressure, adamant on demanding explanations for how and why they were locked in a French Baronesses mansion. "I should not have told you any of this, and I am done replying to your pressing queries until you reply to some of mine—"
