7. Robin
7
Robin
I awoke with a start, my heart pounding against my ribs. For a terrifying moment, I couldn’t recall where I was or how I’d come to be there. The last thing I remembered was standing before the Duke of Lunaria, his golden eyes piercing through me like molten sunlight. Had the demon lord devoured me whole?
Panic seized me, and I frantically patted myself down, searching for any signs of injury or… incompleteness. To my immense relief, I found myself whole and unharmed. The realization that I was still alive and intact washed over me like a soothing balm, momentarily calming my frayed nerves.
But as the fog of confusion lifted, a new horror dawned on me. I’d swooned. Right at the duke’s feet. Like some delicate, wilting flower at the first whiff of danger. A groan escaped my lips, my cheeks burning with mortification. How could I have collapsed so pathetically? No doubt the duke thought me a spineless whelp, unworthy of his time or consideration.
“Ugh,” I croaked, my voice sounding embarrassingly weak in the silence of the chamber. As I took in my surroundings, the sheer opulence of the bedchamber struck me speechless. Every inch of the space spoke of wealth and power, worlds apart from the modest accommodations I was accustomed to back home.
The bed I found myself in was an extravagant affair, easily large enough to accommodate five people comfortably. Its four posts, carved from a rich, dark wood, rose majestically toward the ceiling, supporting a canopy that could have sheltered a small family. Intricate, otherworldly designs adorned the posts, depicting scenes of demonic lore that both fascinated and unnerved me.
The bedding itself was a sumptuous expanse of silk and velvet, so soft against my skin that it felt almost sinful. Guilt pricked at me for having mussed such finery with my unconscious form. Plush pillows in various sizes surrounded me, embroidered with gold and silver thread that caught the light filtering through the tall, arched windows.
Those windows, I noticed, were draped with gauzy curtains that allowed a gentle, diffused light to fill the room. Beyond them, I could make out the silhouette of what appeared to be a private balcony, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the world outside.
The walls were adorned with rich, crimson tapestries, their surfaces alive with intricate scenes woven in metallic thread. They depicted tales of demon valor and victory, each one more awe-inspiring and slightly terrifying than the last. In the flickering light cast by ornate sconces, the figures seemed to move, as if ready to step out of their fabric prisons at any moment.
A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its mantle carved with the same otherworldly designs as the bedposts. Even unlit, it exuded an aura of warmth and comfort. Plush rugs covered the polished stone floor, their patterns a mesmerizing swirl of deep reds, golds, and blacks.
As I continued to survey the room, my gaze fell upon two familiar and comforting sights. Russet lay curled at the foot of the bed. As if sensing my attention, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine with unwavering devotion. The sight of him eased some of the tension coiled in my chest.
Perched atop an ornate mirror was Starling, her feathers shimmered with an almost magical quality in the soft light of the room. As I watched, she tilted her head, regarding me with what I could have sworn was concern.
The heavy door opened, and Meredith bustled in, her face etched with concern. In her hands, she carried a silver tea service, the scent of chamomile and lavender wafting from the steaming pot. With ease, she set it upon the bedside table before hurrying to my side.
“Master Robin!” Meredith exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and worry. “Are you quite alright, my dear? How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Shall I fetch a healer?”
I attempted to sit up straighter, wincing as my head protested the movement. “I… I believe I’m alright, Meredith,” I assured her, though my voice sounded weak even to my own ears. “But… where am I? How did I come to be here?”
Meredith’s expression softened as she began fussing with the blankets, smoothing them around me with ease. “You’re in your bedchamber in the castle, dear,” she explained, her tone gentle. She turned to pour a cup of fragrant tea. “As for how you came to be here… well…” She paused, a hint of something I couldn’t quite identify flickering across her face. “The duke himself carried you.”
I felt my eyes widen, a fresh wave of heat flooding my cheeks at the thought. “The duke?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. “He carried me?”
Meredith nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she pressed the warm cup into my hands. “Indeed, he did. Imagine that—the mighty Duke of Lunaria, with you in his arms. He brought you here himself, refusing to let anyone else touch you.” She gestured toward the cup. “Here, drink this. You must be parched.”
Gratefully, I accepted the cup, realizing only then how desperately thirsty I was. The tea was a soothing blend of chamomile and lavender, its warmth spreading through me as I sipped. The image of the duke carrying me flashed unbidden through my mind: his powerful form cradling me against his broad chest. I swallowed hard, unsure if the fluttering in my stomach was fear, embarrassment, or something far more disconcerting.
“Oh gods,” I murmured. “He must think me such a fool. Swooning like that, having to be carried like some fainting maiden…”
Meredith clicked her tongue. “Now, now, none of that,” she chided. “You’ve had quite a shock and we’ve been traveling for days; you’re exhausted. It’s perfectly understandable. I’m sure His Grace understands.”
