She looked at him, not sure if she should. But how could she say no to those beautiful, gold-ringed eyes?
Alex had come to live at the Duke’s manor when she was nine years old. Her father had died in a hunting accident and her mother never recovered. Even when young, Alex saw that her mother was a weak woman, unable to move forward, determined to wither. Alex vowed never to be like that. When her mother passed, swallowed by drink and desperation, Duchess Laure—a childhood friend of Alex’s mother—swooped in to give Alex a home.
Alex remembered two particular feelings on the day she arrived at the palace. A sensation of relief when she saw the Duchess’s gentle face. She knew this woman would care for her with the certainty of childhood instinct. Then there was another indescribable feeling when she saw the Duchess’s twelve-year-old son, Philippe, sword fighting withother boys. It started in the top of her belly and spread until her fingers and toes tingled. Was he handsome? Was it his talent with the sword? Alex didn’t know. What she did know was that she wanted to chase him. She put down her satchel and without a second thought, she shot after him like an arrow.
She remembered hearing the Duchess laugh as she ran after the terrified boy, and she knew that meant it was okay.
Now, as they approached the river on the eastern grounds of the palace, she wished she could stop chasing him. Though he had always been kind to her, it was clear to her, even young, that Philippe was interested in things Alex couldn’t give him. As she grew up and he came and went from the palace, learning to campaign alongside his father and brothers, the distance between them increased. She decided she would never compete for his attention, despite her feelings. Instead, she funneled her emotions into her sword, and that’s where they stayed.
The bank of the river smelled rich with greenery, and the bright full moon lit the path turning everything silvery gray. Alex followed Philippe to the river’s edge. He sat down in the cool moss and loosened the collar around his neck. “Come now,” he said. “I have left my sword behind. I won’t attack you.”
Alex hesitated a moment, then dropped her sword and sat next to him. She wished the confidence she felt in a spar could help her here. She didn’t know how to act, what to say. She cursed herself for not paying attention to her lessons in decorum. She took a deep breath—his manly scent doing nothing to calm her—and tried to fake it.
“I wouldn’t have worn such clothes if I knew I’d see anyone,” she said.
“It will be our secret,” he said. He shifted his weight, and his leg was pressed against hers.
She looked to the place they touched. Surely, it was by accident. He couldn’t know what the contact did to her.
“Philippe?” she started, speaking, saying anything to distract herself. “May I ask you something?”
He looked at her. “Of course,” he said after a moment.
His eyes were different from when they practiced—softer, warmer. She looked away but continued. “It is something I have wondered for a long time. There is no one better to ask than you?—”
“Ask me,chérie,” he pressed.
Alex swallowed to calm herself. “How do I take a man,” she asked, looking back to him, “once he has put me down?”
Philippe stared at her and blinked wide eyes. “Um, what?”
“I’m not very good at grappling.” She shrugged. “You know, if I lose my sword during a spar and get wrestled to the ground. I don’t have the strength to fight them off. Do you have any advice?”
Philippe gave his head a quick shake and coughed. Then turned to her and spoke sternly. “Well, my advice would be to try and avoid being caught under the wrong man at all costs.” Then he winked. “In terms of grappling, of course,” he said with a roguish smile.
A hot fever of a blush came over her. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Tell me,” he said, still grinning. “Why are you so taken with sword fighting?”
“Why?” she echoed. Did he not remember giving her her first sword? Or how he had let her win when they played as children? She couldn’t say such things. But there was another truth, and she felt a proud smile creep onto her lips as she said it. “I’m good at it,” came her reply.
He laughed again. “You are indeed.” He rested back on his elbows. “You’re different from other girls,” he said, working his eyes across her face.
“No kidding,” she said. She tugged at her pants.
“That’s not what I mean,” he said, his voice soft.
She turned to him sharply and saw a shade to his expression she had never seen before. It was raw and indulgent and caused her to shiver in response. What had happened? What had changed? Something spiraling deep inside her told her that he was no longer looking at her like a girl. This was a man responding to a woman.
“Alex,” he said. His voice had gone gravelly.
“Yes?” she replied, the words rushing from her lips.
"Has anyone given you your first kiss?”
“My first kiss?” she laughed. “The boys are all scared of me.”
He reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not,” he said, hesitating a moment, before he let his next words spill into the night. “Would you mind if it were me?”
