Ian closed the door behind him but remained standing in the hallway.
He was staring straight at her.
Robin slowly exhaled.
Time for the backup plan.
She dropped into a curtsy. “Prince Ian.”
“Wren of Lockwood.” His voice was neutral—but leaning toward the negative side of neutral.
She looked up.
He had crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I...” She was still bowed down in a curtsy, her hands holding her dress. She could feel the sharp poke of a twig in her pocket. “I was thinking that Lady Robin might be feeling homesick. She always loved Silverfest and it must be so difficult to celebrate without her beloved family this silverreign. I came to bring her this to cheer her up.”
Robin pulled the twig from her pocket. It was covered in small red berries with a few waxy green leaves.
Ian’s face seemed no less confused. “Why would cerise berries cheer her up?”
“Her family used to play a game every Silverfest morn. They would take turns eating one sour berry at a time, and the first person to make a face lost.” Robin had chosen a true story so that it would be easier to tell, but she hadn’t counted on the tears that burned in her eyes. Her father had loved to create contests, and the thought of his smiling face, trying not to pucker, was too painful.
“That sounds like a silly game,” Ian responded.
“It is. But Robin loved it.”
“I have a feeling my brothers would like it, too.” Ian’s stance had relaxed. “That’s very thoughtful.” He walked away from her, toward the far end of the hall.
Robin swallowed, trying to loosen the tightness in her throat, and followed him.
He knocked on Lind’s door. “Lady Lockwood?” he called out in a whisper.
The door opened almost instantly, and Lind poked her head out of the door, a broad smile on her face. “Prince Ian... and...” Her smile faltered.
“Wren, my lady.” Robin dropped into a quick curtsy. “I wanted to make sure you are faring well. Can I come in for a few moments?”
Lind held the door half-closed. “I am quite tired this evening.” She yawned.
Robin did not think she looked tired. Her hair was undone and loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing a thick, cream-colored robe with a broad fur-covered collar that was definitely new. She must have already petitioned the queen for a new wardrobe, which was premature as the clothes would be made to Lind’s specifications instead of Robin’s.
“Please, my lady.” Robin held out the twig of cerise berries. “I just want to ensure that you are well.”
“I am adjusting quite well, Ro... Rr... Wren, though it is quite sweet of you to think of me.” Her words were kind, but her smile fell flat.
Robin sent her as strong a glare as she dared, hoping Ian wouldn’t notice.
Lind broke their eye contact, and her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She forced the smile back on her face and reached out to take the twig from Robin’s still-extended hand. “Maybe soon, you sweet thing,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not tonight. My head aches ever so much.” She wiped a hand across her forehead, shooting Robin a warning glare of her own. “Goodnight.” She closed the door.
Robin felt an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Lind had no reason to hide from her. She pinched her lips. They’d be discussing this soon—and next time she wouldn’t let her lady’s maid excuse herself from the conversation.
“She can be difficult to converse with, can’t she?” Ian whispered as he escorted Robin back down the hall.
Robin nodded in agreement.
Ian opened the door to the staircase for her, stepping aside so she could pass through. “Wren, next time you should visit her during the day. Only certain members of the staff are allowed up here, especially after dark.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Robin assured him. Next time she would definitely be doing it differently.
