“Good day, my lady,” he said, low and proper.
“Hello, Evander…”
Juliet’s tone lingered, cool appraisal threading through it.
“I should have known wherever Amerei stands, you’d be underfoot.”
Amerei hid a smile, pointing to the two small bags dangling from his hands.
He held up the parcels one by one. “Rosemary bread, soft cheese, honeyed herbs.”
“Bless you.” Amerei snatched them both, clutching them like treasure.
Juliet tilted her head. “And why are you here, Evander?”
He tucked his hands behind his back.
“Saecily asks for a lock of your hair.”
Juliet’s brow creased.
“A lock of Amerei’s hair,” he clarified quickly.
“What for?”
“It’s tradition.”
Juliet’s voice cut sharper. “Whose tradition?”
Amerei slipped to her grandmother’s side, her hand curling around Juliet’s arm.
“My betrothed is from Aerdania,” she said gently.
Evander sprawled into the nearest chair with a sigh.
Juliet threaded her fingers through Amerei’s hair, letting the golden strands spill like silk over her hand. “How much does she demand?”
“Same length as his.” Evander spread his palms a foot apart. “About this long.”
Juliet extended her hand without hesitation. Evander drew his knife, quick and sure. She gathered a lock from the back of Amerei’s head, severing it clean at the shoulder.
“The young men are wearing their hair long again,” Juliet murmured as she placed the strand in Evander’s palm. “Elven fashion bleeds back into the human world, it seems.”
Evander nodded, already sinking back into the chair.
Amerei grinned, silently willing Juliet to notice. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Evander?” Juliet’s tone cut like glass.
He only shrugged. “Not particularly.”
Amerei glanced toward her grandmother.I know that look…
Juliet moved like a circling hawk.
“Firstly—she is Princess Amerei. You will not forget her title again.”
“Yes, my lady.”
