Weapons gathered, I am in my room and replaiting my hair when a commotion outside the door draws my attention. Braid unfinished, I jerk open the door with one hand and draw a long dagger with the other. “What is it?”
“The Duke of Maudite.”
“Mauditeis here?”
“No, m’lady.” The guard shrugs. “The Countess of Fleuriste said the duke was going t’be.”
I twist my half-finished plait into a bun on the back of my head, jab a wee wooden spear into it, and set off to find Mother.
By the time I walk into Mother’s rooms, ready to argue, my mother announces, “Go to the village to offer our hospitality to the duke.”
“She could come here tomorrow or—”
“You were going to Maudite Castle,” Rylan interrupts. “Why not talk to her here?”
I mutter an expletive that has Mother raising her brows at me, but there’s no reasonable argument I can make beyond telling them that I am simply not ready to talk to her.
I refuse to add a gown over my hunting attire, so in as little time as it takes to collect our horses and ride to the village, Rylan and I are approaching the Dancing Goose.
Henry makes a show of looking me over from head to toe. “You look like a proper Hunter dressed like that.”
“I am a proper Hunter,” I snap.
“We know that. Them monsters will know it, too.” Henry is impossible to perturb. “No insult meant, Lady Huntress. Violence looks good on you.”
The words both sting and warm me. I want Isabeau to see me and be impressed by what I am, but being a Hunter is more than violence. At the end, killing the beast is my duty, and that is violence. Finding it is another matter, one that relies on my mind and my resources.
“Violence is notallyou are,” Rylan says softly as we walk away from Henry. My sister’s voice is thick with urgency. “Isa sees you. She might surprise you when you tell her.”
“I doubt it,” I whisper back. “All she knows how to do is break my heart. Better to get it over with, I suppose.”
My mind darts back to the first time I trusted Isabeau with my heart, when we were girls and I thought I’d be her bride. I believed in the impossible then.
“Do you truly not mind?” Isabeau asked.
“I don’t,” I answered, grateful to finally have the future duke’s attention.
Then Isabeau clumsily lowered her lips to mine, not quite slanting enough at first so our noses bumped. We figured it out, though, and I all but melted when we did. There were sparks zinging in places that I didn’t imagine feeling such things.
When I stepped back, Isabeau’s hand brushed my barely there breasts accidentally.
I pressed closer. “Do that again.”
Isabeau’s hands fumbled at the top of my dress. “Like this?”
“No. Like this.” I reached forward, running my thumb over the nipples hidden under Isabeau’s shirt. “See?”
“Yesss.” Isabeau did the same, and we kissed again, trying to touch each other and kiss at once. It was an awkward thing, but it was the single most exciting thing I ever felt.
Then Isabeau said, “May I write to you? May I come see you? Tell your father I want to court you?”
But her fervent interest died the moment Father refused her. Why would I expect any different now?
Though I’d let myself hope of late, I’ve never told Rylan the extent of the physical encounters I shared with Isabeau then—or the recent ones. I certainly haven’t explained the way my heart has become invested, but that part I think I cannot hide as well. I let myself dream, and that was foolishness.
“Isabeau lives a pampered life, Ry. I will not be able to be her duchess. She will not still want me after she knows what I am.” I aim to keep my voice level in a weak attempt to hide my sorrow at an affair ending too soon. I will content myself with memories; that will have to be enough.
“Shall we?” Rylan urges me forward, and I realize I have stopped moving.
