The carriage creaks as someone shifts behind me.
I turn just as Luceran steps down, pale and striking in the dappled moonlight, loose strands of ivory hair slipping free from his knot to frame his face. His mismatched eyes, fire and ice, burn vividly in the dark.
My father stiffens.
“My Lord Luceran,” he stammers, horror flooding his features. He bows so low his forehead nearly meets the ground. “I did not mean…please…”
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding together.
I will not see my father like this.
“Get up, Father,” I say, keeping my voice gentle despite the fury roiling inside me. “You don’t have to do that.”
He shakes his head fiercely, one terrified eye fixed on Luceran as he resists my attempt to pull him upright.
“Neve, what are you doing?” my father mutters under his breath, panic threading his voice. “You’ll make him angry.”
“That is what she does best,” Luceran says mildly as he steps forward. “And often.”
I scowl, but he continues.
“But for now, she is correct. You do not need to bow.” His voice lowers, loses its edge. “I am not here as your lord.”
He inclines his head, only slightly, only as much as his pride will allow, but it is unmistakably a bow.
“Tonight,” he says, “I am a guest in your home.”
My father stares at him, stunned, brows drawn tight as his mind scrambles to make sense of what he’s seeing. I can almost hear the thoughts colliding.
“I earned a favor,” I tell him, lifting his chin until he looks at me. “I used it to see you.”
His shoulders sag as understanding settles in. He cups my cheek with his weathered hand and exhales a long, weary breath.“Neve,” he murmurs. “What have you done?”
I lean into his touch, eyes closing. “What my heart wanted.”
Luceran’s footsteps are almost silent, but I know he is moving toward us. I am beginning to feel him whenever he is near, and it is not only the chill that follows him. It is more than that. His scent. His breath. His presence presses in on me, unsettling and impossible to ignore.
He stops beside us, where my father and I still kneel in the mud. He reaches out, and my father gulps when he realizes the lord intends to help him to his feet.
My father looks to me almost for permission.
I nod.
His wiry arm trembles as he reaches out, fingers shaking, and when Luceran’s hand closes around his, it nearly disappears within that powerful grip. I brace myself, expecting Luceran to haul him upright with effortless force.
Instead, he is careful.
He guides rather than pulls, steadying my father until he’s standing on his own. My father remains stunned long after Luceran releases him, staring at his hand as if he doesn’t recognize it.
Luceran’s gaze drops to me next.
And it is not the same.
There is no gentle restraint there, no courtesy. His eyes are darker now, hungry in a way that makes my pulse stumble. He reaches for me, but I turn away before his hand can find purchase, pushing myself to my feet and brushing mud from my dress.
That earns a faint smirk.
“Please,” my father says hurriedly. “Lord Luceran. Welcome to my home. I don’t have much, but all I have is yours.”
