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Her breath snagged in her throat. She turned slowly, forcing another smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you, now?”

“Aye,” Colin said, watching her closely. “He rode in lookin’ fit tae burst. Thought he might’ve come to the village, but I suppose he went straight tae the castle.”

Her pulse drummed in her ears. “How wonderful. I didn’t know he was planning a visit. I should hurry back to greet him.”

“Ye do that, milady,” Colin replied, voice polite, but his eyes gleamed with something darker—suspicion, maybe. Or satisfaction.

Davina’s lips ached from the strain of civility. She nodded and stepped out into the cold.

The night air hit her like a slap.

She didn’t pause to catch her breath.

She had to reach the castlebeforeher uncle spoke with her mother.

Her shoes crunched on the gravel road as she hurried back toward the village. But as the cottages gave way to open fields, she slowed.

The breath caught in her throat.

The Romani had come.

A loose circle of vardos glowed at the edge of the tree line beside the village, their painted panels flickering in the firelight. Music threaded through the air—lilting, wild, familiar. Laughter rose and fell. The scent of spice and woodsmoke tangled in the wind.

Davina’s heart pounded. She scanned the camp. There. Amice, tending a kettle. A few others she recognized from Aberdeen.

“Saints protect me,” she whispered, pulling her cloak tight. She ducked her head and moved to skirt the edge of the camp.

“Davina?”

The voice was soft. Familiar.

Her head snapped up, and her heart sank.

Amice stood at the camp’s edge, her silhouette framed by firelight and flickering shadows. Her long silver braid was wrapped over one shoulder, and a sly grin curled the edge of her mouth.

Their eyes locked.

Recognition flared.

And worse—amusement.

Davina froze, the chill from earlier now a full-body flush of dread. Her breath caught in her throat.

Amice raised a brow, tilting her head in silent greeting.

Davina spun on her heels and bolted, skirts gathered in herfists as she fled down the darkened path toward the castle.

∞∞∞

The flickering oil lamp hanging from the tent’s edge cast golden light across the tall castle guard seated across from Broderick. The man leaned forward, eyes fixed on his palm as Broderick traced the lines.

“How in blazes does he even see anythin’”?the lad thought.

Broderick arched a brow, lips twitching. He couldn’t have been more than five-and-twenty, with a decent build and an earnest face—handsome in a rough, trustworthy sort of way. Aye, he might make a fine match for Veronique…ifBroderick could manage to nudge the girl’s affections elsewhere.

The man had come seeking love in his future. Broderick, ever the showman, leaned into the role.

His success as a fortune teller stemmed from a blend of supernatural ability and well-honed intuition. The gift of hearing mortal thoughts let him slip beneath their façades where they hid desires, doubts, and hopes. From there, he adjusted course—the dreams they wanted, the warnings they needed, the stories they’d carry away in their hearts.