Left in relative silence again, he allowed his thoughts to drift once more as he stared out at the rain-drenched forests that surrounded the castle. Riona’s warning earlier had gotten to him, more than he’d let on. More than he liked.

  It had happened a few years ago, during his last visit to Stoneweald. He hadn’t stepped foot in the kingdom of Darkegrove for years, nearing decades, before that. Callan had been asked to deliver a message to Riona, one only he could be trusted with, and it had just so happened the princess was celebrating her birthday that evening. He didn’t know which one and hadn’t bothered to ask. It wasn’t relevant to the reason he’d come.

  The family and a few guests had already partaken in the ritual celebration by the Black Pool and had moved on to the ball that followed. He had managed to find some time to speak alone with the queen, away from the attention of her husband and other prying eyes and ears, and relayed the message. Riona had graciously offered to let him stay the evening and enjoy the festivities before he returned home the next morning.

  Parties had never held much interest for him, but he had agreed anyway. It was a long ride back to Valengard. Good food and drink, as well as rest, would be welcome.

  A string quartet played lively music and the younger members of the court had mostly taken to the dance floor. The sun had set hours before, and the cool spring breeze drifted in through the open archways that led to the terrace and gardens outside. Every window had been left open, both to keep their guests cool as they danced and to invite nature into the celebration, he had been told by Riona when he arrived that night. The citizens of Darkegrove had always held a close relationship with the forests and mountains they called home, and he was pleased to see some of this particular piece of tradition remained.

  “A dance my lord?” A courtier had been asking, desire and mischief twinkling in her hazel eyes. He had been about to agree when a flash of silver caught his eye. She had entered the room finally, the princess they were all there to celebrate, and the lovely girl standing in front of him had been all but forgotten. He hadn’t even noticed her walking away, irritation lining her expression.

  His gaze roamed over the princess; deep auburn hair, swept up, leaving the column of her neck bare, a slash of kohl across her lids, and red lipstick. Her gown was pure starlight, impossibly silver, and moving like liquid around her body, fitted to every ample curve. A sudden, sharp, intense pull in the center of his chest urged him toward her. He managed all of one step before the queen was suddenly in front of him, bearing a forced smile on her face that was so like Eve’s, but more polished and calculating.

  “You must be quite tired, Lord Thorne,” she had said, offering him a pointed stare that left no doubt of the true meaning of her words. Off-limits, her cold gaze said. So he had listened, leaving quietly through the door at the back of the ballroom. She’d never noticed him and had not laid eyes on him until he’d arrived to protect her, at the request of her mother.

  Playing the stranger, hiding his thoughts from her had been easy enough so far, but with every minute in her presence, with every questioning gaze, it got more difficult. He needed to know why he’d been so drawn to her, why he’d felt pulled to this place, and why, when he thought about leaving when all of this was done, an ache settled deep in the center of his chest.

  Leysa and Valerian need to hurry their asses up.

  The door opened finally, and he turned away from the window. That thing in his chest lurched as she stepped into the hallway. She looked exhausted, poised as she always was somehow, but exhausted. “Are you ready?” Eve asked, voice quiet. “They should have our room ready now.”

  Why had he insisted on sleeping near her? To keep her safe, of course, but gods, that was going to be torture. There’d be a door separating them, but knowing she was so close. It was going to be hell.

  “I’m ready,” he said, forcing the flat, disinterested tone he used as a mask.

  Chapter 8

  It had been a long day. Eve needed a bath, and then as much sleep as she could get. Though none had touched her, she felt as though her hands were coated in the blood of the creatures that had been slaughtered to frighten her into submission. She felt dirty and responsible. No matter how sure she was of her choice, or how right it felt when she’d declared her intent to the council, she couldn’t discount the danger. People were willing to spill blood, to terrorize not just Eve, but also Sylvie who, she’d been told later, had been the one to find the mess.

  The conversation in her mother’s rooms had dragged on for hours. Every possibility and course of action had been weighed and carefully considered. Through most of it, Callan and her mother had done the talking, leaving Eve to listen, to absorb the knowledge they shared. Once again, she felt naive, unprepared for the hornet’s nest she’d kicked.

  The first order of business had been to have new rooms prepared for her. A suite this time, as Callan flat out refused to be housed even as far as next door. He'd said, I have a job to do, and I am damn well going to do it the way I see fit. There had been no arguing with that, especially when her mother had voiced her agreement, however reluctant. So a suite on the floor above had been chosen, one with a large and comfortable sofa in the sitting room had been prepared. Their discussion left her with little care for what others may think of the arrangement, and to at least put some of the rumors to rest, her mother spread the word to the court that Callan was, in truth, there to protect Eve. Few could argue with the practicality of the choice, though the council would likely be watching especially closely from now on, fearful as they were of a weak, feminine heart.

  Callan and Eve were making their way to those very chambers, in silence. She had never been one who needed constant conversation to feel comfortable. In fact, she often sought out the peace that being alone offered her. Her garden had been her haven largely for that reason, when Emilia had been a little more than she could handle, gossiping about some nobleman or another or lamenting over a dress the seamstress hadn’t made to her exact specifications. She didn’t feel that her friend was entirely a shallow person, but sometimes Eve needed a break from the world itself and all of the shallow trappings of her gilded cage.

