“What’s your truth, Lox?”
He smiles, a real smile, all teeth, and my heart sets fire. “That’s a story for another time, little crow.”
“Why do you always call me that?”
“Call you what?”
“Little crow.” Something I’ve wondered from the very first time the name left his lips.
He smirks. “Because of the way you’re always squawking at me.”
“You’re impossible.” My eyes narrow into slits, and I scowl.
He laughs, and as infuriating as this man is, the sound is a melody I long to hear over and over again. “Well, little crow, if you must know, it’s because crows are highly intelligent creatures. Their beauty is understated by most, and they can be ruthless when crossed by those they’ve trusted.”
Loxen has me at a loss for words, and he seems to rather enjoy it when I blush. I steer the conversation back to him, wanting him to give me even an inkling of information.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“It’s not a story worth learning, trust me,” he says, swallowing as he breaks his gaze away from me, seemingly lost in thought. I find myself wanting to know all of his stories, truths and lies alike.
“And how are you supposed to know that, when you’ve only made it halfway through?” I raise my brows, throwing his words back in his face. “Maybe your ending is amazing, even if your beginning kind of sucked,” I tell him, scrunching my nose.
When his gaze returns to me, there’s something haunted behind it. “Verena, I—” he starts, then swallows, eyes roaming my face as if looking for answers. I want to pry for whatever is troubling him, but I don’t. He shakes his head and nods towards the journal. “What other secrets are in that thing?”
I smile and open the journal to the last page I read. “Let’s find out.”
The soft chirping of birds, the smell of old books and a warmth against my skin coaxes me from my slumber. My tired eyes squint open against the rays of sun pouring through the window, and a hard object digs into the crook of my elbow. Awareness trickles in slowly, then all at once, and I sit up straight, rubbing a hand over my face, instantly searching for a pair of cobalt eyes. I shouldn’t be disappointed that Loxen is no longer sound asleep next to me, but I am. Regardless of his disappearing act, I feel like I’ve had the best sleep in a long time, possibly the best sleepof my life, though my neck is a little kinked from the position I was lying in.
Loxen and I stayed up late into the night reading my grandfather’s journal. Somewhere in between entries, he had fallen asleep next to me. Sleep found me soon after, it seems.
A waft of something sweet drifts through the library, and my stomach grumbles. I skipped dinner in favour of secrets last night, and my stomach seems to be unhappy about it. Grabbing the journal, I make my way out of the library, towards the heavenly smell that beckons me.
THIRTY
VERENA GRAVENHURST
My fingers drum impatiently against the marble countertop, my stomach growling with such ferocity, you would think I haven’t eaten in weeks. I watch Edgar, the manor’s cook, pull a pan of freshly baked blueberry muffins from the oven. He removes them one by one, placing them on a cooling rack, a mere two feet away from me. I look to him, and then back to the muffins, waiting for the perfect opportunity to snag one and be on my way, but I have no such luck. Edgar eyes me, like he knows what I’m up to and shakes his head.
“Patience, Miss Gravenhurst. Wouldn’t want a nasty burn now, would we?” He gives me a kind smile.
I nod, returning his smile and stand from my stool to peer out the kitchen window.If only some knew how badly I’ve already been burned.
The adjacent doors swing open, and Archie strolls through, dressed in his usual butler attire, ready to face the day ahead.
“Good morning, Miss Ren. Are you giving Edgar a hard time so early in the day?”
My tongue flies out of my mouthbefore I realize what I am doing. Archie’s eyes widen, shocked at my crude outburst, but I can see the slight grin he’s attempting to stifle.
“Me?” My hand flies to my chest, feigning innocence. “I would never.”
Archie clicks his tongue and opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it and moves around the kitchen to the other side of the island.
Edgar flashes us a knowing expression and heads out of the room to put ingredients away in the pantry.
Archie pours himself a cup of coffee. He sits at a bar stool at the island, closes his eyes and takes a whiff of the bold, rich smell. As I watch him enjoy his cup of joe, I can’t help but wonder if this is his routine every morning. His eyes flicker to mine, catching me staring, and he straightens his posture, like I’ve caught him in the middle of something entirely personal. It makes me smile.
My attention drifts back to the window, and I scour the manor grounds, looking for an unruly head of black hair in the garden, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
