“Yes, actually I am.” A half smile creeps across his features as he sets his pipe back in his mouth. “How does one accidentally fall in a fountain?”
She continues drying herself to avoid the man's piercing eye contact. Avina becomes unnervingly aware of him drinking in every inch of her wet form. The knowledge stokes the growing fire inside her chest, which sears her cheeks.
“I was not aware of my footing, so I tripped. What moron places a large fountain in a garden?”
I am that moron. I helped plan the renovations. What a stupid idea.
With a smile, he follows her motions as if her body can not flush more for him. “Poor planning, indeed.”
She shakes her head. “What are you looking for?”
He sighs. “Ceowald took something from me. I am looking for anything that might help me understand why.” His informality in addressing her father takes her by surprise.
“What did he take?”
“You are persistent, little one.”
“I would like to think I am.” She stands a little taller, her shoulders pulled back.
“Let’s just say he took something irreplaceable, and I plan to return the favor.”
She nods in understanding, knowing her curiosity would be too dangerous with this Salt warrior.
She knew her father engaged in the shadier side of diplomacy. No matter how hard he struggles to keep her in the dark, she was still the shadow of the castle. Observing all that transpires within the chilly halls was part of her pastime.
“Was there no one to help you when you fell?”
Her mouth goes dry.
How can she answer his question and not admit more about her row with Rendel? “I caught my fiancé having sex with another woman in the upper courtyard. I was alone and flustered.”
He leaves the room, and she hears Byron’s study next door creep open. When he returns, he drops another cloak in Avina’s hands.
“Thanks.”
“Your fiancé must be blind.”
She furrows her brow.
“To have ever touched anyone other than you.”
Her cheeks burn at his boast of her beauty. He is the first person besides Bertie and the maids to recall her looks. She often wonders about her appearance, even if she is shorter and full-bodied compared to many of the slender women of the Sapphire Palace.
But, this warrior finds her pleasing.
She needs to shimmy out of this dress. Ignoring his previous compliment, she attempts to separate from the gown.
“Do you dislike parties too?” She changes the subject, uncomfortable with his closeness.
He strides away to a chair and perches on the arm with a creak of leather. “Loathe them. I am only in this wretched palace because my station considers it ‘polite’ when I show support.” He lets out a grumble and takes a long drag from his pipe. “What about you? I assume you are here because you are avoiding them, too?”
“You can say that.” She tries to slip off the gown yet cannot reach the corset strings. “You would think existing alone would excite me for gatherings and people. Alas, I much prefer the company of a dog or cat.”
She is aware of him scrutinizing her struggle with the dress.
“Do you need help with that?”
His request elicits two simultaneous reactions from the princess. The first is a tense bristling about his motives, while the other is a relief that someone, anyone, noticed she is in distress. Weighing over both is that the gown is too snug and soaking uncomfortably against her skin.
