You’re imagining it. Wish-fulfillment, anyone?
The possibility that some drop-dead handsome blacksmith with kind eyes might actually see her? Not on the list of possibilities in this lifetime. She was Sir Mariel whether she liked it or not. Everyone knew it. It was how everyone saw her. Ifshe was being honest, it was how she saw herself, too—just one of the guys. Competent and cool.
Untouchable.Undesirable.
Still, when they passed the gown hanging outside the costume shop, she hesitated. Silver and blue silk shimmered in the sunlight, the royal colors of Lady Evelaine’s court. The dressmaker had probably put it there on purpose—made it in honor of Rowan’s appearance next weekend, hoping to cash in on the popularity ofBattleLore.Smart merchandising.
It was also… breathtaking.
Exquisite embroidery stitched in shimmering silver thread glittered like dew on morning grass. The fabric looked like moonlight had been coaxed into silk.
Charlie’s fingers brushed the fabric before she could stop herself. It was cool and impossibly smooth, the kind of material that didn’t belong to her world of Kevlar and cargo pants. She imagined what it would feel like against her skin—how it would feel to wear it for someone who thought she was beautiful.
And that little voice inside her whispered again—quiet, persistent, irritatingly tender.
If just for one day… One night… I could take off the armor and be soft. Let someone else protect me for a change.
The thought startled her as much as it tempted her. She snatched her hand back, squared her shoulders, and shoved the softness down where it belonged. The moment passed quickly, and Charlie was back on her guard.
She hadn’t sensed any threats so far, but the day was still young. Luckily, the disguises were holding. Nettie had been a miracle worker; even Charlie had done a double take that morning. No one recognized Viv or Rowan. If anything, the curious looks were landing on her—as usual.
That happened a lot on protection details. People noticed the tall, broad-shouldered woman scanning every corner.Sometimes she used that to her advantage, dressing in a way that pulled eyes away from her principal. Heels, a skirt, and an up-do could accomplish what a sidearm couldn’t—take attention away without threatening violence. She’d been called statuesque more times than she could count, as if that were a compliment. Maybe it just meant she filled the space like a warning sign.
The shop was a riot of color and fabric. Corsets, skirts, vests, fancy hats stacked on every shelf. Laughter spilled out of three dressing booths in the back as women tried to wrestle themselves into stiff corsets with miles of laces. Charlie kept a sharp eye out for anybody who might have noticed Vivienne and Rowan. But so far everyone was just having a fun day out, helping each other into and out of corsets, trying on different hats, taking photos of themselves dressed up in their finest medieval attire.
“Look at this,” Viv said, tugging a gown from a rack. “The detail work—unbelievable. I think I’ll send the costumers out here to talk to the owner.” She looked around. “I wonder where she is. They could take some pointers from her.”
“I think she’s over there.” Rowan pointed to a woman speaking in a Cockney accent to a couple of girls holding up fairy princess wings. Her cleavage looked like the Grand Canyon, barely contained by a peasant’s blouse and corset.
Viv started that way, but Charlie’s instincts snapped. “Hold up,” she murmured, stepping close enough that her voice didn’t carry. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to her here and now.” She lowered her voice. “Too many people. If you start talking about sending out costumers from Hollywood, your cover is blown before she finishes her next sale.”
Viv closed her eyes. “Right. Of course. I’m not used to this.” She opened her eyes and gave Charlie a guilty smile. “I’m sorry. I’m probably making your job a lot harder than it needs to be.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. I understand. You wouldn’t be the first person who isn’t used to this.” Charlie’s expression softened. “It’s a shame you have to be guarded at all.”
“It’s stupid, is what it is,” Viv said, exasperated. She turned and looked back toward the forge. “Maybe your friend Ben could make introductions later?” she asked Rowan. “Or approach her on the down low?”
“I’m sure he could,” Rowan said. He looked at Charlie. “Am I right?”
Charlie blinked hard as she was taken off-guard by Rowan assuming she was close with Ben. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m sure Ben would love to.”
“Perfect.” Viv clapped her hands, her mood already bouncing back. “Now, I want to see that dress outside again.”
Charlie led the way to the front of the shop, to the dream of a dress.
Viv sighed as she touched the skirt. “It would be perfect for Lady Evelaine, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do,” Charlie agreed, wistfully. Then the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She froze. Something in the air had shifted. There was a tenseness that Viv and Rowan hadn’t picked up on. Charlie glanced across the way and realized Ben was coming toward the costume shop, jaw tight, looking both confused and worried. The second their eyes met, he flicked his gaze left.
Charlie put her arm out to block Viv and Rowan from sight and looked in that direction. She scanned the crowd, eyes sweeping over tents, vendors, wandering knights. And there—five people in matching capes, hoods up despite the warm afternoon, walking in a tight knot straight for the costume shop.
She recognized those capes—the same kind worn by Caiden Bramble once he became one of the Embersworn.
Only they weren’t Embersworn. They were Caidansworn.
“Hang on,” she murmured. “We’ve got trouble.”
