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“Yes, I’ve missed your delicious mortal lies, but generally speaking, you don’t lie about the big things.”
Juliana stilled, a little taken aback that he remembered that about her… that he remembered her much at all, really. She’d been expecting cruelty at worst, thorny indifference at best. Not this kind of strange familiarity. “If you’re talking about the girl from Autumn, I only spoke up because I hated her alittlemore than I hated you. Nothing more.”
“Indeed,” said Hawthorn, although he did not sound convinced.
“This is ridiculous,” Juliana rushed. “I’ll go back to my father and speak to him. Or you can tell your mother this isn’t going to work. I suppose I could utterly fail in my duties and have them dismiss me—“
Hawthorn paused, surveying her over the rim of his goblet. “Let me get this straight… your plan is to behave as badly as possible in the hopes you’ll be dismissed?”
“That is correct, yes.”
“But, my dear Jules, what about your knighthood?”
“To get away from you, I would give it all up in a heartbeat.”
Hawthorn gasped, clutching his chest. “Words can hurt, you know.”
“I doubt you have a heart to break.”
There was a knock at the door. “Not now—“ Hawthorn started.
“Have you discussed it?” came the Queen’s voice. “Does she please you? We ought to issue the proclamation before the guests get too… wild.”
Hawthorn stiffened, as if he were quite unused to his mother’s presence in his chambers. He looked at Juliana, and then a slow smile slid across his face.
“Indeed, my dear mother, I have yet to see a knight that quite matches Juliana’s level. We would be fools indeed to consider another candidate. Tell Markham we accept.”
“Oh,” said the Queen, sounding as surprised as Juliana felt. “Well, if you’re sure—“
“I’ve rarely been surer,” he insisted. “Give me a moment, Mother. I shall be down again presently.”
There was the sound of skirts swishing along the cobbles, then silence once more.
“I hate you,” Juliana hissed, the minute they were alone. “Why did you do that?”
“For many reasons, the most pressing being that I really enjoy teasing you, and, if I’m honest, though I find your presence loathsome, you are the most tolerable of all my prior guards.”
“Tolerable? You hate me.”
Hawthorn frowned. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“You used to tie my school bag to the trees.”
“You put frogs in my bed.”
“Because you pushed me in the mud!”
“Only because—actually, I don’t remember why I did that.”
“Because youhate me,“ she reminded him.
“You vexed me,” he said simply, as if this explained everything.
“Well, that’s an entirely mutual feeling, I assure you,” she declared. “So what’s changed?”
“I have a vested interest in staying alive,” Hawthorn said, still smirking. “And you seem awfully good with that sword.”
“A lot of people are good with swords.”
