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She’d been apprehensive of her day with the king, but she found she was rather enjoying herself.

Bradwick was being charming. There was a relaxed aura about him this day. She figured Charlotte must have satisfied him enough to hand him over in an elated mood. He no longer appeared worn or stressed – quite the opposite, in fact.

He was being more tolerant and gentlemanly. He let her speak freely, although she was careful of their conflicting opinions on certain topics. If he disagreed, she wouldn’t push, but her opinions were not met with the same arrogance they were before.

He was being so considerate of her, he’d even brought along a small book of poetry from his collection.

“I thought perhaps you may appreciate this author’s work, considering the poem you recited to us on the first day of the gala.” He gave it to her to read through, but she got the impression it was not hers to keep. “Will you read some of it out loud? The only person who read to me was my mother, and I do miss it.”

“It would please me greatly, your Highness, to read poetry for you.”

With a warm smile, he pointed to the shade not too far away to escape the sun, and their stroll eventually led them through the maze at the back of his grounds.

It wasn’t much of a maze, since the neatly carved square hedges came to their waist, but it still gave them an interesting path to follow. Flowers were sprinkled all throughout, and the grass and hedges were so healthy, they were a lush, vibrant green.

When they made it to their destination, he held his hand out to help her kneel on the grass before joining her.

Valerie eyed Geryon behind them as she made herself comfortable. He maintained a large distance, but he’d been with them for most of the day. She was unsure how he wasn’t unsettled by this. She was currently being courted by a different man after she’d spent an intimate moment with him the previous night.

Then again, King Bradwick was with Charlotte.

His hand rarely left the hilt of his sword attached to his hip.

Usually, he is so expressive.She expected him to wink or have a gloating grin if she ever met eyes with him. Instead, he was blank, but she could see he was still wearing the earring he’d stolen from her.I really must get that back before someone notices.

Averting her eyes before the king caught her attentive gaze on someone else, she opened the book and began to flick through the pages. She eventually came across one of interest to her.

“‘A Hymn to the Moon’, by Mary Wortley Montagu,” she said.

“Thou silver deity of secret night,

Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;

Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,

The lover’s guardian, and the Muse’s aid.

By thy pale beams I solitary rove,

To thee my tender grief confide;

Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,

My friend, my goddess, and my guide.

E’en thee, fair queen, from thy amazing height,

The charms of young Endymion drew;

Veil’d with the mantle of concealing night;

With all thy greatness and thy coldness too.”

“A very good selection. What do you think the poet was writing about?” There was a crinkle of humour in Bradwick’s eyes.

“You put me on the spot. I have never read this poem to have a thought on it.” He gave her the time to read over it by herself. “Hmm, well, the moon has a special kind of magic, a guider of those at night in the darkest of time. She is the oldest goddess and a companion to all, and she gives her light to all. The poem is a tribute to it.”

He pointed to the third and fourth verses. “Witness of unknown delight? The lover’s guardian? My mother used to tell me it is of a woman who was using the cover of night to warm the bed of a secret lover.”