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“This is the nicest, most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. Thank you, Sir Victor. Truly. I will treasure it, always.”
“You are most welcome, my lady. Here, try it on.”
Sir Victor helps me wrap it around my shoulders and steps back to admire it as I tie the cloak at my neck. I lift the hood over my hair.
“How do I look?”
“Like your mother,” he replies. “Beautiful.”
I step into the doorway of my bedroom and peer into the looking glass. I stare for several seconds, forgetting that Sir Victor is watching my every move. I know I’m blushing when I meet his eyes again.
“See,” he says. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you, Victor. I will cherish it, and proudly wear it on our quest. But I must take it off for now. It is rather warm.” I remove the cloak and hang it on a hook on the wall, then step back into the apothecary, busying myself with the potions again. “Are you hungry, Sir Victor?”
“What are you doing?” he asks, removing his own coat and joining me.
“I’m making ointments and potions for our trip. Our men may need healing during battle, and that’s something Icando.”
He folds his arms across his chest and leans into the doorframe. “You are an extraordinary woman, you know that? Here you are, the princess, and you’re talking about healing the men on the battlefield.”
“I’m not talking about it,” I correct. “I’m going to do it.”
“I admire you in spades,” he replies.
Victor joins me at the apothecary table and picks up a random bottle. “What’s this?”
“Beetroot.”
“What’s it for?”
“It returns blood flow to the body and can reduce swelling combined with the proper herbs.”
“What does it taste like?” he asks.
“Dirt.”
“What does it smell like?”
“Dirt.”
He laughs and lifts another bottle. I await the bad reaction.
“Ugh,” he says when he takes a sniff. “This smells like my father’s boots, and my mother’s cooking.”
“Sir Victor, you are terrible. You shouldn’t talk about your poor mother’s cooking like that.”
He lifts more bottles, taking quick sniffs and grinning. “Listen, my beloved mother is a beautiful woman, but she can’t cook a smidge. She freely admits it.”
I put my hands on my hips, brimming with revelation. “So, that’s why you thought my food was so grand the other night, because you grew up with a mother who can’t cook.”
He belly laughs. “I suppose you could be right.”
After all the objectionable scents, I offer him whiffs of citrus and lavender, musk and primrose. He tucks a primrose bud behind my ear, and I allow it. We both reach for the dandelion root and our hands touch. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. I look into his eyes and recognize the longing. He moves towards my mouth before I can react.
His lips are quivering and his breath hot when he captures my mouth. The kiss is soft and warm, but I am frozen, not wanting to hurt him but never wishing to lead him on. He ends the kiss when I pull away a little, responding to my reluctance as the perfect gentleman he is.
“I overstepped my boundaries, princess.” I can hear his heartbeat in his voice. “I am sorry, your grace.”
