Elodie’s hands were shaking. Her dress was soaked with holy water, her hair plastered to her face, and the beginning of hysterical laughter was building in her chest.
“That was—” She took a breath. “That was the worst exorcism I’ve ever been subjected to.”
Gareth’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close. He took her hands in his, steadying her. His grip was warm, calloused, solid. An anchor in the chaos.
She signed. Thank you.
He signed back, slowly, each gesture deliberate. You are under my protection. Always.
She looked at his face—the scar, the hard lines, the eyes that somehow didn’t seem so cold anymore—and realized she believed him.
“I should probably avoid the chapel for a while,” she said.
He nodded.
“And maybe eat in my chamber until people calm down.”
Another nod.
“And perhaps you could...” She hesitated. “Could you teach me which hand gestures mean I’m not a faerie, please stop throwing holy water at me?”
This time, he did smile. Just barely. A ghost of what it might have been three years ago. But it changed his whole face, softened the severity, made him look almost young.
Elodie signed. You’re smiling.
He signed back. You bring light here.
Then he offered her his arm—old-fashioned, courtly, entirely unexpected—and escorted her from the chapel.
The servants they passed watched with wide eyes. By morning, she knew, the rumors would have spread through every corner of Greywatch. The faerie woman and the silent lord, walking arm in arm through the castle. Father Aldric would be nursing his wounded pride and plotting his next move.
But Gareth’s hand was steady beneath hers, and when they reached the corridor leading to her chamber, he paused and signed. Tomorrow. More lessons?
She nodded. “Yes. I’ll teach you more.”
His mouth curved—that ghost of a smile she was starting to treasure—and he inclined his head in farewell. As she watched him walk away, Elodie was already looking forward to morning.
CHAPTER 9
Afortnight at Greywatch had taught Elodie that medieval mornings arrived without mercy. No alarm clock, no gentle transition from sleep to wakefulness—just the abrupt crash of steel from the training yard, the clatter of servants in the corridors, and the insistent light filtering through her chamber’s narrow window. She’d grown accustomed to the sounds, if not exactly fond of them, and this morning she found herself awake before the first clash of practice swords echoed across the bailey.
Marian appeared moments later, gap-toothed grin already in place, carrying an ewer of water and a fresh shift. The kitchen maid had appointed herself Elodie’s unofficial lady-in-waiting within days of her arrival, and Elodie had long since stopped protesting. The girl’s nimble fingers made quick work of the wool gown’s complicated laces—laces that had defeated Elodie entirely during her first fumbling attempts to dress herself.
“’Tis a fine morning, my lady,” Marian said, tugging the bodice into place. “Warm enough you won’t need more than your sleeves. And you’ll be wanting to hurry—you always sit by the wall for nigh on two hours watching—” She caught herself, cheeks pinking. “Watching the training.”
“Yes, well.” Elodie cleared her throat. “I find it... educational.”
Marian’s knowing look suggested she found it something else entirely.
The wool gown was rougher than anything Elodie had worn in her previous life, but it was clean and didn’t mark her as some faerie creature from the hollow hills. Small victories. Through the narrow window, she could see the sunshine already warming the stones of the bailey, promising another pleasant spring day.
She made her way down to the great hall, where breakfast at Greywatch remained a simple affair of bread, cheese, and whatever remained from the previous night’s meal, taken standing or walking, eaten quickly, without ceremony. The servants moved around her as they went about their duties, their glances no longer quite so fearful now that everyone had agreed she didn’t actually have wings. Progress, she supposed.
Her may day costume with the tattered wings had been laundered and was now stored in the small trunk at the end of her bed. Elodie didn’t know how time travel worked, but she wanted to have the costume she’d arrived in, just in case she needed it to get back to her own time.
Gareth was already in the lists when she arrived, his dark hair tied back, his movements fluid as he worked through forms with a practice sword. Even after watching him train for two weeks straight, Elodie hadn’t grown immune to the sight. The man moved like water finding its path downhill—no wasted motion, no hesitation, just an almost hypnotic flow from one position to the next.
She settled in her usual spot on a bench set into the stone wall, close enough to observe but far enough not to interfere. The other men had stopped gawking at her days ago. Now they simply nodded in her direction and went about their business,which felt like an enormous improvement over the crossed fingers and muttered prayers of her first morning.
