Page 111 of Gilded

He pulled away, enough to meet her gaze. His fingers squeezed gently, bunching the fabric at her waist.

“I just feel it would be very dangerous for me to be seen,” she said.

“Yes,” said Gild, a little breathless. “I think that would be for the best. The night is almost over anyway.” His gaze dipped again to her mouth.

Serilda crumbled. She finally allowed her hands the freedom they’d been craving, letting her fingers trail up his neck until they were buried in his hair. She pulled him to her, their mouths meeting. There was a moment in which Serilda overflowed with needs she didn’t know what to do with. The need to be closer, when such a thing was not possible. The need to feel his hands at her waist, her back, her neck, her hair, everywhere, all at once.

But that first wave of craving ebbed, and something gentler replaced it. A kiss that was tender and unhurried. Her own fingers abandoned his hair to splay out across his shoulders and trail down his chest, even as his hands traced poetry across her spine. She sighed against him.

She didn’t know how long they had, but she did not want to waste a moment of it. She wanted to live inside this alcove, in the surround of his arms, in these new sensations that made her feel weightless and hopeful and terrified all at once.

It felt like making a promise. That this would not be the last kiss. That she would return. That he would be waiting.

And then—

It was over.

Her hands closed around empty air. The arms supporting her vanished, and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t had the wall at her back. Her eyes snapped open, and she was alone in the alcove.

The statue’s shield was broken. The pedestal sported a collection of chipped corners and a blanket of cobwebs.

She shivered.

The equinox was over.

Was Gild still there? Invisible, untouchable, just out of her reach?

Could he still seeher?

Swallowing hard, she stretched her fingers out into the nothingness, searching for a chill, a shock, a warm breeze. Some sign to know she wasn’t alone after all.

She felt nothing.

With a heavy sigh, she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and stepped out of the alcove. She was just about to descend the steps when her gaze caught on the broken shield, and the words scribbled into the thick layer of dust.

Will you come back?

Chapter 34

Lorraine’s expression was dark when Serilda entered the Wild Swan, her lips pinched in disapproval. All she said as she handed Serilda a key to one of the upstairs rooms was “I had your things brought in from the stables.”

The room wasn’t luxurious like those inside the castle, but it was comfortable and warm, with soft quilts on the mattress and a little desk with writing parchment and ink by the window. Her items from the saddlebags had been set neatly onto a cushioned bench.

Serilda sighed with quiet gratitude, then promptly climbed into bed.

It was well past noon by the time she managed to peel her eyes open again. The sounds of the city rumbled up from the streets below. Wagon wheels, braying mules, children singing a rhyming song to welcome the spring.Oh, if only it were warm and green, with birdsong evermore. Just give us this, dear Eostrig, and we will not ask for more.

Serilda pulled herself out of bed and went to change out of her clothes, only to find her shoulder throbbing in agony. She hissed and pulled down the sleeve to see the gouges left by the drude, now caked over with dried blood.

She debated asking Lorraine for help cleaning and bandaging the wound, but the mayor already seemed anxious enough over Serilda’s comings and goings from the castle, and she didn’t think adding an attack from a nightmarish beast would help matters.

More careful this time, she wriggled out of her dress and chemise and used the provided washcloth and basin to clean the wounds as well as she could. After inspecting the wounds, she determined that they were not as deep as she’d thought, and as the bleeding had already stopped, she figured that a bandage wouldn’t be necessary.

When she was done, she sat down at the little vanity to comb out her hair. There was a small mirror and Serilda paused, catching sight of her own eyes. Mirrors were a rare luxury in Märchenfeld, and she’d only seen her reflection a handful of times over the course of her life. It always startled her, to see the gold-spoked wheels looking back at her. It always gave some clarity to why no one ever wished to look her in the eye.

But she did not shy away. She peered at the girl gazing back, thinking not of the countless people who had turned away from her, but of the one boy who hadn’t. These were the eyes that Gild had peered into with such open intensity. These were the cheeks his fingers had caressed. These were the lips …

Pink blossomed across her face. But she wasn’t embarrassed. She was smiling. And that smile—she thought, somewhat bewilderingly—was beautiful.