“I’m not hiding,” I say.
But I absolutely am.
He reaches the bottom of the staircase just as I spur myself to step out of the vehicle, and suddenly we’re standing in the early morning haze together. No matter when I see him, he always looks very fine, very elegant. I know he’s a well-trained swordsman, but I have a hard time imagining him on a battlefield, just because he might getdirty. This morning, he’s in a jacket of deep blue indigo with an intricate pattern of light blue embroidery around each button, and calfskin trousers that fit him so well they might have been stitched onto his body.
I kind of want to punch him in the throat.
“Perfectly presentable,” he says. His eyes warm as they hold mine. “More so, really.”
I stare right back at him boldly. “Please don’t pretend to flatter me, my lord. I am only here to look at fabrics for Princess Sinna.”
He smiles, and it’s cunning. “I don’t pretend anything with you, Callyn.” He turns, extending a hand toward the staircase. “Shall we? I assumed you wouldn’t have time for breakfast, so I’ve had some food prepared.”
He’s right—though it’s more that I was toonervousto eat. But I almost falter, because this kind of generosity was unexpected.
Then I get a good look at where we’re going, and all the breath rushes out of my lungs.
The building at the top of the steps is massive, gray-and-white stone stretching in all directions, with marble accents and archways everywhere. Purple flowers burst from every windowsill, and it seems there arehundreds. Many of the windows have tiny stained glass figures in the center, meticulous designs depicting flowers or horses or armored warriors. At each doorway, liveried guards stand at attention, and a packed dirt road seems to lead through a narrow courtyard to my right, where I spy shadows that indicatemoreoutbuildings just like this one.
Lord Alek clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring, my mouth practically hanging open.
I snap it shut. “Sorry.”
“Shall I give you a tour?”
I can’t tell if he’s serious or if he’s teasing me, but knowing him, it’s the latter. Something in my belly clenches tight. To think he was visiting my run-down farm in Briarlock. How it must have looked to him. What he must have thought.
I was such a fool.
I have to swallow, and it’s a battle to keep a frown off my face. My thoughts have cooled altogether. “No. Thank you. Breakfast will be fine.”
I don’t know what he hears in my tone, but he studies me for a moment, as if he realizes that our spiteful banter is over, and he’s not quite sure why. “As you say. This way.”
Similarly to the palace, he has footmen and servants, people who open doors and draw out chairs and pour me a cup of tea before I even have time to think about wanting some. Everything is finely detailed in ways I would never expect, little whispers of wealth and means around every corner. Tiny stitching along the edge of each napkin, forming a perfect design that matches the mile-long tablecloth—all of which must have been embroidered by hand. Painted designs on each individual teacup, little accents of purple and gray beside the filigree. Even the stained glass that adorns this window—a flowering tree, in this room—has tiny gems set into the glass that spark the light in new directions.
In the palace, I expected extravagance. The king and queen live there. Of course they’re surrounded by finery.
But . . . this is ahome. Alek left all this to ride through Briarlock, where he saw a poor blacksmith and his best friend, the girl who owned the broken-down bakery. Once he saw how we lived, he knew we were desperate, and he used us against the king.
My chest tightens, and for a terrifying moment, I want to rip off these fine clothes and demand that he take me back so I can forget all of this.
No, I want to pour this steaming pot of tea right in his lap. Where’s Nora to grab his ear when I need her?
“Callyn.”
I take a glistening roll from a basket and break it in half. “What,” I say flatly.
“What did I do between the carriage and this table?”
I take a small pat of butter and envision jabbing the butter knife right into his eye. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
He leans in against the table. “I still don’t understand how you can be so bold with me, yet cower from Verin in the arena.”
“I don’t cower,” I snap.
“You’re proving my point. Are you going to stab that bread?”
“I’m about to stabyou.”
