Not wandering or polite.
Something tightens in my chest at the intensity of it, the way his eyes flick briefly to my neckline before snapping back to my face. His jaw tightens as if he’s holding back something internal.
I shift my weight without meaning to, hyperaware of the way the fabric moves against my skin. Lysa breaks the sudden spike in tension, returning into the room with a pile of trousers and tops and handing them to me.
“For the gardening, I figured you’d need more than some hand me down pants that don’t fit you right,” she says, shaking her head at the knights, and I glance again at Rowan. He had ordered her to get everything ready.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” she says, turning to the back of the shop once more.
“You told her I’m working in the glasshouse?” I ask Rowan.
“You needed more clothes.” I nod at his response, but this is more than needing some more clothes, and we both know it.
“Here,” Lysa says before showing me the most beautiful set of overalls I’ve ever seen. An olive-green, heavy fabric, reinforced at the elbows and the seams sewed with a dark forest-green thread.
Then I see it: my name.
Embroidered lightly on the front right pocket. Not so big that it draws attention, but enough for it to cause a thud in my chest.
“The High Warden here said you could use another,” she says, smiling at Rowan.
“I love it. Thank you so much,” I say, struggling for words.
“Well, of course,” she responds, taking all the outfits and various garments over to the cash desk as Kael follows, I assume, to make payment. I turn to Rowan immediately, finding him already watching me.
“Rowan, that was so…thank you, really.” I offer with a smile.
“The King requested we give you everything you need to get this plant growing. I am simply following through on that order,” he says before adding.
“But for what it’s worth…” he leans in closer, whispering into my ear. “I don’t agree with Kael on much. But today, I have never agreed with him more.”
The words land low in my stomach. I’m left in the aftershock of his confession, and I can’t help smiling as I run my hands down the length of my new dress.
For a moment, I forget where I am. Forget what this place has cost me.
Chapter 11
Elodie
By the time we leave the seamstress, the late afternoon sun drips gold, reflecting on the water and catching the glass windowpanes. The cobblestones almost look warmer in this light. Kael is still talking, of course.
“And the crust,” he insists, tearing off a piece mid-stride and holding it up as if it’s sacred.
“Listen to that.” He squeezes it lightly, the soft crackle making his smile widen with pride. “Perfection,” he says, cradling the bread in his arm. We stopped at a bakery on the way out, something I think Rowan is now regretting. I glance at the Warden, who gives me a slight head shake along with a roll of his eyes. I smile in response and turn back to Kael.
“What’s so special about it?” I ask as Rowan groans next to me, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.
“I am so glad you asked, Elodie. Rowan over there has never understood the true masterpiece that is this bread.” He gives Rowan a side-eye before turning back to me. He explains in great detail all about how this bread is softer, more buttery, and much better than the stuff they ‘try to pass off as bread’ in the commons. We pass a bell tower, Kael still lecturing us on the bread like it’s a military achievement, when something catches my eye. Bundles of dried herbs hang in a doorway between two narrow buildings. Rows of potted plants and flowers sit at the window front. I slow to a stop. Rowan notices immediately.
“No,” he says.
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
But I’m already stepping toward the doorway. A small brass bell above the door chimes as I push inside. Scents of crushed mint, dried lavender, and ginger root all rush at me in one strong swoosh. The walls are lined with shelves stacked high with glass jars. Some containing powders, others filled with dried petals. Kael lingers by the door.
“If something in here starts whispering to me, I’m leaving.” I scoff at him, shaking my head. Trailing my hand along the dried stems placed on the countertop, an older woman emerges from behind a curtain. Her hair silver and braided close to her scalp.