  Thankfully Callan seemed content with the silence. He was walking close to her again, now that the ruse of him simply being a guest was dropped, and watched any who approached them carefully, from servant to courtier. Any one of them could have been behind the threat.

  They were nearly there, rounding a corner when a familiar feminine voice called out. “Evie! Evie!”

  Emilia. Eve barely suppressed a sigh. She hadn’t seen her friend since before she had met with the council, and she couldn’t deny it was at least partially by design. As much as she liked Emilia, her unending cheerfulness and love of gossip wore on Eve at times. Callan, again seeming to sense the direction of her thoughts, tilted his head in silent question. Did she want him to intercept?

  Eve shook her head. She knew she would have to speak to Emilia eventually, and it may as well be now. As Emilia approached, Eve offered a strained smile. “Hi, Em.”

  “‘Hi Em?!’ Hi Em?!’” Shaking her head in disbelief, russet brown curls bounced merrily.

  With a flawless heart-shaped face and a slender figure that many women at court envied, she was lovely, the picture of what a woman of Darkegrove was expected to be. Certainly not the soft, curvy shape of Eve’s own body. Another way she upset the norm, though she was hardly alone. She simply didn’t fit the standard of beauty held by the same people who thought it ridiculous that a woman could be strong enough to rule a kingdom. Small-minded idiots.

  “That’s all I get?” Emilia demanded in mock outrage. “After all that has happened, that's all I get?”

  She stared Eve down a moment, waiting for a reply. Eve opened her mouth, ready to offer a vague apology, but Emilia was already turning her gaze to Callan, openly appraising him.

  “Hello again.” Emilia was a cat and Callan a mouse. Eyes the color of warm chocolate narrowed suspiciously. Whatever she thought was going on between the two of them, Emilia had decided to make it her mission to get to the bottom of it. The slow sweep of her gaze told Eve that Emilia would pounce if she determined he was fair game. She hated the way her fist curled in response and chose to ignore it, along with the pounding of her heart.

  “Hello.” Callan’s reply was flat, offering not one ounce of friendliness in her direction.

  “I’m sorry, truly. Just…so much has happened, and I couldn’t tell anyone what I was going to do. To keep you out of it,” Eve explained, weariness creeping into her voice. “Can we talk tomorrow? It's getting late, and I desperately need to sleep.” Her gaze shifted between Emilia’s sharp stare and Callan pointedly looking elsewhere.

  Emilia ever so slowly dragged her attention back to Eve, her predatory smile shifting to a frown. “Of course, I understand. Find me tomorrow and we can talk then. Maybe I’ll see you in Forest Haven?”

  Nodding her agreement, Eve reached for Emilia’s hand, giving a gentle squeeze, one that was returned instantly. As she turned, Callan following just behind, Emilia snickered, so quietly Eve couldn’t be certain it was her. She glanced back, to where Emilia had been, but she had already gone. “Oh, everyone is going to hear all about you,” Eve sighed.

  “Let them talk.” He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “Your mother will ensure that the truth is spread, and frankly, I don’t care what they think.”

  “I wish I could say the same.” It was the truth. For as long as she could remember, everything she did was under scrutiny. Any misstep could be fodder for gossip, something used to embarrass either Eve herself, or more importantly to some, her father.

  She had been allowed some freedom, to a point, but while certain things, like dalliances with merchants’ sons, were acceptable as long as they were kept quiet, others were not. Like speaking openly on political matters or challenging tradition. Callan, with his standing as a lord, would be seen as much more of a threat to the tradition the council was so intent on holding to than Brodie ever had.

  “You get used to it, after a while,” he remarked to her surprise.

  “You’ve been the center of such gossip before?” she asked doubtfully.

  The corner of his lips twitched upward slightly. “Well, not exactly the same, but yes.” He paused a beat, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “As the son of a very important man, I was under a lot of pressure to be certain…example to others.” At her raised brow, he added, “Nothing like what you’re facing obviously. But there were certain… unattainable standards held by both my father and others.”

  “I imagine you do understand a little, I suppose, as the son of a Lord,” she admitted. “Though I’m sure you wouldn’t have had to fight for the right to choose who, and if, to marry.”

  “No, princess, I would not. On that matter, my parents would have no say.”

  His shuttered expression was at odds with his light words, but before she could remark further, they had reached her door now. Suddenly she felt awkward in a way she hadn’t since those first days with Brodie. Standing at the threshold of her private room, with a man she had only just met, her nerves were a mess. As much as he had helped her, he was still a stranger.

  “I should check first, just to be sure.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside.

  He still bore no weapon that Eve could see, and she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he would be able to do if someone lay in wait. Edging closer, she peered inside, watching as he moved about the sitting area with surprising grace. A wolf stalking prey. The only light source in the dark room came from the low burning fire in the hearth, and bright moonlight leaked in through the closed drapes.

  With a wave of his hand, Callan beckoned Eve into the sitting room. Disappearing into the shadows beyond the bedroom door, Callan left her alone, standing by the fire. Heat warmed her skin, chasing away the worst of the chill that still haunted her after what had happened downstairs. She was certain it would take a long time to fully rid herself of it.

