“What brings you to Terravin?” I asked.

Before I could react, his hand reached out and grabbed mine. “Let me walk you to your cottage,” he said. “And I’ll tell you about—”

“Kaden?”

I pulled my hand away, and we turned to the voice that called out from the darkness. The black silhouette of Rafe, just a short distance down the path, was unmistakable. He had come upon us with no warning, his movement as stealthy as a cat. His features came into view as he ambled closer.

“What is it?” Kaden asked, his tone thick with bother.

“That skittish broodmare of yours is kicking in her stall. Before she does real damage, you—”

“Stallion,” Kaden corrected. “He was fine when I left him.”

Rafe shrugged. “He isn’t fine now. Jittery with the new accommodations, I suppose.”

Oh, he was full of himself.

Kaden shook his head and set off in a huff, for which I was grateful. Berdi would not be happy with a demolished stall, not to mention I was worried how my docile Otto, Nove, and Dieci might fare with such a destructive neighbor. I had grown quite fond of them. They were outside in an adjacent covered stall, but only a thin wooden wall separated them from the animals housed in the barn.

In seconds, Kaden was gone, and Rafe and I were left awkwardly alone, a slight breeze stirring the fallen leaves between us. I pushed the hair from my face and noted his changed appearance. His hair was neatly combed and tied back, and his freshly scrubbed face gleamed in the dim moonlight. His cheekbones were sharp and tanned, and his shirt newly changed. I let out a long breath, unaware that I had been holding it. He remained perfectly content to silently stare at me. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“You couldn’t calm his horse down yourself?” I finally said.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, but he only answered with a question of his own.

“What did Kaden want?”

“Only to be sure I made it safely back to my cottage. He was concerned about the soldier from the tavern.”

“He’s right. The woods can be dangerous—especially when you’re alone.”

Was he deliberately trying to intimidate me? “I’m hardly alone. And we’re not exactly deep in the woods. There are plenty of people within earshot.”

“Are there?” He looked around as if he was trying to see the people I spoke of and then his eyes settled on me once again. A knot twisted beneath my ribs.

He took a step closer. “Of course you do have that little knife tucked beneath your vest.”

My dagger? How does he know? It was sheathed snugly at my side. Had I revealed it by absently touching it? I noted that he was more than a head taller than me. I lifted my chin.

“Not so little,” I said. “A six-inch blade. Long enough to kill someone if used skillfully.”

“And you’re skilled?”

Only with a nonmoving target like a chamber door. “Very,” I answered.

He didn’t respond, as though my blade and professed skills didn’t impress him.

“Well, good night, then.” I turned to leave.

“Lia, wait.”

I stopped, my back still toward him. Good sense told me to keep moving. Go, Lia. Move on. I heard a lifetime of warnings. My mother. Father. Brothers. Even the Scholar. Everyone who hedged me before and behind for good or bad. Keep moving.

But I didn’t. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was hearing him say my name. Or maybe I was still feeling full from knowing that sometimes I was right, that sometimes my impulsive gut might lead me into danger, but that didn’t make it any less the right direction to go. Maybe it was feeling the impossible was about to happen. Dread and anticipation tangled together.

I turned and met his gaze, feeling the danger of it, the heat, but not willing to look away. I waited for him to speak. He took another step closer, the space between us closing to a mere few feet. He lifted his hand toward me, and I took a shaky step back but saw he was only holding my cap. “You dropped this.”

He held it out, steady, waiting for me to take it, bits of crushed leaves still clinging to its gauzy lace.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and reached out to take it from him, my fingertips brushing his, but he held it tight. His skin seared against the cool of mine. I looked into his eyes, questioning his grip, and for the first time I saw a chink in his armor, his usual steely expression was softened by a crease between his brows, a moment of indecision washing over his face, and then an ever so slight rise in his chest—a deeper breath, as if I’d caught him off guard.

“I have it,” I said. “You can let go.”

He released his grip, bid me a hasty good night, then abruptly turned and disappeared back down the path.

He was unsettled. I had knocked him off kilter. More than seeing this, I had felt it, his disquiet palpable on my skin, tickling at my neck. How? What had I done? I didn’t know, but I stared into the black hollows of the path where he disappeared until the wind rattled the branches above me, reminding me it was late, I was alone, and the woods were very dark.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE ASSASSIN

There can be no second chances.

And yet I had let one slip past me.

I threw my saddlebag against the wall. My loftmate had taken the mattress in the opposite corner. At least the space was ample. He was raising my hackles already, a country clod who, with two drinks, had foolishly set his sights on a princess. I knew the type. A mistake to befriend him, but regardless, there were no more rooms in the inn, so I likely would have ended up sharing the loft with him anyway.