His jaw tightens. “Then it’s mine now. I’ll go.”
“I hate stating the obvious, but you have no idea where the fuse panel is,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“It’s in the electrical room above the dungeon, near the staircase that leads down to it.” I tilt my head to one side. “Do you know where it is?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “There’s a dungeon in this wing? Fort Vauclaire has two dungeons?”
“You didn’t know?”
I consider a patronizing tap on his shoulder but decide against it. Not because I’m afraid it’ll seem taunting, but because I don’t want to touch him. Every accidental brush lights up all the wrong parts of my brain like a Christmas tree. It’s been only three weeks since our one-night stand. I need more time.
“Really, I’ve got this,” I say, turning away.
“I’m coming with you!”
I don’t bother arguing. He’s taller, more stubborn, and clearly itching to feel useful.
Fine.
I grab the flashlight and the heavy ring of basement keys from the hallway drawer.
We step into the unlit, cold corridor, side by side. I shiver once, then square my shoulders. As we walk, Alex’s stride matches mine, annoyingly in sync. The only sounds are distant thunder, our footsteps on stone, and a low hum in the air that has nothing to do with the storm.
The silence stretches, taut, dangerous. So, I fill it. Of course I do.
“This wing was added by Aymon the Bastard,” I say.
“Was he the eighth or ninth Duke of Rohinn?”
“Eighth,” I reply. “He’s the one who gave Fort Vauclaire its current double-wall layout. He also founded the first civil court to stop clan justice. And survived two assassination attempts.”
“No wonder they renamed Rohinn’s capital after him,” he offers.
I smile. “Also, because the original name was too long and unpronounceable.”
“You’ve really studied the place, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. I was the duchess, remember?”
“You still are.”
I wave dismissively. “It’s just a courtesy title now.”
He gives me a look. Not pitying—thank God—but thoughtful.
“I like Aymon the Bastard,” I go on. “He was practical. Cunning. Larger than life.”
The flashlight flickers as we pass a draft. The corridor narrows. I can smell the damp stone, old wood, and something warm and familiar… Him. He doesn’t touch me. But Ifeelhim.
“Not to mention,” I say, my pitch rising, “that Aymon left us a fortress that can survive a siege.”
“Yes but can it survive a fuse blowing every time there’s a storm?” he teases.
“That’s not his fault; it’s Geoffroy’s,” I shoot back. “Upgrading the electrical system to code was never his priority.”
Alex scoffs. “Figures.”
