“I’m in the bath,” said the prince, as though it was obvious.

There was that splashing noise again.

“I’m not going to make you dress me,” Arthur promised, “but I really do need a towel.”

Oh no. She couldn’t possibly go in there.

Emry sent up a quick prayer, and then positioned herself outside the bathing chamber. She tried a summoning spell, but it was hopeless when she couldn’t see what she was trying to move.

“I’m sending you a towel. Is it working?”

“No,” he said crossly. “Just get in here and hand me one.”

Emry edged into the bathing chamber, her eyes squeezed shut.

The smell of rose was overwhelming. She tried not to think about Arthur, naked, in the bath. Which of course meant that she did.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Giving you some privacy,” she snapped, waving her hands in front of her until she found the wall.

“You’re being ridiculous,” said Arthur, the water splashing. “We’re both men.”

Emry bit back a laugh. At least he hadn’t guessed the truth.

“Merlin,” the prince warned. “I don’t have all day.”

Emry opened her eyes, her heart racing. She was in a large, wood-paneled room that was thick with fragrant steam. Two flickering candelabra cast a dim glow as they dribbled wax onto the inlaid floor. A marble tub sat at the far end, and hanging over the side of it, wet hair dripping into his face, was Arthur. He looked thoroughly annoyed.

Emry glanced around. A carved basin was set into an alcove, with taps that provided running water. Her eyes widened at the luxury. A stack of linen towels balanced on the edge of the basin, and Emry grabbed one. She took a deep breath, summoning her nerve, and approached the tub.

“Thanks,” Arthur said.

She waited for him to ask her to turn around. Instead, he stood up.

Water ran down his naked torso, and the sight of him filled her eyes. She couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to.

He stepped from the tub, his gaze dark and amused as he reached for the towel. She let go a moment too soon, out of panic, and the cloth dropped to the floor.

She stared down at it in barely concealed horror.

“I’ve got it—” she said, scrambling to retrieve it.

“No, it’s—” Arthur insisted.

Emry straightened, holding the towel out in front of her as though it was a shield. The steam was making her light-headed. Or maybe it was the heat. And she was staring. She couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes kept wandering slowly, hungrily, over the naked prince. And he’d noticed.

“You’re blushing,” Arthur accused lightly, wrapping the towel around his waist. The pale, thin linen was practically see-through, and did little to conceal what was beneath.

“It’s the steam,” Emry insisted, her throat dry.