Prince Nicolas shook his head and rose to his feet. “We’re in dark times, my good friend.”
I got the sinking feeling that this sort of event was commonplace.
The prince continued. “I cannot name a single man I trust more than you, nor any man as useful with a sword…and so, Quinn, I name you her guardian, just as you were this evening. And I thank you for keeping her safe.”
Lord Quinn made a stiff choking sound, but lowered his head obediently.
“You’ll be relocated to this wing in case of any further emergencies. You’re not to leave her side when she steps foot outside her quarters.”
My stomach dropped.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the viscount replied. There was a hint of agitation in his tone, and there it was once more: a visible loathing for me.
Another visitor entered the room, bedraggled and half-dressed. Winnie froze in alarm, ignoring the two men as she rushed to my side. “By the goddess! What happened?!”
“Lady Winnie,” the viscount greeted, but was dismissed as Winnie examined every inch of my form.
“Did he hurt you? Gods, who would do such a thing?” She cupped my face in her palms. Her touch was cold, clammy with dread. “Are you too shaken to speak, my lady?”
“I believe she’s in shock,” Lord Quinn said.
I patted one of her hands and she pulled me into a hug; it hurt, but I didn’t resist. I rested my chin on Winnie’s shoulder and thought her the kindest friend, and by the time both men had left, Winnie remained for an hour more to keep guard. It was unlikely for lightning to strike the same place twice, but her company soothed me enough that I managed to sleep.
By some small mercy, I did not dream.
Chapter 8
After that night,Lord Quinn Navarro was inescapable.
If I went to dine, find a book within the library, or walk about the courtyard, I could expect to find the viscount close at hand…a presence that was increasingly insufferable, as it meant I could not speak beyond the confines of my bedchambers.
I took to hiding within the twisted paths of the garden maze, hoping he might lose his way while trying to find me. I’d scurry along, hunched over like I was part rodent, and tuck myself into a dead end while the minutes passed. Certain I had eluded him, I’d settle down with a book, only for his shadow to fall across the pages moments later.
He always maintained a careful distance: close enough to intervene should danger present itself, and far enough to give the illusion of personal space. The weight of his constant gaze made me conscious of things I’d never considered.
Am I holding the fork correctly?
Do I read at an adequate pace?
Most aggravating of all were his performative courtesies. At meals, he would pull out my chair with an exaggerated flourish; in the library, he’d retrieve books from high shelves before I could pull around the ladder.
My father’s wax tablet became an invaluable asset. There was only so much a rude gesture could convey. When the viscount lingered about for too long, I would carve a large “GO AWAY” into the tablet and hold it to his face until the wax grew slick beneath my fingertips.
To my vexation, it only amused him that I hated him so, and while he would obey my command to leave with a bow that blurred the lines between deference and mockery, he never went far.
I lamented the death of what little freedom I’d come to know, but it seemed there was no use in fighting his protection. I’d all but abandoned my hopes of spending time with the ladies of court, knowing that even in the parlor he would linger by the door. My excursions beyond my chambers became increasingly rare as my despair over the situation worsened.
One morning, a servant girl arrived with a message from Angharad, extending an invitation to play badminton in the eastern courtyard. Wary of Lord Quinn just beyond the door, I declined with a solemn shake of the head, then returned to slump upon my chaise.
“Are we avoiding Lady Tharon for some reason?” Winnie asked, folding linens. “No assassin would dare come at you with a dagger in the badminton court, not with half the court ladies present.”
I offered a weak smile, but inwardly longed for someone in whom I could confide my terrible secret. If Winnie were to learn of the curse...
No, as much as I wanted to tell her, I was afraid that the woman who had become my loyal companion might turn to judgment. The prospect of our relationship declining in any way was too upsetting to contemplate.
Despite my seclusion, I couldn’t avoid all social obligations. The evening meal remained a requirement, endured under the watchful gaze of the court and Lord Quinn. Days after rejecting Angharad’s invitation, I made my customary swift departure from the dining hall, keeping my eyes lowered. The viscount followed at the prescribed distance while Winnie walked dutifully at my side, filling the silence with quiet observations about the evening’s meal. “Lady Alana!”
I came to a reluctant halt, Winnie pausing mid-sentence beside me. I turned to find Marchioness Angharad approaching, emerald skirts swaying purposefully about her. She rushed past Lord Quinn with such speed that he tensed in preparation.
