He doesn’t care that his date might be dead, she thought, heart hammering.Obviously, he doesn’t care for her. Emmaline’s mind whirled.But he would care that someone might spread rumors.
“Come on,” he tried again, taking a careful step forward. “You don’t need to be afraid. We’ll sort this out together. No harm will come to you. I’m sure the Lady is fine.” He chuckled. “It takes more than a little bump on the head to hurt an elven Lady of the Vale.”
She huffed a small laugh. The crystal statue had done a bit more than a little bump to the head.
Should I stay? Her thoughts raced.Maybe I can spin this somehow. Make him see me. But what if—
The snap of a twig behind her shattered her train of thought. Before she could react, something cold and sharp pressed against her back, sending a chill down her spine.
“Run, and you’ll regret it,” came a rough voice, barely above a whisper. “Out of the hedge. Slowly.”
Chapter two
Theblade’spointpressedharder into her back, sending a warning without breaking the skin. Emmaline froze, her breath catching. Blood slicked the cobblestones beyond, still warm and glistening under the courtyard lights—a damning beacon of her mistake. If they caught her here, if he saw her like this…
Cold nausea pooled in her stomach. Caelith couldn’t know. Not about the spell, not that she had followed him, and certainly not about the pathetic sight she must be right now, cowering in the bushes like a thief.
“Move,” the voice behind her growled.
Her heart thudded in her ears. She wasn’t strong, wasn’t fast, but if she didn’t act now, it wouldn’t matter.
“Get your hands off me!” She exhaled sharply, forcing a smile as her mind scrambled for a way to stall. “You must be new to Lord Caelith’s staff,” she said, her tone icy. “Grabbing a lady uninvited? You must not value your employment.”
The man holding her chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you?” he drawled, glancing over at Caelith. “Did you schedule entertainment for later?”
Before Caelith could respond, the man’s gaze flicked toward the courtyard, landing on the crumpled figure sprawled in the blood-slicked shadows.
“Well, that’s… inconvenient.” His smirk faltered, one brow rising slightly.
Emmaline clenched her teeth. “I hardly think Lord Caelith would appreciate you manhandling his father’s advisor despite the…unfavorable circumstances. Or do you make a habit of embarrassing your employer?”
“Unfavorable? Is that what you’d call it?” the man said, and before she could press her advantage, he gave her a shove.
Stumbling at the contact, her heel caught on a shadowed root. She barely had time to gasp before her momentum sent her lurching toward the courtyard, where she landed in an undignified heap at Caelith’s feet. Dress tangling awkwardly around her legs, heat rushed to her cheeks as she scrambled to find her balance.
“I am not one of the trollops—” she began, trying to claw back a shred of dignity as she finally looked up.
Expecting concern, anger, or even recognition—anything—Emmaline frowned at the cool disinterest that greeted her.
“I don’t know. She’s not exactly… my usual.” Caelith tilted his head. “You’ll take care of this, I assume?” He looked between the other man and the bleeding body on the ground.
“Of course, my Lord.” The man bowed at the waist. “As always.”
Turning away from her without another glance, Caelith strolled back toward the Glider and retrieved a fresh shirt from beneath the seat, shaking it out with practiced ease. Then, with a tired sigh, he began unbuttoning his blood-splattered one, careful to avoid smearing the crimson stains anyfurther.
“Do you think anyone would miss her?” he asked, once more addressing the man who’d dragged her out of the hedge, gesturing vaguely at Emmaline. “Anyone… important?”
“My Lord!” She gasped, trying to steady herself, hands fumbling against the folds of her simple black gown.
“The Lady over there? Most definitely.” The other man glanced between Emmaline and the woman on the ground. “This one?” He tightened his hold on her arm. “Hard to say.”
Caelith sniffed in Emmaline’s direction, his nose wrinkling faintly. “Hmm. Doesn’t smell like influence to me.”
Emmaline froze, a painful squeeze gripping her ribs.It must be too dark for him to recognize the bond, she thought, clutching at that fragile hope.He’d never hurt me if he knew who I was. What I was to him.
She cursed the dress she’d chosen for the night—a practical, inconspicuous choice for sneaking onto the property, but far from her usual white working dress.
“My Lord,” she tried again, her voice wobbling. “It’s me, Emmaline.”
