I pulled out the key to my room, inserted it into the lock, and turned. The heavy door creaked open, and I stepped inside. At least half of the candles had gone out, so the light in my rooms was dim and flickering. Shadows shifted along the stone walls, and the air smelled faintly of old wax, leather, and the reports I’d been avoiding for three days. I closed the door behind me and locked it again, then moved down the short hallway into the main room.
Laurel was there, sitting at my desk.
The chair was tipped back onto two legs, and her bare feet were propped up on a tall pile of papers. She was perusing some of the reports handed in by my captains as though she had everyright to be there, and when I entered, she merely glanced up over the top of the parchment.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, quite pleased to see her after such a long day.
“There’s no lock that can’t be picked,” Laurel said slyly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised by anything you tell me anymore.” A smile crept onto my face despite my best attempt to feign sternness. I could never be around Laurel and not smile. “Pickpocket, thief, spy, burglar…”
“It’s only burglary if you take something.” She tossed my money pouch at me. “In this case, I was putting something back.”
I caught it and immediately noticed how light it was. I weighed it in my palm, then looked at her. “What did you buy? This is nearly empty.”
She shrugged, completely unabashed. “Oh, a new dress, a few knives, a couple of favors. Just the essentials for a simple girl like me.”
Then she flashed me that cocky grin of hers, the one that made it impossible to stay irritated with her, even when she was actively robbing me.
“Huh.” I dropped the pouch onto the desk. “So I’m giving up all my wages, my time, my sleep, and my previous life. I’m also constantly in danger of being discovered and betrayed. Remind me what I’m getting in return?”
“You get me,” Laurel said simply. “Unless you’d rather recall Leopold and have him stake a claim instead. But between you and me, I much prefer you to him.”
She tossed the reports back onto my desk, linked her fingers behind her head, and gazed around my room, taking in the drab stone walls, the plain floor, the bed, and the lack of anything resembling comfort. “You could do with a window or two in here. This is gloomy.”
“Sheriff’s privilege. They assigned me a top security room. Or itwasa top security room until you came along with your lock-picking skills.”
She waved this away. “Oh, don’t worry. That lock took me at least fifteen seconds. You’re safe and sound.”
“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of a pickpocket’s company?”
Laurel swung her feet off the table, dropped the chair back onto all four legs, and stood. The look she fixed on me sent a hard, sudden beat through my chest. She crossed the room slowly, and with every step she took, more of the day’s frustration slipped away. By the time she reached me and leaned against my chest, tilting her face upward, the soldiers, the captains, the servants, and Prince John all felt very far away.
I moved to kiss her, but Laurel pulled a piece of parchment out of her sleeve and slapped it across my mouth.
“What, you think I broke into your room forthat?” she asked, laughing. “Think again, Sheriff. I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, because I came here strictly on business.”
“You’re cruel,” I said, taking the parchment that had been swatted on my face.
She curtsied. “Why, thank you. I try my best.”
“You owe me after robbing me blind, you know.”
She grinned. “Fine.” She grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to kiss me fiercely for a few seconds, then let go. “Is that better?”
“Much.” I unfolded the crumpled parchment. It smelled faintly of old food and ashes, and I wrinkled my nose. “Where did you get this?”
“It really is amazing what Prince John will throw away, knowing that his current maid can’t read. I offered to help her this evening because she helped me out this morning, and Isnuck that treasure out of the rubbish. Pretty productive day, don’t you think?”
Before I could answer, Laurel flopped onto my bed and immediately made a face. “This bed is awful. I don’t know how you can sleep at night.”
“With all the work I have to do, I don’t,” I grunted, already trying to decipher the scribbled lines. The handwriting was cramped and hurried, and the candlelight did nothing to help. I turned the parchment slightly, then frowned harder. “I can’t read this.”
“Of course you can’t, silly. It’s in French, so unless you learned somewhere…”
“Then why did you even fish this out of the rubbish?” I asked. “You can’t read it either, can you?”
“Oh no, I have no idea what it says. I was always too busy to sit down and learn another language.” She stared at me as though the meaning of the letter should be obvious anyway.
