Baron adjusted his gloves once, then forced himself to be still, waiting as the footman leapt forward to open the door.
The girl who stepped out of the carriage was not Princess Aria, but rather the dark-haired servant who’d come to fetch the princess from the kitchen. Corvin didn’t seem to realize that,because he gave a proper, formal bow, squeaking out, “Welcome, Your Royal Highness.”
Huxley drained of color and possibly life itself.
Baron swallowed a laugh.
The servant girl blinked, glancing down at her plain brown attire and touching her hair, which was bound in two simple braids and tied with a handkerchief. Apparently not knowing how else to respond, she gave a deep curtsy.
Once she’d stepped out of the way, the footman handed down the true crown princess, and Corvin straightened just in time to give a little squawk.
Princess Aria smiled brightly as if the boy’s response was perfectly normal. “Thank you, future lord baron. It’s a warm welcome indeed.”
Had she been this lovely the night of the ball? Perhaps it was a trick of the autumn sunlight, gleaming down on her unfastened black hair, imbuing it with a rich glow beneath her tiara. Perhaps it was her travelling attire—a dark blue shirt and pale green vest, the combination more vibrant than her ball gown. Perhaps it was simply her smile, which found Baron and, for some unfathomable reason, lingered, her dark brown eyes touched with a slight ring of gold in the light.
“Lord Guillaume,” she said, “you look well.”
“As do you, Highness. Welcome to the Reeves estate.”
The steward stepped forward—leaning heavily on his cane—and swept a deep bow, free hand pressed to his stomach. “Your Royal Highness, I am Auden Huxley, steward of this estate. We are honored beyond measure by your presence, though I must say the visit is unexpected.”
“I apologize for the abruptness, steward, and I don’t intend to put you out. Truthfully, we’re only passing through on our way farther south.”
Somehow Huxley’s bobbing nod conveyed both reliefanddisappointment.
“Since we were in the area,” the princess continued, “I only wondered if I might have a few moments of Lord Guillaume’s time.”
Both Huxley and his manservant turned stunned expressions on Baron. Corvin looked smug. Baron felt a strange thrill dart up his spine, pulling his shoulder blades back, leaving him standing tall.
Until she said—
“I could use the opinion of a Caster on an important matter.”
Nothim. Simply the brand.
Baron resisted the urge to touch his witch’s mark.
Huxley frowned in disapproval, as if he thought royalty would be sullied by mere association with magic.
“Of course, Your Highness.” Baron bowed stiffly. “Whatever you need.”
“Excellent. Then let’s find a private place to speak. This won’t take long.”
Since he was going to be uncomfortable no matter where they went, Baron took Princess Aria to the lemon orchard, where at least the scent of citrus in the air might brighten his damp mood.
She looked up at the trees in wonder, reaching to gently brush a ripening lemon with her fingertips.
“You manageall this?” The princess craned her neck, peering at the long row of trees that stretched ahead of them.
“It’s a moderate size only,” he said.
“It’s breathtaking!”
Despite himself, Baron’s lips twitched. As a keeper of lemons, he really ought to be better at remaining sour.
“You needed a Caster,” he prodded.
“Right. Of course.” She shook her head, then reached into her side satchel and withdrew a leatherbound journal. “I have notes here from my personal study on Casting. I wondered if you might read through them and correct the errors.”
