He all but ran out of the castle and through the gardens. Along the way, he shed his tunic and shoes, wrapping them into a bundle that fit beneath his arm. The wrinkled fabric, smudged with dirt from his soles, would likely get him a scolding, but he didn’t care.
Using the stealthy movements the head cook, Jessel, taught him, Ronan slipped through the manicured beds to the outer edges of the garden, where the flowers and bushes grew unchecked. His lessons with Jessel were their little secret. She might be a cook now, but she was once a deadly agent of the throne. She rarely talked of her past, but based on the skills she taught him, he knew she had been good at her job.
His thoughts on his training, Ronan silently pushed through a hedge, emerging on the other side in his secret spot. The place he liked best.
This little corner grew wild, safe from the neat tending of the royal gardeners. The grass was thick and soft, providing a comfortable place to stretch out in the sun. It was his favorite hiding spot. When his lessons grew too boring or his parents were irritated with some prank he played, Ronan would sneak out here. Sometimes, he even crept out here at night, when the moon glowed in the sky and the crickets sang.
With a sigh, he dropped the bundle of his shoes and tunic on the ground before plopping down beside them. The scent of honeysuckle dance on the breeze that ruffled his hair when he leaned back on the grass, folding his hands behind his head.
Just as Ronan was about to fall asleep in the late morning sun, quiet footsteps had his eyes popping open. He jerked up into a sitting position, a snarl on his lips as he faced the threat.
Dominique Proxa froze. Her long pale blue skirt was clutched in one hand, keeping the hem above the weeds and small brush that surrounded his hiding spot. Though he was scowling at her and crouched in a fighting stance, she didn’t look afraid. Not even a little bit.
“What are you doing out here?” he growled, straightening to his full height.
“The same thing you are,” she answered.
The sound of her voice made him blink. Now that she wasn’t whispering, he could hear it more clearly. It was low and smooth. The voice of a grown woman, not a child at least a year younger than himself. She sounded completely composed, as though she happened across princes in wild gardens every day.
It made a glimmer of respect unfurl in his chest, but he shoved it away. He refused to let a spoiled rotten fairy godmother ruin his quiet place.
“And what am I doing?” he asked, using the haughty tone he sometimes heard from his mother’s mouth.
“Hiding,” she answered, glancing around the wild garden. “What is this place?”
Ronan glared at her. “Myhiding spot. You need to find your own.” He bit back a wince. He shouldn’t have admitted he was hiding. Not to a girl he didn’t know.
She looked him up and down, those aquamarine eyes assessing and calm. Then, she surprised him by saying, “Very well.”
But she didn’t turn and walk away. No, she came right toward him. Ronan caught himself about to take a step back and planted his feet. But she sidestepped him, walked through the brush and tall grass, and disappeared into the tree line.
Damn. The little fairy godmother had no idea the creatures that lived in the forest. If she did, she wouldn’t have waltzed in here in her pretty blue dress and perfect golden curls.
With a heavy sigh of regret, Ronan grabbed his tunic and yanked it over his head, brushing at the smudge on the front. Then, he shoved his feet into the shoes that pinched and took off after her.
He caught up with her in moments, probably because she stopped walking and watched him approach.
“Why are you following me?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to be alone in your hiding spot.”
She didn’t sound angry or even amused. The question was asked in a flat monotone as though she didn’t care what his answer was, one way or another. Her distant attitude intrigued him more and more by the minute. He wondered why she held herself at a distance from everyone.
But he wasn’t going to ask because then she might suspect that he cared. Not that he did…care. He was just curious about the girl and her family. That’s all.
At least, that was what he told himself.
“We have all manner of creatures in this forest,” he answered as he came to a stop in front of her. “It would be best if you went back to the castle and found your entertainment inside.”
Dominique tilted her head, looking up at him with those calm, probing eyes. “Thank you for the advice, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”
Without waiting for his response, she turned and continued down the fading path through the trees. At one time, fae often walked in these woods with their friends—or lovers. But now, they avoided it. The creatures that had begun to arrive here were not the sort one wanted to meet while out on a leisurely stroll with a female fae.
“Seriously, girl. You should listen to me and go back to the castle.”
She stopped moving immediately and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were no longer a warm bluish green. No, they were the color of a winter sky on a clear day and just as cold. “You may call me by my name, which is Dominique. Or Lady Proxa. Whichever you prefer. But you will not call me girl.”
Ronan was taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor. He got the impression that she was ready to attack him just for calling her “girl.” Then, he remembered the way her family dismissed and ignored her. Calling her “girl” in the tone he’d used likely felt the same.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I meant no offense.”
