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Atticus smiles, showing off deep dimples.
“I hope this was worth you sneaking off. Corrin is looking for you, and she is not happy.”
His grin falls, earning Atticus’s chuckle.
“Trust me, you do not want Corrin angry with you. She’ll put extra salt in your stew. Go now, little man.”
“Can I come back later?” He peers up at Atticus, his blue eyes filled with awe.
“You can, but remember the rule.” The king points a finger at him, his expression suddenly stern.
“No more hiding in bushes!” Mika drops his wooden sword with a clatter and takes off running.
“Mika! Come back here and … put away your sword.” He’s already gone. I rush forward to clean up after my son, but Atticus is there, bending to collect the child’s practice weapon, his tunic hanging to reveal the muscular torso he showed off last night.
I thought I was going to pass out from the fluster it stirred.
“I am so sorry. He was supposed to be sorting potatoes in the cellar, but he is impossible to manage sometimes.”
“No need to apologize for a child’s spirit. It’s refreshing to be around.” Together we watch a guard open the door. Mika runs through. “Honestly, I do not know how he’s held on to it, given all that he’s seen. But I think that is a testament to the unconditional love he gets from his mother.”
I’m acutely aware of how close the king stands to me. “All children should have that, shouldn’t they?” I tip my head back to meet his eyes.
They roam my face before he smiles. “You have a little something …” Reaching up, he brushes his thumb across my cheek, pulling away to show off the streak of flour.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment, even as my body heats from his touch. “I was busy in the kitchen when the captain came to find me.”
“And what are you making today?”
“Bread.”
His smile sours. “That’s not very exciting, is it?”
His boyish reaction makes me laugh. “Why do I think my son isn’t the only one with an incorrigible sweet tooth around here?”
He leans in to mock whisper in my ear, “Don’t tell anyone.”
A shudder runs through my core as his breath skates across my skin.
The playful smirk on his lips as he pulls away tells me he well knows what his little touches and whispers do to me. He knows, and he intentionally seeks out my reaction.
On the other side of the court, metal swords clang, as guards hone their skills. It reminds me where we are. I clear my throat, not trusting my voice. “I’m sorry if Mika interrupted your time here.”
“It’s fine. He’s already showing more promise than Kaz as far as his swordsmanship goes.”
“I heard that!” Kazimir hollers from his spot, his back to us, his elbows on the square’s perimeter wall—a stone structure no more than three feet tall that separates the fighting space from the beauty of the grounds beyond.
In the distance, I spot two willowy figures strolling along the path. One, I recognize instantly, her jet-black curtain of hair impossible to mistake. Look at her, all but caught with this poison and yet still free to enjoy the garden. Meanwhile, had I been found with that same vial in my possession, I would no longer be breathing.
“What distresses you?” Atticus asks.
Only then do I realize my teeth are clenched. “I do not understand politics, is all.” Or perhaps I understand them too well. Dagny’s words from earlier linger, of Lady Saoirse’s grim news. I hesitate. “Is it true you are moving up Presenting Day and including children in the auction?”
His easy charm slips. “Where did you hear that?” he demands, his voice suddenly hard.
“It’s what Lady Saoirse is telling the servants,” I stammer, shrinking away. I don’t want to name Dagny and get her in trouble.
His eyes thin on his future bride as she vanishes into the garden. “My betrothed is speaking out of turn.” He seems to notice my reaction and steps closer. “I’m not angry with you, Gracen.”
I swallow my fear. “So it isn’t true, then?”
Seconds pass without his answer, and my hope fades.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he admits, finally. “But I may not have any other choice. Our current situation is dire. Within the castle, our options for tributaries have dwindled. And outside of these walls … it is far worse.”
“The mortals keep taking the poison, despite the executions?”
“More each day.”
That should tell him something. That should tell them all something—that many mortals would rather die than suffer under the current way of things.
He sighs. “I will have to decide soon.”
I know I should bite my tongue, be thankful he’s granted me the answers to the questions I’ve asked, but I can’t help myself, now that I have his ear. “And who decides which mortals the castle shall take as tributary?”
