My shoulders tense.
“And more than that,” he adds, his gaze sharpening just a fraction, “how someone so… delicate ended up here at all.”
The word sits wrong.Delicate.
His eyes sweep over me, slower this time. Assessing.
“Beautiful,” he corrects softly. “Striking, even. But the labyrinth is not kind to things that can break.”
The shift is immediate.
Ashton moves first, like he can’t help it. His arm slides along the back of the chair behind me, his fingers brushing my shoulder as he leans in just slightly. “Careful,” he says, voice easy. “That kind of interest in our Alette tends to end badly.”
Lord Ferngull doesn’t seem offended. If anything, he looks more interested.
“And you?” he asks me directly, as if the others haven’t spoken at all. “Why are you here?”
All their attention shifts to me at once.
I choose my words carefully. “I’m guiding them.”
It’s the truth. Just not all of it.
Lord Ferngull hums softly, like he’s turning that over. “Guiding,” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on me. “Interesting.”
A pause. Then, casually, “And are you… spoken for?”
The air goes still.
I don’t even get a chance to breathe, let alone answer.
“That’s none of your concern,” Oberon says immediately, his voice low and sharp.
“Not even a little,” Ashton adds, the easy humor gone from his tone now.
Lord Ferngull lifts his hands slightly, a gesture of mock surrender, though the faint smile never leaves his lips. “Curiosity, nothing more.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?” Cassius asks, softly, his words a threat, but his tone light.
A flash of something passes through Lord Ferngull’s eyes, gone too quickly to name.
Then, as if shifting the conversation entirely, he looks back to me. “Perhaps, later, you would like a tour of the castle,” he offers. “There is much here that might interest you.”
Ashton huffs a soft laugh. “Tempting offer,” he says, draping an arm behind me again. “But she’ll be busy with us.”
My cheeks heat. “I’ll be busyresting. He means.”
Sylvian shrugs. “In bed, but not resting.” Then winks.
I feel like I could melt into the floor.
Lord Ferngull’s gaze moves between them, then back to me. His expression is more than a little fascinated.
“So, Alette,” he presses lightly, looking back at me again. “You’ve said very little. No home you’re eager to return to? No ties that would pull you away from a journey like this?”
Oberon doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His jaw locks, his gaze fixed on Lord Ferngull with a kind of quiet, simmering anger that feels far more dangerous than words.
Sylvian’s grip on my arm grows firmer, his thumb sweeping lightly across my skin. “Her place is always by our sides.”
