“What the hell?” a deep voice shouted, cut off by Esther’s landing.
The impact drove the air from her lungs in a violent oof. Her vision spun, her head throbbed, and for a long second, she could only register warmth.
She hit something solid yet soft, like a mattress that needed breaking in.
The ground smelled of moss and mint: a clean, sharp, faintly sweet aroma that made her brain feel fuzzy. A scent she could melt into.
If this were death, it was surprisingly comfortable.
“Did she just fall from the sky?” a woman asked, rough and incredulous.
“Like a meteor,” a gravelly voice responded.
“A meteor with legs that needs to get off me.”
The “warmth” beneath her shifted.
Oh no.
She wasn’t splattered on the ground, dead.
She was very much alive.
And on top of someone.
She didn’t know if this was good news or if she should have gone with death. All she knew was that the Baroness must never find out.
Esther groaned and lifted her head, reluctant to acknowledge reality.
Her hair stuck to her face in sticky strands of cinnamon glaze and sweat. Her vision steadied enough to see the person she’d landed on, and her brain promptly short-circuited.
He was the most unfairly handsome man she’d ever seen. Pale skin dusted with soot. Long, dark hair tied in a loose braid that gleamed red at the edges in the setting sun.
Elves were known for their ethereal beauty; this one looked like the kind that ruined lives. His attire, a dark, close-fitted tunic stitched with thin silver thread, marked him as an adventurer. She recognized the pattern from a dusty volume titledA Beginner’s Guide to Handsome Men and Their Homelands…or something similar.
So, what was he?
Beautiful.
Annoyed.
And currently pinned beneath her.
She had accidentally fallen on an elf.
“I can explain,” she said quickly. “This isn’t… whatever it looks like.”
“It looks like you fell on me,” the elf said flatly. His voice was smooth and calm in a way that made her stomach queasy.
This was definitely not how the heroines in the novels started their journeys.
“Right. So exactly what it looks like.” She laughed weakly, pushing at her tangled hair. Bits of pastry clung to her scalp. One boot was missing entirely.
Baroness Levon’s lectures screamed in her memory. In a single misstep, she’d undone years of etiquette, posture, and self-control.
“Up you get.”
A dark, tawny-skinned half-elf lifted her effortlessly by the arms. Esther’s feet dangled as if she weighed less than a feather. The woman’s grip was firm but careful, her palms warm and calloused.
