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He hardly knew what he was going to say. Would he beg, plead, grovel for her company?
Yes,he realised. He would do anything she asked—anything she wouldn’t hate him for.
But a second later, the door opened, and his mother stepped inside.
For a moment, her face flickered with something akin to warmth. A moment later, it had disappeared. “You’re awake,” she said.
“I am.”
“Did Juliana explain—”
“That I’m to be imprisoned here? Yes.”
“Not imprisoned,” she said, “watched.”
“Hardly any different.”
The Queen stiffened, as if she were thinking of disagreeing with him but couldn’t summon the energy. “Are you up for visitors?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I’m not talking about me,” she continued. “Your fiancée is here.”
ShortlyafterHawthorn’ssixteenthbirthday, when Juliana was seventeen, she stood next to Hawthorn during a revel on her day off and wondered what on earth she was doing there.
Hawthorn blinked when he turned around and saw her. “Isn’t it your day off?”
Juliana frowned, looking down at her clothes. She wasn’t dressed for a revel, but at least she wasn’t in her uniform. She’d been relaxing in the gardens, she’d come in for food when it got rowdy, and instinctively, irritatingly, she’d just found herself standing beside him.
This job was really starting to get to her.
“Yes,” she said slowly, and then stared at the buffet table behind him. At the centre was a magnificent sculpted cake in pitch-black, oozing with berries, glazed to look like shards of rock. “I just came for sustenance.”
Hawthorn parted, letting her edge towards the desserts. She started to load her plate, her gaze catching on Dillon on the other side of the spread, also off-duty. He was wearing a slightly smart shirt that parted at the chest, displaying several inches of fine, well-earned muscle.
“Speaking of sustenance,” Hawthorn whispered in her ear, “are you ever going to ask dear old Dillon for a dance? Or… more than that?”
Juliana’s cheeks heated. “That is absolutely none of your business.”
“Only if it happens on duty,” he continued. “So, you know, not tonight.”
He gave her the strangest wink, like they were old friends, and slunk away to join the rest of the revel. Within minutes he was surrounded by admirers, arms draped over him like necklaces.
Juliana took her plate of sweet treats and sat down in an alcove to eat, determined to completely ignore his advice, if it could be called such a thing, and thoroughly gorge herself on cake.
It didn’t taste as delicious as she thought it would.
Meanwhile, Hawthorn had clearly forgotten about the whole exchange. He was in the centre of a group of dancers, twirling and laughing, the gold paint on his face smeared with kisses.
What must it be like? Juliana wondered. Kissing, and sex… the feel of skin on skin.
She’d traded a few kisses with a couple of stablehands and squires before she went away to Autumn. After that, opportunities had been thin on the ground. She’d not had the time since she returned.
But tonight… tonight she had nothing planned.
And Dillon was looking at her.
She put down her plate and marched towards him, courage and nerves like a steaming pot inside her. “Dance with me,” she demanded.
