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“It’s as good a place as any.”
“Don’t you want to inspect the view?”
“For assassins?”
“For theview,Jules,“ he said exasperatedly. “I saw your expression in the dining hall earlier. You looked like you’d found a painting you wanted to fall into.”
Juliana was surprised at his power of observation, but she refused to show it. Instead, she walked over to the windows and flung them open, revealing a small balcony. Itwaslike stepping into a painting, a living, breathing, glimmering one, filled with music and laughter and the scent of hot wood and honeyblossom.
Rarely did Juliana ever feel like a princess in a story, but in that moment she came close.
Hawthorn turned his head. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to sneak out with me, could I?”
“You’re lucky I’m even opening the windows. It’s like Iwantto make you a target.”
“Do you?” He cocked his head.
“What?”
“Do you want me dead?”
Juliana frowned. For two years, she’d been by his side, fending off assassinations and keeping him out of trouble. How could he possibly think she’d want him dead?
“Um, no?” she said. “Not at all.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to remove your wards and let me—”
Juliana buckled. “No chance,” she said hurriedly.
Hawthorn’s wicked smile—the first she’d seen on him since the journey began—flickered.
“Not because I’m not telling the truth, though,” she added. “But because…”
Because I can’t allow anyone to know where I keep them. I can’t afford to let down my guard. I can’t afford to let anyone in—
Hawthorn waved his hand, as if it mattered little. “Ah, have a drink with me and we’ll call it even.”
“I’m on duty.”
“You can hold your liquor.”
Juliana obliged. It was only one drink, after all, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d bent the rules with him, just a little. During his last birthday, she’d found him wandering the corridors after the festivities had ended, a couple of guests tangled in his bedsheets. He’d consented to return to his chambers only if she drank with him. And she had. Partly because she wanted to relax herself after the day, and partly because even though the ball had been dazzling and beautiful, she sensed that perhaps it was not so much for him.
One year. They had one year.
Tick, tick, tick.
She sipped the wine. It was blackberry, thick and heady. It tasted of pure summer. “It’s delicious,” she remarked.
“Only the finest for us, my sour-faced vixen.”
“Take you a long time to come up with that one?”
Hawthorn went silent. The two turned their gazes back to the busy streets below, piping with music. “You could go out, if you wished,” he said eventually. “I’m sure someone else will watch me.”
Juliana shook her head. “I’m fine. Besides, you know I’m way more fun to suffer with.”
Hawthorn blinked at her. “Idoknow that,“ he admitted. “I’m surprised that you do.”
