She turns her face up to the sky, and I suddenly understand the meaning of the phrasestars in her eyes.“Sabre is so different than I expected. He’s gruff, of course. A bit rough around the edges. But his compassion is boundless. He doesn’t believe it, but he would be a wonderful king. Though if you try to claim him, Iwillbreak your legs.”
I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Have you two …”
She pops a berry into her mouth. “Haven’t even kissed.” A shy smile. “We’re, um, waiting until we’re married.Ifwe’re married, of course.”
I fold an arm around her shoulder in a half hug. “I’m very happy for you, Wen.”
“Pah,” she huffs, though she doesn’t pull away nor look at me funny for using Lachlan’s nickname for her. “None of that sentimental crap.”
“You’re the most powerful woman I know. I’ll forgive if love has made you a little squishy.”
“Not sure it’s love yet, am I?” She drags her fingers through the fallen leaves at her side. “Last week he took off his shirt while we were painting in the west wing, and I swear I lost all motor function. Spent the entire afternoon cataloging the freckles on his shoulders. Hisfreckles, Charlotte. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Not a damn thing.” I sigh, leaning my head against hers. My eyelids are heavy, and my body is melting into the mud.
A short nap couldn’t hurt, could it? We’ll need to restore our energy for whatever comes next.
I’m asleep before I can even ask Aowen whether it’s a good idea.
I’mawoken by something rustling through the trees across the river.
The sun blazes down on us. It’s mid-afternoon. How long did Aowen let me sleep?
The hangdog look on her face as she pulls me up and behind a birch tells me she may have met a similar fate. I scan the site for Vesper, but she’s nowhere to be found. Perhapsshewas keeping watch at least?
I peer around the birch, trying to get a look at who’s found us. My hands tremble against the rough bark, my frantic pulse throbbing between my ears.
“Who is it?” I whisper, shaking off the fog of sleep. “Did they see us?”
“I mean you no harm, Majesty!” a male voice calls out, and when I peer around the birch, Timothy Hopnell is awkwardly splashing through the shallow water, hands still tied. “I wanted to?—”
“Are you daft?” Aowen hisses, stalking toward him. “Or are you trying to draw out every hunter in the Eldergrove?”
She pulls out her thorn, but there’s no need. Timothy crashes to his knees before her, bound hands raised.
“I have information for Miss Fitzroy,” he begs. “It’s extremely important. Please lower your weapon.”
“No, I don’t think I will, thanks.” She digs the tip of the thorn into the soft space beneath his jaw. “You have two minutes. Speak.”
“Right.” Timothy’s pupils are wide and his hair disheveled. His glasses are gone; it’s a wonder he found us at all. “I was framed. I didn’t … I am not your attempted assassin.”
“Why should I believe you?” I bite out.
“Would I be here prostrating myself before you if I was lying?”
Aowen pushes the thorn in harder, nearly breaking skin.
“It’s a possibility,” I say. “Perhaps you’ve made a deal with one of the dukes. To find me so they’ll spare your life? Sounds like something Torvil would?—”
“It was him,” Timothy blubbers.
“Him, what?”
“Torvil. He was the one who tried to poison you during the Harvest Ball.
“Duke Áine himself.”
Chapter
