A flush ran over her, a warmth that made her feel heavy and weak.
Surely not all men had this effect on her. That would be intolerable.
Flicka looked over at Wulfie, her much older brother who had raised her since she was six-years-old.
Wulfram was still lounging in his chair, reading his book.
His blond hair was shaggy around the edges, and it fell near his blue eyes. He looked unkempt, even slovenly. She told him, “You need a haircut.”
He didn’t look up from his book. “So noted.”
Dieter had his backpack in his large, strong hands, and he was looking right at her. His dark gray eyes settled on her skin, and she could almostfeelhis gaze. “Good to see you,Durchlauchtig.”
Her breath seemed to have leaked out of her lungs, and she had to suck in some air to answer him. “You, too,Lieblingwächter.”
Dieter walked out of the room, stalking like a tiger.
The white album of Flicka’s music school musings slipped from her arms and crashed on the floor.
Wulfram looked up from his book, one eyebrow raised.
Flicka told him, “I’m going to attend the Royal Academy, here in London.”
“Excellent,” Wulfram said, settling back into his book. “You can live here at Kensington with me. Security will be easier with you in London, too.”
Yes, she was counting on it.
