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Tonight, I’m not wearing a mask.
I shouldn’t be doing this at all, truly. Tensions in the Royal Sector are high now that Prince Corrick has boarded a ship to Ostriary. The guards and sentries around the palace have tripled. The sector gates stay locked; the wall remains heavily patrolled.
But out here in the Wilds, the security is a bit more lax. The extra guards and patrol officers had to come from somewhere.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not slipping through the shadows. No chance for Violet to find me in the darkness. I’m not an outlaw at all this evening. It’s earlier than usual, well before midnight, and I’m just a man on his way to the gathering.
I stoop, picking up a handful of dirt, rubbing it between my palms as I walk, then flipping my hands to make sure I get some in my knuckles. I wipe my hands on my trousers, then run a hand across the back of my neck and over the neckline of my shirt.Another handful of dirt, another dusting of my palms, and I rake my fingers through my hair.
Voices are a low rumble in the distance, and I catch a few notes of a lyre on the wind. There will probably be a bonfire. Maybe dancers or a fortune-teller. Definitely ale.
My heart is beating a little too hard, and I try to slow my pace. This is farther than I usually go, and there’s still a scrap of a chance that I could be recognized.
I need to shove these worries away.
I slink through the trees as the music and voices grow louder, until suddenly I’m not alone. The forest gives way to a bit of a clearing, and people are everywhere. The bonfire is huge, surrounded by logs and stumps and even mats made from woven grass. An older woman on a stump picks out a tune on her lyre, while a young girl twirls in circles by her knees, slightly crushed flowers tucked into her braids. Some older men with thick beards are passing around a tankard of ale, and one laughs, then glances my way when I step between the trees.
I nearly stumble. My heart gives a stutter. For a moment, I expect everyone to turn, to look at me. I wait for a shout, for a pointed finger.
Honestly, I wait for an arrow to appear in my chest.
But the man glances back at his companions. Nothing happens. No one pays me any mind. Just another worker looking for a bit of gossip and a bit of food now that the day is done. No different from a dozen others.
I run a hand across the back of my neck again, and this time, I find it a bit damp. There’s a series of stalls at the edge of the clearing, near the road, selling food and ale, and I make my way across.
The first one doesn’t have a line, so I step to the counter, and the man working there gives me a pleasant nod. “What’ll you have?” he says.
“What are my choices?”
“I had some roasted chicken legs, but they went quick,” he says. A fire flickers in the grill behind him, and sweat threads his hair at the temples, turning the blond streaks brown. A few days of beard growth clings to his jaw. “All I’ve got left is some honeyed cheese on nut bread, or some dried venison and jam.”
“The first, if you please,” I say.
He smirks. “If you please,” he repeats, then laughs under his breath, though not unkindly. “Putting on a few airs, are you?”
I inwardly wince. Playing this role used to be as easy as slipping into a pair of worn shoes, but it’s been so long. I’ve almost forgotten how to do this. I force a bashful smile on my face. “More than a few, I suppose. I nearly forgot I wasn’t in the Royal Sector anymore.”
He laughs and cuts a slab of nut bread, tops it with a slab of cheese, then sets it on a grill over the small fire behind him. “You work in the sector?”
“Just a delivery. We brought a horse down from Moonlight Plains. Some girl needed a perfect dapple gray.” I scoff, then roll my eyes. I always say I work with horses because it comes the most naturally, and it’s unlikely to be questioned. “Like they don’t have enough nags of their own in there. I swear I heard her say she wanted to have the animal shod in gold.”
He grins, then slides the bread off the grill and onto a fold of wax paper. He drizzles honey over the cheese, then wraps it up. The smell is heavenly, and my mouth is already watering. I’d forgottenhow generous the portions are in the Wilds, and they sell them for almost nothing, really. I’m wishing I could give him a handful of silver without giving myself away, when he says, “So you’re only down here for the night then?”
His voice is a little lower, and I can’t quite figure out his tone, but he extends the wrapped food.
“Yes. I heard there was some kind of gossip about outlaws, so I wanted to see what I could hear.” I reach to take the food, and his fingers brush mine.
The motion is gentle, but very deliberate. My eyes snap to his.
“What’s your name?” he says.
I stare back at him. I’m so utterly flummoxed that I’m not sure what to say. I came here for information, but I was so completely unprepared for … forflirtation. No one flirts with me. No one ever dares. Aside from Violet making eyes at me a few nights ago, I can’t remember the last time anyone has said one single thing about my appearance. Nothing to indicate attraction, surely. But here’s this man with sleeves shoved back and sweat in his hair and firelight in his eyes, holding my gaze like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My thoughts have completely stalled.
“I didn’t mean to shock you.” His smile widens. “My name is Maxon.”
I inhale to say I’m not shocked—even though I am, and it’s quite obvious that I am—but I choke on my breath, then cough hard. I turn away and cover my mouth with my forearm, but I cough again. When I inhale, it’s like breathing through a wet rag, and I try to talk myself out of the initial surge of panic that swells anytime I can’t breathe.
