His hands tightened around her, betraying his thoughts. Keira found her own footing and looked up at him. Hesitation clouded her eyes, stole her laughter. Caspian cursed himself as he released her fully.
Still, she didn’t move, standing there on the steps. “Caspian, I-”
“We should get some rest,” Caspian said, sparing her having to explain.
Keira closed her mouth and nodded.
Their rooms were on opposite ends of the hall, facing one another. Keira slid her key into the lock and opened the door.
“Good night.” Her voice was soft as she turned from him.
“Good night,” Caspian said.
He froze as her door opened, a sudden impulse coming over him to call her back. She shut it behind her, and Caspian choked down a steady breath. How long would it take for the panic to subside whenever he saw her go?
Yvette
Yvette followed Victor’s brisk pace down the East Wing, his boot heels clicking against the flagstones in a quick, even beat. His focus was set ahead of them, as if he could already perceive their destination. He’d taken off the moment he’d heard that Lord Caspian had been sighted approaching Northall, not even bothering to see if she was keeping pace with his unrelenting stride. Victor knew she would be following only a few steps behind, his ever dutiful shadow.
The Redfield party had arrived at Northall two days before. Victor had been unpleasantly surprised to find that the master of the keep was not at home.They had been expected, Victor raved that night, and nearly constantly since. No matter how often he heard that the lord had been called away on pressing business, something amiss in the woodlands, he could view the lapse in hospitality as nothing but a premeditated slight, perhaps a tactic of negotiation.
Yvette was not so certain. She’d first seen Lord Caspian some months ago at the Feather Feast. As always, it had been a gathering of the most eligible and privileged in the kingdom. Victor had assured her that they were coming only to find Priscilla a match. As such, she’d been trussed up in the guise of a swan with flowing white feathers in her hair. It had been a surprise to them both when he’d pushed his sister to dance with the newly named Lord of Northall. In his simplefeathered hawk mask, he hardly presented the most impressive visage. Yet among the flock of prospective partners, even those whose power had come from impressive lines of blood or gold, his title was uniquely prestigious. It was not every day that a sitting regent of one of the seven houses was in search of a partner. Yvette had spent most of the night collecting as much information about him as possible.
He’d come into his title after saving the prince’s life. That much was common knowledge. But before that, he’d been a soldier of unremarkable rank or parentage. Despite these crude beginnings, he hardly seemed to be a crude person. In fact, his bearing in the face of Priscilla’s attention was rather bashful to Yvette’s eyes. All the more evidence for her to conclude that Lord Caspian wasn’t slighting them purposefully, but was just foolish when it came to court politics.
Of course, she’d heard whispers surrounding his informal title, the White Knight, likely inspired by his unique appearance. Hair as white as snow was hardly commonplace. But it was his black eyes and the wicked scar that fueled much of the chatter. Yvette had seen many young girls recoil at the thought of dancing with him, heard them whispering behind their fans about how unsightly he was, or how common. Utter pampered nonsense. Perhaps Caspian was aware of these whispers, or at least sensed their opinions, as he drifted about the outskirts of the party. He’d seemed rather surprised that Priscilla would seek him out. Perhaps that was what made him such an easy catch. Though she had put on a remarkable show of being bashful and demure, showering him with an endearing cocktail of nerves and niceties that would have most clamoring to be the one to earn her trust, to instill her with confidence.
Still, Yvette was unsure why exactly Victor had his heart set on this marriage. Northall’s lands were remote and, as far as she had experienced, miserably cold. He always spoke so poorly ofLord Caspian’s humble beginnings. The only reason she could think of was that he had the prince’s friendship. The crown’s favor had eluded the Redfield family for three generations now, a fact that was never far from Victor’s mind. Perhaps that was what he was after.
Victor came to the door of his sister’s quarters and opened it without preamble. Priscilla was standing by the windowsill as Yvette followed Victor silently within. It was clear enough that they were siblings without closer inspection. They shared the same honey golden curls and heart shaped faces. Of course, Priscilla wore her hair a good deal longer, in rich waves down her back. They were even dressed in mirroring shades of ruby red, no doubt at Victor’s instruction. The Redfields did have an affinity for the color after all. Victor had told her many times that her long red hair was one of her best features, a sign that she was meant to be his. Incidentally, Yvette hadn’t cut it since they’d met six years ago.
Priscilla was straight backed beneath her brother’s gaze, willfully avoiding Yvette’s eye. It was no surprise. She knew well enough the lady’s loathing of her, the distrust.
“It seems the lord of the house has finally decided to grace us all with his presence.” Victor looked his sister up and down purposefully. “Abigail!” he shouted, not bothering to move an inch as his voice carried down the hall, causing Priscilla to flinch.
Moments later, a lady’s maid ran in, looking flustered. “Yes, m’lord.”
“I thought I told you to make sure my sister was presentable at all times.” His jaw was set hard.
“She looks very fine to my eyes, sir,” Abigail whispered.
Victor looked at her fuming before grabbing the girl’s arm, pulling her to stand before Priscilla.
“Your eyes have failed you,” Victor hissed. “Now look again.”
Abigail appeared on the verge of an episode of tears as she looked her over. “Some of her hair has fallen loose, m’lord. Shall I fix it?”
“I suppose that is your job, is it not? We cannot have her looking as though she’s been scrubbing the floors when Lord Northall arrives, can we?”
“Of course not, sir.”
“While you’re at it, tighten her corset,” Victor said, jabbing his finger at Priscilla’s waist. “You’ve been overfeeding her. My sister doesn’t understand what’s good for her. You must control her portions.” He threw up a frustrated hand. “She can grow as fat as she likes after she’s married the bastard.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Abigail whispered as Priscilla studied the floor.
Victor turned from them. “I will be just without. Fix yourself and join me at once. Wewillbe in the assembly when he returns.”
Yvette remained silent as she followed him back into the hall. He was in rare form today, his temper quick and likely to latch onto the first thing that caught his attention.
