"What?" I asked, flustered. "No, I—I mean, yes, I like him, but I don't think about him that way!"
"Sure you don't. Your face says it all." To prove his point, Pascal poked my cheek, which was much hotter than his finger. That only made me blush more.
"Come off it," I said, pushing his finger away. "How could I be in love with a stranger I just met?"
Pascal's eye shimmered mischievously. "I didn't say anything about love. You're the one who brought it up."
Now he was being ridiculous. I huffed and rolled away. "Never mind. I only wanted to know if you've met Devereaux and you clearly haven't."
"Aw, I'm just teasing," Pascal said. He sidled up next to me and put his head on my shoulder. "Sorry if I pushed your buttons."
I patted his head. "It's okay. I'm not upset. It's just been a long day and I'm tired."
"Yeah, and you walked way more than usual today," Pascal said seriously. "I'm honestly surprised you made it home by yourself."
"I am, too," I admitted. "I don't know how I managed it... It was like something about Devereaux lit a fire in me."
Pascal smiled. "It sounds like you really like him. And I'm not teasing this time."
"I do like him. He was so kind to me, Pascal," I murmured. "Nobody has ever treated me that way. Except you, of course."
He chuckled. "Of course. But it's different with him, right?"
I thought about what he meant. I loved Pascal, but he was like a brother to me. I never felt any romantic inclination towards him and I knew the feeling was mutual.
But when Devereaux held me in his arms...
The memory made me shudder.
I couldn't be falling in love with him. Not so soon. I'd only met him once, for goodness' sake. That wasn't even the only reason. I was a poor, disabled and soon-to-be-homeless orphan. No alpha wanted me. Devereaux was no exception.
The idea of Devereaux falling in love with me was foolish. I locked it away in my mind and threw away the key.
I tried to change the subject. "Say, Pascal. Devereaux was kind of like you."
"Huh? How?"
"He wore a strip of fabric over his eyes, like a blindfold."
Pascal raised a brow. "Both of them? How does he see?"
"I'm not sure, but he acted like he had perfect vision. He looked directly at my face and our surroundings, and he saw my cane. Maybe his blindfold isn't very thick."
Pascal raised a hand to touch his eyepatch, then shrugged. "Dunno. I mean, I can't see out of mine, but that's because my eye's busted. And ugly."
"It is not ugly," I argued. It was true I'd never seen beneath Pascal's eyepatch but it didn't matter. I refused to let my friend talk about himself that way.
He didn't dwell on the subject. "Anyway, if Devereaux can see, why does he wear a blindfold at all?"
"I guess it's one of the many mysteries about him."
Pascal yawned. "Devereaux, Florian's famous mystery man... You're gonna meet him again, right?"
"I promised I would." I paused. "You know, he wanted to come with me, to escort me home."
"He did?"
"Yes. But he wasn't allowed to leave the castle grounds. The guards let me through the gate, but not him."
