“You were saying it was torture?” he asks and my breath falters. I don’t even know how to respond. “If you’re going to pretend to listen to me tell you about this book, you should at least attempt to look interested in the text.” My heart nearly gives out.
“I am interested,” I breathe shakily.
“It’s not the text you’re interested in, is it, Hawthorne?” Heat floods my face at his admission. “You should be careful, Hawthorne. You have a very expressive face,” he mocks.
“I do not.” I try to fight back, but I know he’s right. Sam used to tell me all the time that he always knew what I was thinking by the look on my face. He leans back an inch, enough to create space, and the absence of him is immediately cold. He rises from the seat, a flicker of restraint flashing over his eyes before extending his hand to me.
“We should return to my quarters. It’s late,” he says finally, and I can only find it in me to nod. Taking his hand slowly, before falling into step behind him.
Why did I come to the library again?
Chapter 15
Elodie
“I just don’t think you can do that, miss,” Thomas repeats for the third time. I spent the first half of the morning staring at the soil, as I usually do. But then I remembered what I’d seen in the books last night, about the butterflies. My assumption was that the locations where they could be discovered would mirror the natural habitats of Widowsbloom. So I need to see it. I can’t just keep going into everything blind, but Thomas says he ‘absolutely cannot allow it’, and we have been arguing about it ever since.
“Thomas, you must understand, I need to see if there are important differences I’m missing here in the glasshouse.”
“I understand, I just can’t allow it. I’ve had strict orders you’re not to leave this glasshouse.”
“Just tell me where to go and I will get there myself. Just tell the High Warden I ran away without you looking.” It’s a useless attempt, but it’s worth a try anyway. Unless…
“Tell the High Warden what?” Rowan’s voice echoes between us. Glancing past Thomas, I see a smug-looking Rowan, his full armour gleaming, helmet firmly in place. I find myself struggling to meet his eye after the events of last night, but Thomas notices nothing, turning to salute him.
“Sir, Miss Elodie was asking to see the old ruins in the forest.”
So that’s where I need to go.
He knew the whole time.
I turn to face Rowan now, crossing my arms with a shrug. It feels like I’m being treated like a child. Rowan narrows his eyes at me.
“And why would you want to go there, Miss Elodie?” I give him a look for mocking the way Thomas says my name.
“Research, sir,” I respond, sweet enough to be respectful but sharp enough that he knows I’m not. Rowan’s lip tilts in a subtle smirk as I give him an exaggerated grin.
“I’ll take her, Thomas. We are a man short at the eastern border. See it corrected,” he commands Thomas, his eyes never leaving mine. Thomas salutes him, heading off back towards the castle as Rowan turns to walk toward the forest.
“Let’s go, Hawthorne.”
We’ve been walking for a good thirty minutes now, following the trail that winds away from the gardens into the forest beyond. Roots push through the earth like knuckles. Pine cones lie scattered, and moss half swallows stones, making the path uneven. The further in we go, the taller the trees seem to get. Their trunks thick and furrowed, with the canopy of green climbing so high in the sky it’s like clustered clouds of pine. Rowan walks beside me, the metal of his armour catching what little light filters through. He moves as if he belongs here.
“Did you train in these forests?” I ask him, struggling to keep up beside him.
“Sometimes, yes,” he says, his focus fixed ahead of him.
“Why did you become a knight?” I ask. He pauses before smirking at me.
“I look great in armour. It would have been a waste to see me as a farmer, don’t you think?”
“Did you just make a joke?” I say lightly, laughter escaping me.
“Are you saying you don’t agree?”
“No, I agree, but there must have been an actual reason,” I reply, not realising I had just said exactly what he wanted me to. Shaking his head, his cocky grin grows wider.
“I don’t like feeling helpless.” His tone steadies. “Being a knight, I have power. Control. My mother died bringing me into this world.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Just stares at the path in front of us. “When you learn early that life is cruel, you learn to protect yourself and those around you.” His words are honest and raw.
