“Thank you?” I blink in confusion.
She sweeps my long hair over my shoulder. “My, you have lovely hair.” The woman adjusts my corset one last time,making sure my breasts are even more exposed. “Men should pay you silver to gaze upon you. You’re a halfling, too—soexotic.”
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Kaia,” she replies warmly.
“Rae,” I tell her. “I saw you with that… peddler. He’s not?—?”
Kaia snorts a laugh. “Oh, ‘ole Renwick? He’s harmless. You live over two hundred years and see how solidyourmind is.” She shrugs. “I do that sometimes to make a bit of extra coin on the side.”
“What do you normally do?” I ask, drawn to her confidence and charm. She is so effortlessly bold and sharp-tongued, an amplified version of qualities I pride myself in—the version I might have been if it wasn’t trained out of me.
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Kaia replies vaguely. “I have lofty aspirations.”
“I see…” My curiosity piques. “I think we’re going to be excellent friends.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I findmyself reading in the gardens again, tranquil beneath the tall oak trees. I grow increasingly accustomed to my new schedule as each day passes. There are no more tedious lessons with the governess, no more lectures from my father. I wonder how furious Ulrik will be if he learns I am here in the North.
Someone rips my book from my grasp.
I gasp at the sudden invasion. Wrath stands before me. I didn’t even hear him approach. He flips through the pages with a leather-gloved hand, scanning its contents with a meticulous gaze.
“What book are you constantly reading?”
“It’s none of your business,” I say bitterly, standing from my seat.
We haven’t seen one another since the night I played the pianoforte. My days are calm without his imperious presence, and I breathe easier without him near. I don’t move to take the book back; I know I won’t be quick enough.
“You’re reading the Warlord Chronicles?” His brows draw together. “It’s so tattered and worn, I barely recognize it. You’ve scribbled in nearly every margin.”
My cheeks heat. Tamping down on the embarrassment creeping through me, I lift an open palm and wait for him to give it back. “Are you insulting my reading choice?”
“No.” He closes the cover and hands it back to me. “I have another copy in the library, if you want it.”
“Really?” My tone lightens.
“Yes.” Wrath turns and sets off in long strides. “Come.”
I tuck the book in the crook of my arm, rushing to catch up with him. Even his steps infuriate me, each one a graceful sweep across the path. We fall into a tense silence as we walk alongside one another. I refuse to look at him, keeping my focus ahead.
“I received the map.” I acknowledge his gift, hoping he’ll share more about his intentions.
“Are you finding your way a bit better?” he asks plainly.
“It’s helpful. Thank you.”
Wrath doesn’t reply. We enter the castle and walk toward the west wing. I rarely venture to this side; the guards patrol it like ants on a carcass.
Then I remember. “I have a request.”
“Do you now?” A hint of curiosity creeps into his voice.
“There’s a girl whose father is abusing her on the eastern side of town. I asked Bryn if she would hire her in the kitchens. She told me to ask Barnham,” I explain.
“Did you ask Barnham?”
