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The sun refused to brighten the cloudy sky this dreary morn, so I pulled on a second overcoat and set out for town. The day has dragged along slow and unproductive. I have a parasol to sell and a passel of matches. I have a lady inspecting the parasol, still deciding whether or not it is a wise purchase. I need her to make haste. Gram has been ailing since the dance two morrows ago, and I need to get back to her before nightfall. I rub my freezing hands together, hoping the fire is still stoked at home, and that Jordy is in the bakery when I stop by to see him later. My stomach still flutters when I think about the dance, his hands on the small of my back and his lips on mine. He is the perfect escape.
“Four bits? A little pricey, don’t you think?” the lady states.
I take a fortifying breath. “The threading on the edges is silk, and it is four colors. It is made of bamboo, satin, and silk. Four bits is a fair price. You would pay six in the dress shop.”
“Aye, but in the dress shop, it would be new.”
“It is barely used, my lady. No defects at all, not even as much as a snag. I can assure you, the price is very fair.”
“Match girl? Might I inquire for some matches?” The gentleman approaches when I wave my hand in his direction. I sell him two handfuls and turn back to the indecisive lady of means. She glances up when I fold my arms across my chest.
“I’m still not sure if this is a practical purchase,” the lady says again, turning the parasol around in her hands a final time. “I have one very much like it at home. But I do adore the ruffles on this one. They are decadent. I truly can’t decide.”
“A parasol is never a practical purchase,” I say quite boldly. “A parasol is a frivolous, cheery, impractical purchase. A parasol reminds you that you deserve the finer things in life, my lady. And I can tell that you are quite the lady of finery.”
I can also tell that the flattery is working when she clutches the parasol tighter and reaches for her coin purse.
“You are quite right, my dear,” the lady says, “and quite the persuasive peddler. I’ll take the parasol. What matter is it that I own three already?” She places four bits in my hand and makes her way down the side street, opening the parasol before she reaches the dress shop.
I put the coins in my pouch and make my way to the bakery to fetch an olive loaf for Gram. No need to peddle more matches this eve. The six bits in my coin pouch will last us three days in food. I think I shall be a little frivolous as well and purchase some sweet bread. Hopefully, it will be a treat that Gram won’t refuse. Her appetite is waning, but I do my best to peak it.
“Mistress?” I hear when I pass an alleyway beside the livery. “Match girl, might I see your wares? I am in need of matches.”
A palace knight is in the alley, motioning for me to approach. Why do I get the most inquiries on the days I am ready to be home with Gram? If we were starving at this very moment, no coins would come my way. I sigh and head in his direction. The sooner I sell him the matches and get to the bakery, the better. But I stop dead still when I’m in front of him. I recognize the handsome face and tall stature. He is the same knight that Jordy and I saw in the woods, making accusations against the king. I know my eyes give away my sudden fear. I can feel how wide they are in their sockets. I’m holding my breath when he speaks again.
“I am not interested in matches, Milla. I apologize for my dishonesty, but I do need to speak with you. It is of utmost urgency.”
Panic grips me. “How do you know my name? Who are you?” I glance behind me, afraid that the king’s guards could encircle me at any moment.
“My name is Sir Victor of House Winston, and I know more than simply your name, my lady. I know who you are, Milla—who you truly are.I can explain everything to you, but we are not safe on the streets. Won’t you come with me somewhere safe so we may speak?”
My head is a swirl of terror and confusion. How does he know my name? What does he mean? Jordy and I saw this knight in the forest, we heard the treasonous words he spoke.I knowwho you truly are?Nothing makes sense. What is happening?
“Milla, please. If we could simply speak—”
He reaches for my arm, but I back away, remembering Gram’s warning. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t.” I turn around and quicken my pace toward the street.
“Stop!” he shouts. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t you want to know who you are? The tales I have to share are true, and it will change Timberness as we know it. Your story is more than your station in this world, mistress. And I can tell it to you if you only dare to listen.”
Fear wills my feet to keep moving, but my heart stops them cold. I have wondered about my lineage my entire life, begged my gram to share with me any shred of history she would willingly spare. And now I have a man seeking me out, willing to tell me what he believes to be my story.
And I’m running away.
I turn and face Sir Victor again. I step cautiously towards him, fully aware that this could be a trap, revenge for Jordy’s very vocal exchange with Sir Malek over the Philip fiasco. But I am willing to take that risk.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “All right, Sir Victor. I’m listening.”
He moves in closer, his blond hair glistening against his tanned skin. His eyes are copper-colored and his height and hefty build almost match Jordy’s. There is no denying it—he is a beautiful man.
“I thank you for hearing me out, Milla. There is much to say. Perhaps we could—”
“Sir Victor! Halt!”
I startle as Victor’s head jerks toward the voice. He tries to draw his sword, but three knights of the king’s guard have him surrounded in a matter of moments. And their swords are all pointing to his heart.
“Did he harm you, mistress?” one of the knights asks.
I take a breath to aid my racing nerves. “No, not at all, sir.”
