"So, this is where possible-orphan, possible-American, possible-psychopath, Jasper Frost lives, huh?

Eleanor's comment was met with the emotionless look that seemed forever engraved on his face, had he been fifty years older, she would just have presumed it was a dodgy Botox accident; however, that couldn't be the case here, not when he was so young and well, if she were pushed to admit it, panty-droppingly attractive. Instead of verbally responding, he ushered her in far enough that he could shut the front door, his home was a lot more impressive than the Princess had been expecting. They must pay their security well for him to be able to afford such a place, not that she knew all too much about housing prices; she'd never had to look for one, and even if she needed to, money would be no issue.

With a monochrome theme, his home boasted a clean, modern vibe, plus the fact it was impossibly tidy, though that may have something to do with the fact he was rarely here due to his frequent sleepovers with the Princess, and her mother on one occasion. An open plan kitchen and lounge area, with two doors off the side, one presumably his bedroom, the other the bathroom. Eleanor wasn't entirely sure what to think about this turn of events, finally she was getting a peek inside his life.

The brunette held out her bag for him to take, which he did on instinct before internally kicking himself; if she was going to stay here, she needed some control, he would have to make that clear. No way was Jasper going to allow her to lounge on his white couch in that heavy eye-makeup, or spend hours in the shower doing God knows what. Or maybe he would, after losing her and gaining some of her back again, he knew deep down that no matter what she did, he'd still want her around, still want to be by her side as she experienced the worst of times. He had never known Eleanor to cry quite like she had only a few hours earlier, sure he had seen her shed a few tears after an argument with her mother and although she would deny it, he'd definitely seen her eyes water after a particularly strong climax, but never like this, her screams had literally ripped through his soul. Liam had thought it best that they didn't stay in the palace for the next few days, although Cyrus had stated that now he had the crown firmly settled on his head, the Prince and Princess should return; only for appearances of course, but he had also insisted that they would need security once more, giving Jasper his job back and putting Marcus back by Liam's side. Eleanor had practically ripped Ted a new one while trying to get Jasper reemployed; the head of security had finally given in, admitting he didn't have a problem with the man's work ethic. Although with the Princess refusing to accept anyone but the tall American, Ted really didn't have a choice.

Rolling his eyes in that infamous way, he slid past her, making his way to the first of the two doors, as he opened it, Eleanor could see it was his bedroom and even though curiosity killed the cat, she still hurried in after him. It was much like the other part of his home, black, white and grey seemed to be a running theme in both his living space and attire.

"Like you know, left side of the bed is mine. I've cleared off the right beside table, you can put your things in there and in the third drawer of the dresser in the corner," Jasper instructed, voice steady and in some ways, soothing to the Princess. Setting her bag down by the foot of the bed, he couldn't quite stop her in time as she scrambled over to his side, nosily yanking out the drawer of his own bedside table, hoping to find a picture from his childhood or a passport stating his nationality. Instead, all that welcomed her was an open pack of condoms, a couple of USB drives and an old newspaper, which she held up with a cocked 'brow, "You do know this is like two months old right?"

"Right," he responded, reaching out to snatch it back off of her, shoving the paper back into his drawer before slamming it shut. "Here's a few rules for you, Princess; number one, no more snooping through my things, number two, no hogging the blankets like I know you love to do, number three, no drugs, not even weed, and number four, no mentioning me and your mother. I've explained it to you; I don't want to hear another word about it. I've said sorry, and we need to move on." Eleanor adjusted her position so she was sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed, shrugging her shoulder in response to the instructions; she wasn't about to make any promises.