Then she heard it, a deep male voice spilling into the corridor from the open doors.
Her heart stuttered, a foolish, eager thing. It must be Caelith! Fate was truly pushing her this day.
She smoothed her skirts and rolled her shoulders back. Calm,poised, perfect. She just hoped the staff hadn’t heard that she was banned from the kitchens yet. That would be mortifying.
With one last breath, she stepped forward.
“My Lo—”
Emmaline barely got the words out before she clipped her hip against the sharp edge of a prep table. Sucking in her breath, she bit back a curse as she stumbled, her hand shooting out to grip the cold metal.Smooth. Very smooth.
But it wasn’t her fault. She sucked in a breath. The room suddenly felt smaller.
Deyric stood near the hearth, looking as if he belonged there, as if the room had simply reshaped itself around him. The soft glow of firelight danced over the planes of his face, accentuating the cut of his jaw and the infuriatingly amused tilt of his lips.
The cook—a dark, stout woman of brownie descent—scowled at him as she pulled a tray of glossy bara brith from the oven, the smell of spiced fruit and warm honey filling the air.
“I’m sorry, Jenni. You know how he is…” His voice sent something unpleasantly warm coiling deep in Emmaline’s chest. Then he paused, looking up from the steaming loaf.
“Oh.” His eyes dragged over her. Not the way Lady Isolde had done it, with her thinly veiled contempt. No. Deyric’s gaze burned, making her skin prickle with the ghost of a touch that never landed.
“Hello, little killer.” His mouth curved up at the sight of her.
Emmaline stiffened.Lyra’s clumsy feet,he knows.How did he know? Her mind raced. Had he told Caelith? Did he plan to?
“And don’t you look… festive,” he continued.
She forced her chin up, schooling her expression into indifference. “Do not call me that.”
Deyric’s lips twitched, his shoulders shifting in the loose, brown linen of his shirt as if he found her irritation entertaining.
She planted a hand on her hip. “What are you even doing here? I thought—” She caught herself just in time, snapping her mouth shut.
His brows lifted. “Happy to see me, little killer?”
She scowled. “I said, do not call me that. What if someone…” And then, before she could think better of it, she grabbed his elbow, fingers tightening around solid muscle, and dragged him toward the door.
“What are you even doing here?” She shoved him hard in the chest as soon as they were clear of the kitchen.
He barely moved.
Lady above, how many muscles did one man need?Her palm tingled from the contact, and she quickly dropped her hand, squaring her hips to steady herself.
“If anyone finds out about last night, we all go down,” she hissed. “You can’t possibly want that.”
Deyric dipped his chin, the infuriating smirk never slipping. “So long as you’re with me, little—”
Her hand flew up before she could think better of it, ready to wipe the smugness off his face in one swift slap.
But he was faster.
“—Little Emmaline,” he finished smoothly, catching her wrist with ease. And before she could yank away, he brought her hand to his lips, brushing the softest kiss across her knuckles.
The world hiccupped.
The heat of his mouth sent something strange winding down her back, a slow, disorienting sensation that settled too deep, too fast. Her breath caught in her throat, but she was too stunned to pull away, too entranced by the quiet reverence in his touch.
Then, reality snapped back into place.
