I received a grunt in response.
“Did you bring me a present?” I straightened, scooting close enough that my knee brushed against his thigh.
He stared at the contact as if I would spread a disease through our trousers.
“Yen,” he murmured in the affirmative and reached into a large pouch at his side. He used the movement as an excuse to create space, and when he angled toward the sea again, he resettled with a gap between us.
He held a delicate wooden snowflake adorned with the whitest yarn I’d ever encountered. In the sunlight, its brilliance was almost blinding, forcing me to squint as I examined its intricate design. As I accepted it from his palm, I marveled at its unmatched softness, unlike anything I touched before. There wasn’t much about Landing’s End that was soft. This was a treasure.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, rubbing the threads.
“Perhaps you have outgrown the toys I bring.” He winced, as if mentally berating himself.
I laughed, spinning the snowflake at the center of my palm. “Never.”
“Remember your homeland.” His words quieted as he gave my orange hair a gentle tug.
I recognized his good intentions, but I didn’t want to think about that. His potential disapproval of my hair and my rejection of my heritage was a topic I’d rather avoid. Gods above knew I endured enough criticism from the witch when I bought the potion.
“I rememberyou,” I said, a bit more forcefully than I should have. “You’re the one who cares. I don’t see anyone else remembering my birthdays or bringing me tiny treasures.”
A muscle in his jaw feathered as his attention returned to the ocean. “No one?” he asked. “No boy?”
A rough edge tinged his words with an emotion I didn’t understand. I threw my head back and laughed up at the sun. I mentally praised every god that I knew, reveling in this feeling. He was asking if I had a crush. I could pretend to interpret his tone as jealousy, rather than concern for a princess separated from her kingdom, but it didn’t matter to me either way.
With an open smile, I shook my head and let my gaze linger on his lips. “No one, Sainte. No one but you.”
My response seemed to scare him more than the prospect of another boy doting on me. I basked in the warmth of his genuine care and concern.
When we headed home to Kelsie, we stopped by a street vendor to grab hot food and sweets. I found every excuse I could to touch him—playful shoves,bumping my hip into his as we walked. A wrinkle of confusion embedded between his brows, and I loved it. I don’t know which was more intoxicating, being free with a man I liked, or his glances of pure bewilderment, as if I was a strange creature he never crossed paths with before.
When we reached the small house crammed in amongst the others, the sun bedded the ocean for the night. Hues of orange and pink painted the sky, and the street was quiet as the good folk tucked in with the fading light.
Sainte stopped at the door and rapped twice, as he always did. I took a deep breath and climbed to the step above him so I matched his height, then pressed my palm to his soft, warm cheek. His eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed as my touch wandered. Nerves tightened my throat as my thumb traced the corner of his lip, fingers brushing against the unseen stubble on his jawline.
“Bit of sugar there,” I whispered.
His unwavering gaze locked with mine, revealing a determination I couldn’t ignore, pulling me closer.
The door flew open, and I jerked my hand away as if it were on fire. I spun, facing Kelsie, and my joy faded into irritable rebellion.
“Beth!” she hissed. “I told you I needed you to–”
“The pigs can feed themselves for one day,” I growled, crossing my arms over my chest.
She turned her plea to Sainte, who frowned at me with a flood of disappointment in his gaze.
“My dear sir,” she said, “you must know–”
With a jingle of coins, he placed a small bag into Kelsie’s upturned hands.
“Goodnight, Princess Elspeth.” He rasped out a gruff farewell, punctuated by a brisk nod, then headed down the stairs.
“But, good sir!” she called.
“No doubt for the pigs,” I muttered under my breath and pushed past her large frame to get inside.
Children sprawled on thin blankets along the floor, squabbling and wrangling for space. We were lucky to have the raised wooden flooring. It kept us above the tide during the annual floods. At least Kelsie and Juar’s little ones stayed dry and well-fed.
