“So all of them?” she checks. Her words aren’t laced with judgment. She’s curious.
“Perhaps,” I offer. “Don’t think badly of me.”
“I don’t. Honestly, it makes sense that you would need a band of males to ensure your safety and survival.”
“I love you,” I whisper. “I’m not sure where this new path is taking me. But I am grateful that we veered from the monotonous life of Strongfair. I think The Duke was plotting my murder.”
“I think so too.”
“So now we have to get you from the clutches of Prince Charming, and we can live happily ever after with each other.”
“And a different Stirling will visit you each sundown?”
I shrug. “I haven’t figured that out yet. Perhaps they are using me to get into places they can’t. Nobody suspects an innocent Burgher.” My stomach clenches at that thought, because I don’t feel used—but I’m not always a great judge of character.
She chuckles. “They haven’t met Daphne Stone.”
Someone hammers on the door, making Gwyneth groan. “Rob is persistent, isn’t he?”
“Not Rob,” she grumbles, standing. “That would be my sundown walk with Charming.”
I lurch to my feet and wink at her. “I got you covered, sister. You and your floof are safe with me.”
Gwyneth’s lips tip up in a smile, signaling I’m forgiven for disappearing. She twists the handle and opens the door. A stupidly dressed male stands in front of her. His pink and black checkered waistcoat clashes with his copper hair in a way that makes it both hard to look at and look away from. His flushed cheeks don’t help. He snaps open a scroll and clears his throat.
“Dearest, Gwyneth, the most beautiful maiden in all the realm, I hereby invite you to walk with me in the maze under the moon’s watchful eye. Yours, Charming.”
“Second most fair,” the mirror man states, appearing in a shadowy wave. I roll my eyes at him.
“He will walk with you under my watchful eye. I don’t trust an orb in the sky. What can it do if Charming tries getting handsy with your floof? Nothing, that’s what. Now, me, I’m an expert at barring the way of overly enthusiastic Hallowed and their wandering limbs.”
The guy at the door sneers in my direction before rolling the scroll back up and looking expectantly at Gwyneth
“Give me a tempo,” she mutters, closing the door with a sigh and leaning her back against it. Her eyes flutter shut, and I notice the dark circles beneath them. My poor sister is exhausted because of my impromptu adventure with the Stirlings. In fairness, we were meant to be back before the tide blocked our exit. Stabbing a king and downing a maiden took precious tempos.
She licks her lips before squaring her shoulders. “Let’s do this,” she utters.
“You are most bewitching,” the mirror man throws out. Can’t fault him on his complementing skills. “Like a murderous witch intent on luring the little children into her cauldron.” Okay, I take it back—he needs training. Gwyneth smiles and I decide that his humor is more important.
I walk toward her and thread my arm through hers. “Come on, operationmake Charming hate youis a go.”
“Because limp dick was a bust?”
“Limp dick worked fine. It’s not our fault Charming is like a dog with a bone. Perhaps we should have acquired an enchantment that makes him think he spent his night pounding your floof with his little charming.”
“Don’t call it that,” she utters as she pulls open the door to the frowning fellow tasked with retrieving Gwyneth.
“What would you have me call it?” I ask as I close the door behind us and we start following him.
“Sausage?” she suggests, breaking my poor Burgher heart.
“Don’t go ruining sausage for me. Charming and such delightful, meaty goodness should not be used in the same sentence.”
We make it down the stairs without incident and I’m feeling pretty confident that we are going to have an uneventful evening. A walk in the moonlight with Prince Poopfloof followed by a restful sundown tucked up in our cloud beds.
A guy darts into the hallway from the east wing. Hmm, I’ve not investigated down there yet. He bashes into me, and Gwyneth’s arm slips from mine as we smash to the floor. My skull bounces against the hard floor, making me wince, and a blond-haired boy with a matching fuzzy beard grins down at me. His eyes dance with mirth as he buries his head in my shoulder. What in the Holy Hallows is happening? I have enough dealing with four Stirlings. I do not need another male in my life.
“Hide these somewhere safe and I will make it worth your while,” he mutters in my ear as he slips something small and hard into my hand. What is this? Task the realm’s most chaotic maid with a mission annus?
