His eyes rounded with indignation. “I was not—”
“Oh please,” I said. “I had wished to be alone, but every inch of this place is crawling with ill-mannered people—this parapet included.”
His mouth opened, then shut. For a long moment, he simply stared at me, stupefied. “Well…” He crossed closer, narrowed his eyes to a scowl. “Seeing as how we had both hoped to be alone,perhaps we could be alone together. Though I see that you might not be in the mood to share.”
I held his stare. He reminded me of summer. Skin a golden brown, eyes the color of dark leaves. The wind tousled his inky hair so that it hung over his creased brow. He was regal, towering and straight, well-built and graceful, but it was the way he looked at me down the length of his ever-so-slightly crooked nose that made me certain he was of noble birth. I yearned to tell himnosimply because he seemed unaccustomed to hearing it, but something in me clamped down on the impulse. “We can share,” I finally said, “but only if you promise not to laugh at this ludicrous dress again.”
A breath. Another. Then his scowl melted into a full smile that dimpled his left cheek. “A tall ask.”
My jaw unhinged in amused outrage.
“Forgive me.” He raised his hands in surrender, face serious once more. “I’m simply relieved to know you’re aware that it’s… noticeable.”
“Of course.” I gave my skirt a deprecating flounce. “I’m impossible to miss.”
He gave another dimpled smile as he rested his elbows on the crenellated wall and stared at the vista.
A long silence sat between us. “And why,” I asked, “are you seeking refuge from the party? Strange to travel all this way, only to hide.”
He flexed his jaw. “This fort… It’s not a pleasant place.” His low voice had turned somber, ill at ease. He forced a flat smile. “And the wine is terrible. And you?”
I eyed the strong lines of his profile. There was something inviting about him, something that made me want to tell him the truth. “I’m most certainly avoiding the wine,” I said, instead. “Expect to wake with a headache and a burning stomach if you drink too much.”
“You couldn’t pay me.”
We stood side by side, staring over the mountain peaks and old twisted cypresses, out to the glittering band of sea.
“Quite a view,” he said, quietly.
“It is.” It was endless and sweeping and made me feel immeasurably small. “I don’t think that’s why Nemea built this fort so high up, though.”
He gave a disgruntled sound deep in his chest at my mention of King Nemea. Mood suddenly sullen, he turned and rested his back against the parapet wall.
“You don’t like him, do you?” I asked. There were not many who did.
His sidelong glance was fleeting. “I’ve heard rumors this fort was built this high so that he could pitch people from the windows and be certain they would die.”
I gave a dark laugh, then gasped in a shallow breath. Nemea was far more inventive in his cruelty than to simply throw subjects from fort windows. “That’s quite the rumor. And do you believe it?”
The way his attention bore down on me made me still. He studied me, as if he were cataloging my every feature, as if he searched for something in them. Finally, in a voice that rolled through his chest like the storms over the valley, he said, “I think the only reason anyone would reside this high up—this far from the rest of the world—is because they either have something to fear or something to hide.”
My breath snagged. I looked toward the sea again, blinking against the returned sting in my eyes, feeling stripped bare. “Oh.”
“Have I upset you?”
“Not at all.” I fisted my skirt and started toward the stairs. “Excuse me.”
“Wait.” He took a tight step closer, a gentle hand raised up in offering. “May I be of assistance?”
The earnest crease in his brow made me want to spit. “Do I look like I need it?”
“You do,” he said, commandingly, wholly unfazed by my turn of emotion. “There are tears in your eyes.”
He looked at me again with that incisive stare, like I was made of water he could see straight through. I opened my mouth—to say what, I wasn’t sure—when he cut me off.
“The entryway and halls are full of guests eager for gossip. As we’ve established, you’re quite…” His gaze darted down the front of my body. “… conspicuous in that gown. It would be wise to take a moment before you descend.”
His fastidious caution stunned me. There was something about him that made me want to relent. Perhaps it was that I could sense no malice in him, no lack of patience. I could feel his steadiness, a rooted, immovable quality that made me want to linger. We stood, gazes locked, at the top of the stairs.
