Shesatbeneaththewillow, reading a novel atop a plush blanket and pile of pillows. A shadow fell over her, and the rustle of branches told her she was no longer alone. Someone joined her in the embrace of the tree.
Her gaze shifted from the page to a pair of military-issue boots. Her soldier had returned, and butterflies danced low in her stomach.
She trailed up the tops of his knee-height boots, over muscled thighs, straining against deep green trousers, the never-ending rows of buttons running up his double-breasted jacket... a suspiciously chiseled face that definitely did not belong to her golden-haired guard, butdidbelong to one impossibly tall and brooding duke.
Akkas reached out and grasped her hands before tugging her to her feet. With too much strength in his pull, she crashed into him, and his long arms wrapped comfortably around her back before sliding up to grasp her by the shoulders. He stepped away, not letting go, and bent forward, locking eyes with her as he leaned in.
Then his lips were on hers, soft and needy as he wove his long fingers through her hair.
She sighed herself awake, and it wasn’t exactly an exasperated exhale, though she’d be loath to admit it.When her mind kicked in, Nesrina decided she was confused, surprised, and annoyed.
That bloody man. Can’t I get a moment’s peace?
A little voice reminded her, quite rudely, that these new thoughts were likely her own fault for spending so much time intent on pestering him.
She spent the early morning in her room, eating breakfast, and reading alone by the open doors to her balcony.
Mid-morning, Nes wandered to the kitchens, debating how next to bother the duke. She wasn’t done, she only needed a method that wouldn’t involve seeing him face to face. That clearlywasn’t wise. He wasn’t precisely her employer, but even dreaming of a connection between herself, a tutor, and Lord Kahoth, a bloody duke, was exceptionally daft. She wasn’t daft. She knew the aristocracy had a different moral code than commoners, and she wouldn’t be bowled over by their glamorous lives.
At the base of the main stairwell, she turned toward the front of the house and padded up the column-lined foyer. Upon a table in the entry hall, she saw it: the day’s correspondence, a fat stack of letters with a familiar elegant packet on top.
Oh my gods, is it that time of year already?
With its pine green script on an envelope of gold, she’d recognize the Symposium of Prodigious Minds ticketsanywhere. Her throat stuck as she swallowed back memories of attending the three-day event with Papa so many times in her life.
Nesrina desperately wanted to go again after having to skip the previous year’s symposium. She’d been in mourning and used that as an excuse. The truth was, Papa’s passing meant finances were tight. She’d been offered his old position with the Rashoolis, though at a far reduced rate of pay, due to her inexperience. Now, she could technically afford her own entry, but it would have been an exorbitant expense, one she couldn’t justify.
Nes picked up the invitation and studied the writing. It was addressed toHis Grace, Lord Akkas Kahoth, Duke of Stormhill and Guest.
Something akin to hope bloomed in her chest as she traced that final word, considering the minute possibility she might be able to convince the cantankerous duke to drag her along as his plus-one.
Yes, she was still perturbed with him for sending away her guard, but she could set aside her waning anger ahead of schedule if it meant weaseling her way into the symposium in a few short weeks.
When Nesrina swallowed again, something different went down, smoother than she would have anticipated—her pride.
twelve
Kas makes a plan.
Hismountthunderedupone hill and down another as Kas made his way toward quadrant seven. When he’d sectioned his holdings into neat little grids, he’d wound up with ninety, stretching from Stormhill to west of Kabuvirib, his mining town. He made a point of visiting each quadrant quarterly, for the people liked a visible lord.
The sun had barely risen, the morning feeling more like a spring day than mid-summer. Birdsong and fresh air greeted him. It should’ve been relaxing, but all he could think about was Nesrina Kiappa, and she wasn’t relaxing at all.
Two weeks had passed since Miss Kiappa and all the other guests had arrived at Stormhill. It had been six bloody days since he’d interrupted her kiss with that idiotic guard. Five, since he’d earned her ire, a true burning rage, and not the enjoyable annoyance that made her flush and her chest rise with frustrated breaths while her eyes retained a semblance of mirth.
The farmers and families in quadrant seven were caught in their morning routines: Workers out in the fields stopped to watch him ride by, someone headed into town with a wagon full of wool, and a woman, hounded by a toddler, hung laundry on a line. As he neared the Ahearn farm, a family he’d known for many years, one of the children fetching water stopped their trek to give Kas a wave. When he returned the gesture, she dropped her bucket, threw out a hand to magically sweep sloshed waterback into the pail, and raced into the house. He hoped that wasn’t for drinking.
By the time Kas dismounted in front of the expansive farmhouse, Mrs. Ahearn was rushing onto the stoop, her long brown hair flailing behind her. Her husband, Sir Gamil Meshah, was hot on her heels and dressed in little more than a suit and trousers. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.
“Oh, my lord! What’s happened?” Mrs. Ahearn called out, pressing a hand to her robust chest.
Startled, Kas looked around. Nothing but the hard-packed road, farm fields, and the occasional aspen greeted him. “What? Is something wrong?”
“What?” She looked perplexed as she hurried down the steps.
“Lord Kahoth.” Gamil waved from the porch.
“You’re herequiteearly, sir. And we’ve already seen you this quarter.”
