Page 106 of Blackheart

The afternoon wind brushed my hair against my back and tickled my nose with the smell of steeped lavender and sea salt.

It would have been preferable if the breeze picked me up and carried me with it. Instead, I was forced to watch Riven absolutely wreck every man who dared to spar with him, while also enduring Lady Jocelynn’s endless lectures about Castivian policies and procedures.

“It is a waste of time to wash your own clothes.”

“And yet I will do it, regardless.” I had learned that Lady Jocelynn chose her battles.

“Then do it earlier,” she ordered. Shadows swirled around her like smoke. She never bothered concealing her Nature. How appealing would it be if I did the same, with poison dripping from me as I walked?

“I would be glad to, and you will be glad to join me.”

She finally met my gaze. “I will do no such thing.”

“You think you’re too good to wash your clothes alongside the Princess of Castivian?” I fired back.

I wasnottoo proud to use the title to win an argument. If Fate wanted to throw royal heritage into my lap, I would make proficient use of it.

In the middle of the training grounds, Riven watched over a spar between two tragically under-trained recruits. The brotherhood seemed to be growing every day. His eyes shifted up, shamelessly locking on mine.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

A trainee called for him. He broke his focus and turned away.

In my lap, I picked at the skin on my fingers.

“Were the Waywards that terrible?” Lady Jocelynn pestered as she gave a crumb of tarte to the crow.

“In what way?”

“The men.”

“The men?”

She pursed her plum-colored lips. “They must have been dreadful if Sir Riven has caught your eye when your options as princess are limitless.”

“Are you blind,” I began, lifting my tea to my lips, “or do you prefer ugly men?”

“Sir Riven is a pleasant enough sight, but he’s such a dog.”

“Don’t say that,” I snapped, clinking my cup down.

She stared at Riven curiously, as if he were low-hanging fruit. She was already married, I had learned, to Lord Draven.

“Is it that you wish to be loved? Or do you simply need to know youcanbe loved?” she finally asked.

“Stop.”

Her face was shaded partially by her feathered hat, her painted lips frowning. “Do you wish me to be authentic with you, or say what you want to hear?” Another crow landed on her finger.

“I want you to quit being rude.”

“It’s not my job to be pleasant.” She shrugged. “My question was sincere, though, about the Waywards. I’m intrigued by them.”

I laughed. She hated everything about the way I was, and yet she wanted to know about the worst three years of my life.