She hardly acknowledged him, thinking he was speaking to someone else. But once she realized her mistake, she resisted the urge to glance back.
The strange treatment followed her everywhere she went. When she stepped into the kitchens, hoping to steal a piece of leftover oat bread, three maids rushed to prepare a tray before she could so much as speak. Another offered a brew of her favorite herbs.
It unsettled her so much that they would not even let her pull out a chair that she rushed through the agonizing breakfast and found her way back upstairs once she was done.
Perhaps Aaron enjoyed this sort of attention and had commanded it for her. Life beside Scarlett had not nearly been as excruciating as this, or perhaps she had not noticed because she had simply been very close to her friend.
But now, after just one morning, she knew that this was not what she wanted. Not ever.
She exhaled softly as she turned down the quieter east wing, grateful for once that it was mostly empty.
For the first time that morning, relief washed over her as she walked into the library where she and Scarlett used to spend time together.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Edith stopped at the entrance of the library.
The scent of old parchment and polished oak enveloped her at once, and she let out a slow breath, her chest tightening as she stepped over the threshold.
For a moment, she simply stood there, staring around the empty old library.
When Scarlett was still at Hallow, they would often sit together at the corner table near the window, reading the books that Scarlett would borrow from the main library and sharing stories that felt like they belonged only to them.
The library had once been a place filled with laughter and whispered conversation. But now, it was silent.
Edith walked toward the center of the room. She had never imagined that it would one day become a place where she satalone. She had never imagined she would find herself drawing in it either. But somehow, in the months after Scarlett left, drawing had slowly become a habit she found comfort and escape in. And she came here whenever her thoughts grew too loud.
There was no proper setup. Her materials were nothing more than things she could take without notice or permission. When she first started drawing, she had only a single piece of parchment and dried ink. But now, she had managed to collect a small bundle of charcoal sticks from burnt heartwood and a pile of parchment that was either too old or smudged to practice her new hobby.
Her heart settled as she made her way to the corner table, her fingers brushing lightly over the wood. There were still inscriptions on it from when she and Scarlett used to scribble.S.E., an initial they coined from both their names.
A few old sketches lay on the table, untouched since the last time she came in here. Sketches of roots, leaves, bundles of herbs, and, occasionally, flowers. They were things that she had and knew. Simple things.
Edith sighed. She settled onto the stool and reached for the top sheet of parchment, turning it over between her fingers. It was clean. No writings or stains on either side. A rare find.
A small smile touched her lips.
I should draw something special today.
The thought came softly, settling into her mind before she could stop it.
She picked up a sharpened piece of charcoal and pressed its edge against the parchment.
Her strokes were meaningless at first—or at least that was what she told herself. Lines began forming beneath her hand. A wrist. Long fingers. A bare hand cradled carefully in a larger one.
Her breath slowed. She should have been thinking of the days ahead. Of her new position and her strange arrangement with Aaron. Of the lessons she wanted so badly from the healer.
Instead, her thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.
She sketched an outline of Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers—a memory she had spent so little time convincing herself did not matter, because she genuinely hadn’t thought about it since their meeting in the study.
Her thoughts drifted to the warmth of his mouth against her skin when he kissed the back of her hand. To the strange look that had entered his eyes afterward, as though he had felt the moment too.
Perhaps—
She cut off that train of thought and swallowed, continuing to sketch.
The charcoal moved carefully beneath her fingers as the memory slowly came to life before her eyes. She shaded their hands first, and then his head as he bent to kiss her.
