Tanith comes up next to me on the balcony, her arms laden with dirty laundry. “What’s wrong?” She blows a tendril of hair from her eyes and scans the grounds below.
“Peachie.” I point at the brazen woman tucking the pretty loot behind her ear. “Ineversee her fully fledged because every Tribunal, someone snips at her. I’m sick of it. And of course, she took the only one without bruised petals.”
I shake my head.
“How ...” Tanith squints, face scrunching up. “Wow.You must haveverygood eyesight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I certainly can’t make out that sort of detail from this far up.” She shrugs and spins, heading back inside. “Now I understand why the gardeners do most of their pruning during meal times.”
“What?”
Lumping my laundry in a basket, she plants her hands on her hips. “They say it’s the only time they feel like they’re not being eyeballed.”
I blink at her, feeling a little nauseous, wondering if she knows she just tossed me a jar of worms I intend to bust the lid right off of. “Thank you, Tanith. That’sveryinteresting information—”
“That you didn’t hear from me,” she tacks on, leveling me with a hard look.
Ahh, shedoesknow.
“That I absolutely did not hear from you.”
She smiles and throws me a wink, and I turn back to the scene below.
Those deceptive bastards aren’t going to know what hit them.
Finger-combing my hair, I survey the border, snagging on a small patch of navy that makes my heart flop around. Squinting, I focus on the cluster of bluebells growing at the base of an ancient oak tree ... four long paces past my Safety Line.
Might as well be on a different continent.
“Tanith?”
Receiving no reply, I turn to see she’s slipped out, and consider chasing after her before I come to my senses.
Sending my handmaiden across my line of rocks would be rather selfish of me considering I’m unwilling to step over it myself.
I sigh, gaze lured to the trickle of people atop horses and carts clattering through the front entrance—a monumental, black stone archway smothered in crawling vines.
Better get to training or Baze will be on my case for making him miss the Tribunal.
* * *
Bag bumping against my hip, I take a route less traveled to avoid the unfamiliar people bustling around, having a nosey about the castle. I understand their desire. Curiosity is a natural thing—or so I tell myself every time I find something new to explore in this big, old labyrinth of intrigue that doesn’t belong to me. I repeat the internal mantra as I watch a man boasting the Southern garb approach, strolling down the narrow, well-lit hall I thought would be abandoned.
A hall with no nooks or shadows for me to hide in.
He moves with a confident swagger, shoulders pushed back, hands dug deep into his pockets.
I lift my chin, reminding myself that to turn around and run would look awfully suspicious. I need to act normal, pretend I’m not freaking out ... though my galloping heart knows otherwise.
As we draw closer, I notice he’s deeply handsome with swarthy skin and golden, sun-kissed hair that’s pulled back from strong, masculine features.
He looks down at my bare feet, and his brow almost hops off his face.
Warmth floods my cheeks, and I look to the walls, the floor ...anywherebut him, until I can no longer avoid the awkward tension strung between us.
Our gazes collide.
