Footsteps follow behind me, and I don't even have to look to know it's him. The other guards stay at their posts when I walk—they don't care where I go. They know there's nowhere for me to go out here.
But this one trails behind me, always ten paces back.
I reach the stone bench tucked against the cliffside wall, overlooking the sea. I sit, smoothing my skirt over my knees, and tip my face toward the weak sun filtering through the mist.
These are the only moments of peace in my day, and I intend to take them.
When I open my eyes, Henri's across from me—leaning against the trellis where the ivy grows thick, arms crossed, staring at me.
Not at my legs. Not at the neckline of my dress.
At my face.
"You're staring."
He doesn't look away. Not immediately. "Apologies, madame."
I let my eyes fall closed, too tired to care about propriety. "It's fine. The others look through me like I'm furniture. At least you're honest about it."
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the crash of waves against the rocks below.
Then, so quiet I almost miss it, "You could never be furniture."
Five simple words. Except his voice catches on something when he says them.
Heat blooms low in my stomach, uninvited and completely inappropriate. It twists through me, tangling with confusion until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
What the hell is this?
I must be so starved for basic human decency that a guard telling me I'm not furniture is enough to make my pulse skip.
Pathetic.
"What am I, then?"
The question slips out before I can stop it. Before I can think about why I'm asking, or what answer I'm hoping for, or why my heart is suddenly beating too fast.
That was incredibly stupid.
I don't know this man. He works for Ewan and could report every word of this conversation. I could wake up tomorrow in a different cage—or not wake up at all.
But then his head turns and his eyes meet mine.
And the look there…
I don't have a name for it. It feels old. Familiar somehow, which is completely insane.
We just stare at each other for a long moment, and I realize he didn't answer me.
I stand too quickly, the world tilting enough that I have to grab the bench to steady myself. "I should get back."
Henri nods but doesn't move from the trellis.
I keep my eyes forward and walk past him.
My shoulder grazes his arm.
Heat detonates through me like I've touched a live wire—nerves firing, skin prickling from shoulder to fingertips. Something clenches low in my core, hot and treacherous, and I force myself to keep moving.
