Page 79 of The Gilded Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 2)

“I like the city even more than I expected,” Sabine says. “It’s so…busy.”

“A lot of people leave the city to escape the noise.”

“I like it.” She pauses outside a toy shop. “I feel invisible here.”

I follow her eyes to the wooden sailboat in the window. “I’m not sure many would agree that’s a good thing.”

“I’m tired of being looked at. It’s exhausting.” Sabine turns to me, offering the loaf so I may tear another piece. “Do you still carve figurines?”

“I haven’t in a very long time,” I say, surprised she remembers.

She nods toward the boat. “Have you ever made anything like that?”

“Do you have a sudden interest in sailing?”

Smiling to herself, the princess continues walking. “I was hoping to see the ocean before I returned home.”

“You’ve never seen the ocean, Sabine?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve never gotten the chance—oh!”

A group of young boys runs down the street, bumping into Sabine as they pass. She stumbles forward, right into my arms.

I holler at them to watch where they’re going, but Sabine laughs, unbothered. When I look down at the princess, my mouth goes dry. She looks up at me with bright eyes, in no hurry to step away.

Every day, she becomes more like the girl I first met. She’s shedding her armor, becoming vulnerable and soft.

I think back to the boy I was when I met her, remembering him like he’s a stranger I once knew. He was carefree, a bit roguish—got in trouble as easily as he escaped it. And he was happy.

Being with Sabine makes me want to get to know him again.

“Are you all right?” I ask, returning her smile.

She nods. Reluctantly, I release her.

“A shame,” the princess says with a sigh, looking down at the baguette she dropped when she was jostled. “It seems there was a casualty.”

Suddenly nervous, I rub my arm. “Shall we get dinner while we’re out?”

Sabine turns her eyes to me. After a moment, she says, “I’d like that.”

“You would?”

She nods.

“All right.” I gulp, looking down the street. “Have you ever tried pasta?”

“I haven’t.”

“Would you like to? It’s better than baguettes.”

“I doubt that,” she says with a grin. “But I’ll let you try to convince me.”

We walk down the street side-by-side, close enough my fingers occasionally brush against hers. But before I can work up the nerve to take her hand, we reach the restaurant.

People already dine in the courtyard, and the staff has lit lanterns to prepare for the evening.

The maître d’ smiles at us from his stand at the front of the restaurant. “Welcome. A table for two? Somewhere private?”