"As expected of a prince—adopted though he may be—he still commands a vast expanse of land as his personal dwelling," Lior muttered aloud. His voice carried a trace of awe, but also irritation. He stretched his back, bending until his spine arched and his hands rested against his knees, trying to ease the ache in his muscles.
As he kneaded at his sore joints, his eyes lingered on the tall figure walking ahead of him. "Gosh…this body really is frail," he grumbled under his breath. "I'm already exhausted, and all this man does is speak endlessly about how much he wants to marry me."
Daemar turned suddenly, catching him mid-mutter. Startled, Lior straightened in an instant, standing tall as though nothing had happened. He wasn't about to let the prince glimpse his weakness. Daemar's lips curled into a small, knowing smile before he turned away again and continued walking forward. Lior let out a breath of relief—he had almost been exposed. He quickened his pace to catch up.