  A log snapped in the fireplace, and she jumped, letting loose a quiet curse.

  “That’s not very ladylike.” Callan teased, surprising her with more humor than she’d heard so far, which wasn’t saying much, truth be told.

  “Did I ask?” Eve spun to look at him leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. How did he always manage to look so casual with everything that was going on?

  “Why don’t you carry a weapon?” It wasn’t the question she really wanted to ask, the one that had been on her mind since the garden. What was he promised in payment for protecting me? She had a suspicion whatever reply she got would be vague, a nonanswer designed to deflect. Maybe she would ask her mother instead; she would either answer truthfully or simply tell Eve to leave it alone.

  “Who says I don’t?” His gaze drifted from her face downward slowly, not a lustful gaze but a curious one leaving her feeling suddenly chilled for an entirely different reason.

  “I need a bath. I assume no armed assassins are lying in wait in my bathtub?” She lifted a brow, waiting only a moment before heading toward the bedroom. Toward him. She couldn’t say for certain why, but annoyance at his presence flared brightly once more. He hadn’t actually done anything to deserve her ire, the opposite in fact. He had been there to support her when she needed it, and she had shown little gratitude for the fact.

  “Enjoy your bath, I’ll be out here.” It was dismissal enough for Eve, and as she neared the doorframe, he moved, passing her just before she crossed the threshold. Cedar and sage trailed in his wake, faint, almost imperceptible, and for the second time, she ignored the racing of her heart.

  Callan was seated on the sofa facing the fireplace when she returned, relaxed with one arm draped over the back. As nonchalant and calm as he’d been most of the day. For a moment Eve simply stood in the doorway, looking him over. She had been in the bath so long she half expected him to come and check that she was alive. Every inch of her skin had been scrubbed nearly raw, trying to rid herself of the events of this evening.

  Too much had happened. Too much awfulness. She didn’t know if she would ever truly feel the same again, but she had at least managed to feel somewhat more normal, despite the weight that had settled itself on her shoulders.

  “I was beginning to think I may have missed an assassin after all.” He didn’t bother to look at her, but she could hear the smirk in his tone.

  Eve snorted. “No, it seems you are sufficient at your job.” More than sufficient, obviously, if he had heard her quiet approach so easily. Though she hated to admit she was grateful for his protection, she could at least admit it seemed as though he knew what he was doing.

  “I appreciate the glowing praise.” Callan offered a dismissive wave of his hand, not bothering to turn around. “You didn’t tell your mother about the garden.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Eve tightened the robe around her waist just a little. She had considered dressing, but it was late, well past midnight if she had to guess, and the plush blue robe was too comfortable to pass up, especially when she intended to be sleeping in just a few short minutes.

  “Are you going to ask me why?” She took a seat in the chair closest to the fire. So she could dry her still wet hair a little, she told herself, not to be near to him. She was less annoyed by his presence than she had been earlier, thanks to a hot soak and time, she supposed, but the irrational feeling was still there.

  “No, I don’t think I will.” Turning toward her finally, he offered a slight smirk. “I can guess your reasons, and I don’t blame you.” Tilting his head to the side he paused a moment to examine her face.

  Irritating man. She resisted the urge to turn away, to break the eye contact he now made. Instead, she lifted her chin a bit higher.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Eve replied, lifting a brow. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?” A pointless question, but she had to ask.

  “How do you know I won’t just say yes and then simply lie anyway?” he countered, head tilting. “Go ahead and ask your question. I’ll tell you the truth, if I can.” His tone was as dispassionate as it always was, but his eyes had taken on an intensity she had not seen before. Somehow so dark blue now they neared black. Just a trick of the light, she supposed, but it was strange.

  “Why are you here? Protecting me. You said you came because you were asked to, but everyone has a price. I imagine yours must have been high, to come into the middle of this conflict, and for someone of your standing…” Eve trailed off, letting the rest of the sentence hang between them unspoken.

  “Are you asking how much I’m being paid?” Intensity gave way to amusement, and now those blue depths lightened, nearly sparkling. Eve thought she might fall out of her chair from shock.

  “No. Well, yes. I suppose I am.” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks, and she finally broke away, looking instead to the fire.

  With a sigh, he sat up, forearms leaning against his thighs. “I’m not. Being paid, I mean. I think you’re doing the right thing. More to the point, I made a promise to protect you, and I keep my promises, Eve.”

  It was the first time he’d called her that. Eve. Formally, she was always Evelyn, and even amongst family and friends, Evie was usually the preferred nickname. Something about it, about the way he said it had goosebumps dancing over her skin. She waited for an explanation, for him to expand on the statement, but he remained silent for so long that she finally looked at him again.

  He was gazing into the fireplace, expression shuttered. Any amusement that had been in his eyes before had vanished once more, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed in its absence.

  Whatever he was thinking, she doubted it was likely he would share, and she suspected she was pushing him enough as it was. We are strangers, she reminded herself again, thoughts drifting back to the sleeping arrangement he had insisted on.