Gandrett suppressed the urge to throw the flowerpot in front of her at him and hastily retreated into the room.
“I mean it,” he called after her, his chuckle outlasting her quick exit, and Gandrett silently thanked Vala he didn’t see her turn crimson.
With quick fingers, she sealed the doors and padded to the bathing chamber where the mirror told her that her face was about as pink as the flowers she had debated throwing at the Brenheran-boy.
The next morning, Nehelon found her fast asleep, only her head, one shoulder, and one arm peeking out from under layers of blankets she had wrapped herself in. The chestnut of her hair spilled over the pillows, a stark contrast to the cream silk her cheek was resting on.
For a long second, he held his breath and studied her face, so much softer without the boiling fury she kept locked in all the time. Her lips were parted, life-giving breath flowing in and out in a slow rhythm—almost too slow for a girl her age. But then, she was fit and her stamina built; he noticed her pulse was as low as his own when he rested.
Quietly, Nehelon took a step toward her bed, reassuring himself that all he’d do was take a better look, assess his newest weapon from up close, study the muscles in her bare shoulder and arm before she woke and sneered at him again.
She had been so brave the night before, tackling and defeating Mike in one agile strike. And she had shown nothing of what it cost her, the effort of keeping her emotions in.
She had done a great job. No one had seen it but him, his Fae senses letting him smell just how much she hated Tyrem Brenheran. How she despised all of them for what they were asking of her—not asking. Demanding.
The scent of cherry blossoms and orange oil filled his nose as he stopped beside her bed. It was a scent that was familiar from the ladies at court, and yet—there was something different about the combination when it mixed with the scent of her skin and her hair. Something intoxicating.
As if steered by an invisible hand, Nehelon bent down, eyes closed, and inhaled deeply.
“What are you doing?” Gandrett’s voice, too close by his ear, made him jump.
What was he doing? Nehelon’s eyes widened as he found Gandrett’s face mere inches from his, those moss-green eyes revealing flecks of gold in the morning sun. Her gaze was everything but the calm, breakable girl he had spied dreaming. Fury, cold and hot at once met him as he braced himself to pull away from that scent—
“Get out of bed,” he barked the first thing that came to his mind. “You won’t find out Denderlain’s secrets by sleeping late.” With a spin on his heels, he propelled himself upright and faced the balcony, his eyes on blossoms opening to the warm light outside. A view that would catch his attention on other days if it weren’t for the soft thud of blankets, the sigh of silk against skin, the quick pace of Gandrett’s heart as she padded across the room with so little noise he found himself turning to check where she was going.
And found himself staring at a stripe of bare skin between a cascade of chestnut waves above her waist and honey-colored fabric covering everything downward from the curve of her hips.
“Find somewhere else to look,” she demanded with what sounded like mild amusement.
How she knew he’d been staring, he didn’t know.
Nehelon was sitting at the table when Gandrett emerged from the bathing chamber back in her acolyte uniform. After an hour-long bath the night before, soaking in the luxurious tub, breathing the fruity scent of the soaps and oils on the tray by the door, she had fallen into a comatose sleep.
And woke to a close-up of the Fae male who didn’t seem to be able to make his mind up whether he was there to help her or to torment her. She shuddered at the thought of his diamond-blue eyes… and the dark waves that had caught the morning light… were still shining in a rainbow of copper and onyx…
His eyes scanned her, mouth tight.
“Not up to your standards anymore?” Gandrett commented at his frown.
Now that she knew what her task was, however little she liked it, and she had negotiated her own condition—a year with her family, a whole year before she’d return to the Meister’s will—she found it easier to face the Fae male. Even forgot for a moment there what he was as his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a grin.
How she would like to know what it took to coax a real laugh from him.
“They haven’t delivered you new clothes?” he merely asked.
Gandrett picked up her sword and belt from the chair where she’d left them the night before and added them to her hips, aware of Nehelon’s eyes on her.
“What are you thinking?” She asked, unable to read him.
“You shouldn’t be wearing this.”
“Why?” Gandrett grabbed her mass of hair and twisted it until it was one long chord then bound it to her neck with a string of leather. “Thanks to your wonderful gift,” she gestured to the dirty brown dress on the chair, “I still had a spare set of these.” One hand pulled on the pale linen tunic on her chest. His eyes followed there, too. “What do you suggest, I go in my underthings?”
Her memory rewound to Brax’s melodious chuckle and the spark in his emerald eyes while Nehelon’s lips finally curled upward for a fraction of a second before he knitted his brows together again. “I’m certain Brax wouldn’t object.”
Gandrett said nothing.
“Even if you are to pass as a lady, we want to take slow steps, getting you to walk, talk, and act like one.”
There it was, a punch in the gut. A reminder of what she was about to do. The boundaries she might need to cross… even if she’d never share a bed with Denderlain. His trust. She needed to gain his trust so she could sneak around and find Joshua. Nothing more, nothing less. The young lord’s protection rather than his undivided attention.
Nahir had told her the first time she had bled, when her breasts had just started to form and her hips had widened enough to distinguish her from the boys her age, that she would grow into a beautiful woman. And Nahir had seen enough of the outside world—travelers and more—enough Children of Vala who had grown into adulthood under her care. She had warned Gandrett that, first, the older boys at the priory would fight for her attention, then when she went on missions, it would be the men out there… And she would one day need to learn to either wield that femininity like a secret weapon or find ways to conceal it. So far, she had chosen the latter. While Surel had chosen the other path. Surel…
Her heart sank at the thought of her friends who were probably worried about what had happened to her. Even if the Meister had informed them she’d been dispatched early on a mission, the note in the cookie box must have been found by now. With a glance at Nehelon, still frowning but otherwise tame enough, she was wondering if she had overreacted, if maybe he wasn’t as dangerous as she thought.
“So teach me, Lonnie,” she said in a whiff of boldness.
Not unsurprisingly, Nehelon didn’t as much as blink at her challenge. But something else became apparent. A silent defiance that was so uncommon for the otherwise calculated male.
Lonnie? Nehelon wanted to grab the inkpot before him and throw it out the window.
One breath, another one, and another one. He counted. When he reached ten, with a sideways glance into the garden, reassuring himself there was no one within sight, he got to his feet and crossed the room at Fae speed, and pinned her against the wall before she could even notice he had moved.