I had never thought to experience such a sensation again.
Love was not for servant girls.
Between the social classes of Gildingvale, friendship was barely tolerated. Servants did not aspire to greater heights. Those who did, well… it always ended badly. I’ve heard enough stories in the lodge of the inn to know what happens to those girls… Discarded like trash. I am not a fool. I know that they will do the exact same thing to me, once this task is over. They won’t return for Corinne.
Certainly, they won’t save me.
But when I looked in Marcus’s eyes, I remembered how to dream. As if a life different than the scullery maid at a roadside inn was actually possible. As if I have a future after all.
My cheeks flushed red.
Do you feel it, too? I wondered. The silence between us was as electric as the very real bolt of lightning that had destroyed the metal rooster bellwether last year. It had arced through the highest bit of brass decorating the tallest part of the inn.
Only fragmented bits were left when the thunder and hail finally passed.
Marcus was my storm.
Jolted out of the clear, blue sky, the concern in his eyes...the worried way he watched me, a silly chit he had just rescued from certain death. So close he held me...
I felt the heat of his arms around my waist, clutching my skin, his white-knuckled grip enough to leave a bruise. Standing there, so incredibly near to his chest, filled me with wonder and gratitude. But mostly wonder.
Courage reflected back at me through his gaze.
My skin felt exactly like I hung on to one end of a bolt of lightning. Sparking with the power of a thousand candles, burning through every carefully constructed defense… Marcus broke through the ice, thawing my broken guarded heart. Even if it was just shock, I marveled.
Why? He risked his life to save me. Why would Marcus do such a thing?
I suddenly understood the blackened, twisted lump of metal that was all that had been left of the inn’s weathervane.
Turning warm and then terribly hot, my face colored. I looked down, breaking the connection.
Marcus held me for a moment more, his expression unreadable. Then, he gently let me go, setting me on my own two feet. He still held tight with one hand until he was certain I would not fall. Only then his grip dropped.
In the corner of my eye, I watched him. Waiting for him to take my hand again, wanting Marcus to say something… anything.
I shook from the power of my near-brush with death. But I trembled even more from the feeling of wonder that had grabbed hold of me.
He was watching. I knew that. Still, I gave no sign as I walked away. Focusing on something else grounded my blazing heart. Somehow, I managed to reach the empty saddle and the fidgety gelding that sniffed the air and nickered—as uncertain of me as I was of the enormous animal.
Marcus followed my steps.
He didn’t mock my hesitancy. Caution was always warranted when meeting an unfamiliar animal. Without a word, Marcus rolled a fallen log in between myself and the grazing horse. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he lifted me up to the supply horse the other kingsmen had prepared for my travel.
I heard him speak when no one else remained nearby. It was for my ears alone that he said, “Regardless of the thorns, you are a lady.”
***
Diamonds encircled a pretty pearl, holding onto the bezels of each other like the stars in Orion’s belt.
“Lift your hair,” he requested, completely focused on the costume I wore.
I had to be convincing down to the quality of my jewelry, the pantaloons, the slip, the bustle, the skirt, the outer skirt, the chemise, the waistcoat, and the finely -embroidered jacket. Each detail was a part of the whole trap, a clever enough plan that needed exact timing.
“You must convince them that the coach in which you travelled to Stormrage See was brazenly ransacked. Your husband the Fifth Viscount of GildingMountain has been taken by the brigands. His first names are Oberon Alberton Josiah Von Clementz. Can you remember that?”
Marcus kept talking about my part in the mission.
All I could think about was the shiver that went through me, head to toe, when Marcus leaned down and gently placed the most expensive necklace of metal and set stones I had ever seen around my shoulders. Closing the clasp in the back, his adept fingers skimmed the tiniest of the hair at the nape of my neck. It tickled. But I didn’t laugh. I held my breath, not wanting that moment, that tiny flash of kindness to end.
Marcus didn’t notice the rose blush that bloomed across my nose and cheeks. “Repeat it, please.” he insisted.
“The Viscount of Gilding Mountain, my husband has been kidnapped! You must help me, please! I am lost without him! Oberon Alberton Josiah Von Clementz must be found! I offer a reward of one thousand gold pieces!” I spoke every word perfectly, copying his accent. It was all a game.
Except it wasn’t.
***
A few days passed like that. Marcus and I worked on my knowledge of unimaginably grand places and people. I focused on memorizing every detail.
Ahead of us, the prince and his warriors discussed the details of the rest of the plan away from Marcus and me. When I rode closer, trying to listen, conversation stopped.
“Nothing you need to worry your little head about,” one 0f the men snarled.
The rest laughed rudely at my interruption.
“You only need to do what we say. Nothing more. We men have planned this down to the minute. Foolproof.” Every word the prince spoke was directed at me, but never to me. He didn’t talk to the servant girl. He issued commands in my direction, like I was a fool.
And I was the only reason this amazing plan could possibly work. Marcus in a dress? In this bit of embroidery and lace? He would have been spotted before he even crossed the drawbridge. I could help the prince and his men get what they wanted. A mysterious item they had still not revealed to me.
Must be important enough, though, to risk a prince’s life.
Something old or powerful or magical or imposing. Some item that gave amazing abilities, some bit of metal, cloth, or bone that was worth ten men and a servant girl’s meager life.
I saw the way the men looked at me.
I knew the meaning of those glances: Liability.
Danger.
Curse.
A stranger in the middle of their carefully-planned mission, and a woman to boot… and by the pity in their eyes, a poor, stupid chit at that.
Not that the men appreciated the risk I took. Wary of strangers, dismissive of women in war, it was obvious from their faces that adding me to the mission didn’t mean certain success. It only meant suspicion.
Other than Marcus, the other eight kingsmen didn’t speak to me, didn’t make eye contact, didn’t see me as a person. And there was something in their eyes that felt oily.
When I saw them look my way, I felt a ball of unease unravel my confidence.
“Are you listening? Is this too much?” Marcus asked with the slightest smidge of worry around his eyes. Or am I just imagining that?
I blinked at the closeness of his hands as he adjusted the necklace along my collarbone. Like a startled bird, I wanted more than anything to fly away.
And I would have too. Except for Marcus.
He touched my hair, adjusting a few wayward curls in one last detail. And then he went over the specifics for the eleventh time. I shivered when his touch skimmed my skin.
Gulping back my leaping heart, I concentrated on his advice:
“For the plan to work, you have to gain entrance to the inner doors of Stormhaven. Past the outer guards, the drawbridge, the inner army, and the insightful servants. You have to convince every single one of them in order to make it to the main inner courtyard.”
I nodded in a gesture that probably came across as: yeah, no problem for me. But my brain was shouting about all the things that could go wrong.