From blood and ash

“I imagine he does what everyone does when they go there,” Tawny said, humor dripping like syrup from her words. “Finds someone to spend…quality time with.” Her mischievous gaze slid to mine.

I was going to replace the sugars Tawny loved to dump into her coffee with coarse salt.

She knew I wouldn’t chime in, that I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed to speak to the Ladies, and I still hadn’t spoken to Hawke or around him. And other than Hawke asking if I wished to do anything after supper last night, to which I had shaken my head no, he hadn’t spoken to me either.

Like before, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

“You shouldn’t suggest such things in current company,” Dafina suggested.

Tawny choked on her tea, and behind the veil, my eyes rolled.

“I imagine if Miss Willa were alive today, she would’ve snared him in her web,” Loren said, and my interest was piqued. Was she talking about the Willa Colyns? “And then wrote about him in her diary.”

She was.

Miss Willa Colyns was a woman who’d lived in Masadonia some two hundred years ago. She’d apparently had a very…active love life. Miss Colyns had detailed her rather scandalous affairs quite explicitly in her journal, and it had been filed away in the city Atheneum as some sort of historical account. I made a mental note to ask Tawny to retrieve that journal for me.

“I heard that she only wrote about her most skilled…partners,” Dafina whispered with a giggle. “So, if he made it onto those pages, you know what that means.”

I did know what that meant.

Because of him.

My gaze drifted to where Hawke stood. The black breeches and tunic molded to his body like a second skin, and I couldn’t blame Dafina or Loren for how their gazes seemed to find their way back to him every couple of minutes. He was tall, with lean muscle, and the sheathed sword at his waist, along with the one at his side, said he was prepared for more than just fainting ladies. The white mantle of the Royal Guard was a new addition, draped over the back of his shoulders.

But he also filled the air with a certain type of unquantifiable tension, as if the room were electrified. Anyone around him had to be aware of that.

My gaze drifted over his chest, and the memory of how hard it had felt, even without the armor, sent heat creeping into my cheeks. A newly familiar heaviness settled in my chest, making the silk of my dress feel coarse against my suddenly sensitive and flushed skin.

Maybe one of those stupid fans would be useful.

Swallowing a groan, I wanted to smack myself in the face. But since that wasn’t exactly an option, I took a sip of my tea, trying to ease the inexplicable dryness in my throat, and focused on Dafina and Loren once more. They were talking about the Rite, their excitement a heady hum. The celebration was just a week away, on the night of the Harvest Moon.

Their excitement was infectious. With it being my first Rite, I would be there, masked and not in white. Most would have no idea that I was the Maiden. Well, the two guards who were sure to be with me at all times would probably give me away to those paying attention. Still, a thrill of anticipation-laced uncertainty curled its way through me as my gaze slowly ticked its way back to Hawke.

My stomach tumbled.

If he saw me in the mask, would he know I was the one who’d been in the room with him? Would that even matter? By the time of the Rite, he would have to know I was one and the same, wouldn’t he? If he hadn’t realized it already.

He stood with feet shoulder-width apart, his gaze on our little group. The sunlight almost seemed drawn to him, caressing his cheekbones and brow like a lover. His profile was flawless, the line of his jaw as chiseled as the statues that adorned the garden and the castle foyer.

“You know that it has to mean that he’s near,” Loren was saying. “Prince Casteel.”

My head snapped in her direction in shock. I had no idea what she was talking about or how the subject had come up, but I couldn’t believe she had actually spoken his name aloud. My lips parted. No one other than the Descenters would dare utter his actual name, and I doubted that any of them would even speak it in the castle. It was treasonous to call him a prince. He was the Dark One.

Dafina was frowning. “Because of the…” She glanced at me, her brows knitted. “Because of the attack?”

It was only then that I realized they must’ve been talking about the attempted kidnapping while I’d been…

Well, while I’d been doing exactly what they had been doing earlier—staring and thinking about Hawke.

“Besides that.” Loren returned to threading a blood-red crystal to her mask. “I overheard Britta saying so this morning.”

“The maid?” Dafina huffed.

“Yes, the maid.” The dark-haired Lady in Wait lifted her chin. “They know everything.”

Dafina laughed. “Everything?”

 She nodded as she lowered her voice. “People speak about anything in front of them. No matter how intimate or private. It’s almost like they are ghosts in a room. There is nothing they don’t overhear.”

Loren had a point. I’d seen it myself with the Duchess and the Duke.

“What did Britta say?” Tawny placed her cup on the table.

Loren’s dark eyes flicked to me and then moved back to Tawny. “She said that Prince Casteel had been spotted in Three Rivers. That it was he who started the fire that took Duke Everton’s life.”

“How could anyone claim that?” Tawny demanded. “No one who has ever seen the Dark One will speak of what he looks like or has lived long enough to give any description of him.”

“I don’t know about that,” argued Dafina. “I heard from Ramsey that he is bald and has pointy ears, and is pale, just like…you know what.”

I resisted the urge to snort. Atlantians looked just like us.

“Ramsey? One of His Grace’s stewards?” Tawny arched a brow. “I should’ve stated, how could anyone credible claim that?”

“Britta claims that the few who’ve seen Prince Casteel say he’s actually quite handsome,” Loren added.

“Oh, really?” mused Dafina.

Loren nodded as she knotted the crystal to her mask. “She said that was how he gained access to Goldcrest Manor.” Her voice dropped. “That Duchess Everton developed a relationship of a physical nature with him without realizing who he was, and that was how he was able to move freely through the manor.”

Britta sure talked a lot, didn’t she?

“Nearly all of what she says turns out to be true.” Loren shrugged as she worked an emerald-green crystal beside the red. “So, she could be right about Prince Casteel.”

“You should really stop saying that name,” Tawny advised. “If someone overhears you, you’ll be sent to the Temples faster than you can say ‘I knew better.’”

Loren’s laugh was light. “I’m not worried. I’m not foolish enough to say such things where I can be overheard, and I doubt anyone present will say anything.” Her gaze flicked to me, brief but knowing. She knew I couldn’t say a word because I’d have to explain how I was even a part of the conversation.

Which, for the record, I wasn’t.

I was just sitting here.

“What…what if he was actually here?” Loren gave a delicate shudder. “In the city now? What if that was how he gained access to Castle Teerman?” Her eyes lit up. “Befriended someone here or perhaps even poor Malessa.”

“You don’t sound all that concerned by the prospect.” Tawny picked up her cup. “To be blunt, you sound excited.”