78:The war I can't win (4)

~Laith~

Cursing silently, I gave Zephirin a sullen stare. He responded with a sardonic lift of one brow. Although he was clad in a tweed riding coat, his shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, sun-browned line of his neck. 

During our previous encounters, Prince Zephirin had always been impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed.

 At the moment, however, his thick golden hair was wind-tousled, and he was rather in need of a shave. 

Strangely, the sight of him like this sent a pleasant shiver through my insides and imparted an unfamiliar weakness to my knees.

Regardless of my dislike of the situation. I had to acknowledge that Zephirin is an extremely attractive man. His features were too broad in some places, and too sharp in others. 

There was a rugged poetry in the structure of his face that made classical handsomeness seem utterly irrelevant.