Celine eyed the gully, unimpressed. “Is this a rule you just invented, or does it come from the grand tradition of faerie croquet?”
“Both,” Leah said, skipping after a bee.
Rhys picked up his mallet, gesturing with a courtly bow. “After you, then. I’ll defend your honor, should any jungle explorers leap out at us.”
Celine smirked. “Somehow, I doubt you’d make a convincing knight. You’d probably negotiate with the jungle explorers for tea and a ten-minute truce.”
He didn’t deny it. “Efficiency, Celine. That’s the secret to good management.”
The walk to the gully took them out of earshot. Celine felt the hush settle, broken only by the distant shouts of the twins and the twittering of birds overhead.
She looked at Rhys. “Did you ever imagine you’d spend your Saturday rescuing croquet balls from ditches?”
He grinned, then knelt to peer into the shadows under the brambles. “In truth, I’ve done worse on a dare from Captain Harrow. Once, in Vienna, he convinced me to scale the bell tower of St. Stephen’s at midnight. I nearly lost a shoe and my dignity, in that order.”
“I’d pay to see you in such a state,” she mused.
“You’re in luck, then. I think I’ve just torn my trousers.”
She laughed, a bright and genuine sound that surprised her.
Rhys looked up, and for a moment, his smile faded into something softer.
He reached into the ditch and managed, with some effort, to retrieve both their balls. His sleeve came away streaked with mud. “That’s one point to you, Duchess.”
“Hardly. You did the dirty work.”
She reached to brush the mud from his cuff, her fingers brushing his wrist. Her touch lingered longer than it needed to.
Rhys straightened but didn’t step away. Instead, his eyes drifted to her hand. “Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice quiet.
She flexed her fingers. “Only when I’m foolish. Or playing croquet with wild children.”
He seemed about to say something more, but then shook his head. “I’m sorry about what Lydia said. About children. It was thoughtless.”
Celine shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s nothing. She’s not the first person to make such a remark.”
“But it was careless. I should have said something.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted. But even as she said it, her chest tightened. “Your friends… They don’t know, do they?”
He paused, understanding. “No. They don’t know about our arrangement.”
She looked away. “I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
He nodded, then offered a half smile. “Secret’s safe. But if I may—” He paused, then tried again. “I understand why you are uneasy about all of this. You’re not alone in it, you know.”
She wanted to believe him. “Are you saying that you share my reservations about?—”
He cut her off, his tone more vulnerable than before. “When I was sixteen, my mother—she died from an infected cut. Not much worse than what you did with that glass. Within days, she was gone.” He stared off into the distance. “I thought it was only a cut, but as I grew older, I overheard a conversation between the servants about how she wanted to escape my father and purposefully cut her hand with the glass to end it all and escape my father’s cruelty.”
She fell silent, startled by the confession.
“He found her in time, and she was saved, but she was angry with him and was greatly relieved—despite the pain—when the wound got infected.” Rhys met her gaze. “That’s why I was so insistent in the kitchen. Why I panicked when you hurt yourself. I did not want your wound to get infected, and I suppose I’ve never outgrown that fear.”
Celine didn’t know what to say. She wanted to offer comfort, but words failed her. And so she reached out tentatively and rested her bandaged hand atop his. He covered it with his own, his touch gentle.
A shout from the garden shattered the moment. “Your Grace! We need you! Robert’s staging a coup!”
