He doesn’t even feign a smile back. Of course he doesn’t.
We pass a few more shops before Major Kilkenny pulls gently on Ghendor’s reins to halt him.
I do the same, maybe a little too harshly, because Mirren reels back again. “Sorry!” I call out, and she settles again.
We’re in front of a shop with hanks of colorful wool and patterned fabrics visible through the frosted window. I’m so busy staring that I’m startled when Kilkenny reaches up to help me off Mirren’sback. He guides me down, but even with his steady grasp on my upper arms, I stumble. It’s like my legs have forgotten how to support me.
Kilkenny peers down at me, his face a mask that gives away nothing. “Those legs of yours are like a newborn foal’s…” he says plainly.
I gawk at him, unsure of how to interpret that. “Thank you?”
There’s the tiniest spark in his gloomy eyes. His cheek twitches and he presses his lips together firmly. With a curt nod, he releases me and steps back, putting space between us.
It’s good to be on solid ground again. Except the earth might as well still be moving. I hold on to Mirren’s saddle, waiting for my body to adjust again and trying not to focus on the throbbing in my temples. Major Kilkenny doesn’t move either. Is it out of the fear that I’ll run or out of concern? Once I gather my composure, rubbing at my left temple, we walk toward the store, and with each step I’m a little less likely to trip over my own feet.
I glance up at him. “Do I have a spending limit?”
He shakes his head and holds the door open. “No limit.”
My eyes flare wide. It’s unfathomable, but I nod and step into the aroma of fresh linens within the shop. I inhale deeply and glance at my surroundings. It’s a needlewoman’s paradise, with embroidery thread of every color imaginable on display, different fabrics lined up in rows, and shelves upon shelves of spun fiber. Naturally, I gravitate toward the skeins, drawn like a sailor to a siren’s song. I keep my hands at my side as it’s almost sacrilegious to touch the wool.
No, not just wool.Silk.
The skeins of silk have varying thickness, and so many different color choices. The things I could make for Taig. Colorful sweaters, trousers, socks. He needs a new hat. A lump forms in my throat. I take a deep breath and push thoughts of Taig away. I need to focus on the task at hand.
Skeins of black draw me away from the lighter shades of silk fibers. The color of Carys’s hair minus the golden streaks. My teeth dig into my lower lip as I stroll down the shelves of fibers and come upon a section of knitting needles. I grab a few different sizes and turn to find the princess’s earnest guard.
He stands a short distance from me, his intense stare following my every move. Goose bumps arise on my skin, and I rub the sleeve of the coat I’m wearing, taming the strange, prickling sensation from being watched so closely. It takes effort to ignore his stare, so I focus on piling bundles of black silk fibers into my arms.
I can hardly hold them all, and as I turn to head back toward Major Kilkenny, I nearly collide with a table containing spools of embroidery thread. Gold thread reminiscent of the streaks in Princess Carys’s hair draws my attention, and countless possibilities arise in my mind, until one idea thwarts the others.
With under a month to work, there is no way I can fully knit a floor-length gown, but I can still give the princess something bold and unique. I just need to exercise my creative muscles more than I ever have before. Part of me is intrigued by this challenge and I navigate away from the guilt that rises again—away from the thoughts that remind me to remain miserable in the face of this injustice.
I reach for the gold embroidery thread, but that throws off the balance of the stack of yarns in my arms. The skeins start to tumble from me, but Major Kilkenny appears at my side, his hands brushing against mine as he catches everything. I glance up at him and smile sheepishly. “Thank you.”
He only nods and my eyes shift from his sharp jawline to those silver streaks in his hair. When his brows raise, and I realize that I’m openly staring at him. Heat crawls up my neck and I’m suddenly unsure what to do with my empty hands.
His attention shifts, and I follow his line of vision to a tall, mahogany grandfather clock at the far end of the shop.
Noon. It’s been about half an hour since we arrived.
Major Kilkenny looks back to me, worry etched into his features. “We need to get going.”
“Alright. I just need the shopkeeper to cut a few yards of fabric for me.”
His lips form a straight line for a moment. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“Alright,” he says.
We make our way toward the counter, but as we’re about to pass a table of adornments, I stop abruptly. Buttons, broaches, and beads stare back at me. A set of gold beads calls to me. Ineedthem. I take some of the gold buttons as well, just for good measure. I’m not entirely sure how I’ll use any of them, but they’ll be used one way or another because they’re perfect.
“For Rhianu’s sake,” says Major Kilkenny. “I’ve never seen someone take so long to select such tedious items.”
My excitement dissipates. What a killjoy he is… “Apologies, I’m done,” I say.
MajorKilljoyregards me. “Are you certain this time?” The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, though he doesn’t smile. Does he ever smile?
