That’s much more dangerous.
Chapter 10
Eva
The day seems more overcast as we leave the cemetery, heavy clouds pressing down like a suffocating shroud. My mind still churns from saying those final words to my father—from letting Robin witness me in that raw, unguarded moment. The scent of rain hangs in the air, promising a storm to match the tempest in my chest.
I hadn’t intended for her to see me like that. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Robin walks beside me in silence until we reach the car. Then, with that small smile that never fails to unsettle me, she says, “You should come with me to the tavern in the village.”
I pause, studying her face. “Excuse me?”
“Show them you can walk in the day,” she continues, her blue eyes bright with something that might be mischief.
I blink, confused. “Walk in the day?”
Behind us, Leon makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like suppressed laughter. Robin rolls her eyes and shakes her head at both of us with a small smile. “Come on.”
Why am I letting her lead me like this? The question echoes through my mind as Robin sets off down the winding path toward the village, her strawberry-blonde hair the one bright thing in this gray day.
I should return to the castle. I have calls to make, reports to review, an empire to run.
Instead, I follow her. My boots crunch on the gravel path while Leon falls into step behind us, his presence a familiar comfort. But for once, his protection feels unnecessary. Robin’s warmth seems to create its own shield against the world’s darkness.
As we enter the village square, I feel the shift immediately. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Shopkeepers peer out from doorways like cautious woodland creatures. An old man crossing himself mutters what sounds like a prayer under his breath.
My sharp hearing catches fragments of whispered words in the local dialect: “Novak,” “protection,” “daughter.” The reverence in their voices is something I’ve grown accustomed to over the years, but today it sits differently on my shoulders. Heavier somehow.
“They’re afraid of you,” Robin observes, but without judgment.
“They should be,” I reply automatically. It’s what my father would have said. What he taught me to say.
But then Robin does something that surprises me. She smiles at every person we pass—genuine, warm smiles accompanied by small waves and nods. And to my absolute shock, several ofthem smile back. An elderly woman hanging laundry calls out, “Good morning, Robin,” in accented English. A young mother with a toddler on her hip offers a shy wave.
They know her name. They know her.
“How?” I ask, the single word sharper than I intended.
Robin glances at me, her expression innocent. “How what?”
“They know you.”
Her shoulders lift in a casual shrug. “I made friends with some of the kids one day. Which meant their parents had to talk to me too—even if we don’t speak the same language.”
The simple explanation shouldn’t affect me the way it does. But watching Robin navigate what is supposed to bemydomain with an ease I’ve never possessed makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest. She belongs here in a way I never have, despite being born to rule this place.
“You lied to me,” she says casually as we reach the village square. “There’s no religious holiday today.”
“Do you want an apology?” I scoff.
“No,” she tells me. “I get why you did it.”
She “gets” it? Does she really? I want to argue, but it would be worse if she really did understand, if she knew that I didn’t want to chance her seeing me in that unguarded moment.
So I say no more about that and continue to dog her footsteps.
“What about here?” I ask, pointing to a pub. I’m getting tired of the whispers and stares.
