Her hand nonetheless felt phantom-warm where he had touched it. Her pulse still spiked beneath her corset in a beat she couldn’t seem to smooth.
Evelyne blinked once. “How enterprising of him.”
Unfazed, he pressed on. “I can’t say it wasn’t a memorable experience. Nothing awakens the senses quite like frostbite and a mule with a death wish.”
“I was told frostbite had better aim. Yet I see that you survived.”
The words left her before she could stop them. She hadn’t meant to bite. But something in her wanted noise to match the storm inside her.
To her surprise, he didn’t bristle—he gave her a rakish smile that might have been charming under different circumstances—or to a different woman.
“Barely. But I would suffer far worse for the privilege of standing here.”
She swallowed hard and resisted the urge to smooth her skirts.
“I’m sure Edrathen is honored by your... perseverance.”
“Your kingdom is colder than I thought,” he mused, casting a glance at the towering stone walls. “But I suppose that’s part of its charm. Or is the chill simply a test of character?”
“It builds discipline,” Evelyne replied. “And discourages loitering.”
That earned a surprised, delighted laugh. Was that a dimple in his cheek?
Breathe in. Breathe out.The corset got tighter by the second.
He gave a mock bow. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning,” she replied, already turning toward the steps leading into the castle. She needed a moment. A second to refocus.
“A well-phrased one,” he called, falling into step beside her with far too much ease. “ButIshould warn you—I’m very bad at heeding warnings.”
“Therefore, you’ll fit in here perfectly,” she stated without looking at him. “We’ve a long tradition of men ignoring sense.”
Isildeth would scold her for that. She was sure of that.
He lifted an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as though she’d just delivered the punchline to a joke only he found hilarious.
The audacity.
Evelyne glared daggers at him, until a delicate clearing of a throat broke the spell. Alaric straightened immediately, his smirk softening into something more measured. He turned to greet her father with a courteous bow.
“Your Majesty,” he exclaimed. “It is an honor to finally set foot in Edrathen. I have long admired the fortitude and legacy of your kingdom.”
Evelyne nearly rolled her eyes.
Rhaedor merely nodded. “Prince Alaric,” he greeted in return. “Welcome to Edrathen. I trust your journey was smooth.”
Alaric offered an easy smile, gesturing subtly with his hands as he spoke.
“Indeed. The roads through the mountains were well-kept, a true testament to your kingdom’s dedication to infrastructure, something I have always found to be a mark of a well-maintained and well-governed land. And as a scholar, I must say, it raises fascinating questions about the strategic placement of—”
Evelyne watched the exchange, arms lightly folded, her expression flat. Her father was politely listening, but she could see the faint glimmer of annoyance in his expression. Of course, he expected a simple ‘yes’, but the prince was laying it on thick.
She didn’t turn her head, but her gaze slid toward Isildeth. A silent, eloquent look. The kind that said:Are you hearing this?
The older woman responded with the barest twitch of an eyebrow. A veteran’s acknowledgment of shared suffering.
Evelyne took this time to calm her breathing. Come back to herself. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment and focused on the brushstrokes on canvas. The rhythm of a piano in a quiet room. The weight of a needle pulling thread through cloth, steady and sure. In her mind, her hands were creating.