I wasn’t so certain, but I bowed my head in silent assent. A thought suddenly occurred to me, sending a fresh spike of anxiety through my chest. “Meredith,” I began hesitantly, “what is to become of me now?”
My nursemaid’s expression turned serious. “Well, my dear, you’ll be dining with the duke tonight.”
“D-Dining?” I stammered. “With the duke? Tonight?”
Meredith nodded, her expression grave. “Yes, and you mustn’t keep him waiting. He looks… well, let’s just say he seems displeased enough already.”
Panic clawed at my throat. The thought of facing the duke again so soon, especially after my embarrassing display, was almost too much to bear. “Can’t I just… claim to be unwell?” I pleaded, hating how small and pathetic my voice sounded. “Surely he’d understand if we postponed this… this meeting?”
But Meredith was already shaking her head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Master Robin,” she said firmly. “The duke was quite insistent. And trust me when I say that we don’t want to test his patience any further.”
I bit my lip, my mind racing. What would happen at this dinner? Would the duke see through my disguise? Would he be cruel or, worse, indifferent? The uncertainty of it all was maddening.
“Come now,” Meredith said, her tone brooking no argument as she gently pried the empty teacup from my hands. “We need to get you ready. A nice hot bath is just what you need to settle your nerves and make you presentable for His Grace.”
With a firm but gentle touch, Meredith pulled back the luxurious covers and helped me to my feet. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, but her hand at my elbow kept me upright. She guided me toward a door I hadn’t noticed before, its ornate handle gleaming in the soft light. As she opened it, a waft of fragrant steam escaped, carrying with it the soothing scents of rose, lavender, and sandalwood. We stepped inside, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. The opulence before me was beyond anything I had ever imagined, let alone experienced.
The bathing chamber, I realized, was every bit as luxurious as the bedchamber, if not more so. The centerpiece of this sanctuary was a tub so vast it resembled a small pool, sunken into the polished marble floor. Its surface was a serene canvas dotted with an array of flower petals—roses in shades of pink and red, alongside delicate white jasmine and vibrant purple lavender. Steam rose in lazy spirals from the water’s surface, carrying with it a symphony of floral scents that wrapped around me like a comforting embrace.
“Goodness,” I muttered, my voice barely audible above the soothing murmur of water cascading into the pool from an exquisitely carved stone fountain. The fountain depicted a cherub, its face a mask of serene bliss as water flowed from a jug held in its chubby arms.
The walls of the bathing chamber were a marvel in themselves, tiled in a mosaic of iridescent glass and polished stone that cast an array of colors across the room. A series of tall, narrow windows with frosted glass panes allowed soft, diffused light to filter in, creating an atmosphere that was both intimate and ethereal.
Meredith didn’t waste any time. With practiced efficiency, she set about undoing the fastenings of my gown, her fingers moving with a swiftness born of years of experience. I stood there in a daze, enveloped by the floral-scented steam, my mind racing with thoughts of the evening ahead and the intimidating figure of the duke.
Soon, I was reduced to my undergarments. Meredith gave me a gentle nudge toward the pool, and I stepped in hesitantly. The water temperature was perfect—neither too hot nor too cold—enveloping me in a warmth that seemed to seep into my very bones. I couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pure contentment, a sound that seemed almost foreign coming from my own lips.
For a brief, blissful moment, I allowed myself to forget about demon lords and political marriages. I pushed off from the edge, floating away into the center of the pool. My arms and legs stretched out as I gazed up at the frescoed ceiling, which depicted scenes of celestial beauty—angels and ethereal beings frolicking among clouds and stars.
“Master Robin.” Meredith’s voice cut through my reverie, pulling me back to reality. “Come here to the edge so I can wash your hair.”
“Just a bit longer,” I pleaded, reluctant to leave my newfound haven.
“We don’t have time,” she insisted. “Dinner is soon, and we mustn’t keep the duke waiting.”
The reminder jolted me—a mixture of annoyance and fear—and I reluctantly paddled back to where she stood. As Meredith worked a fragrant soap through my hair, its rich lather smelling of jasmine and citrus, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to the duke. The memory of his golden eyes made my breath catch.
Meredith’s skilled hands worked through my hair, massaging my scalp with practiced efficiency. The sweet scent filled my nostrils as she rinsed away the last of the soap. Her fingers, wrinkled from the water, grazed my shoulders as she gave them a final scrub.
“There now,” she murmured, reaching for a towel. “You’re as clean as a whistle.” She patted my shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “I’ll give you a moment to yourself.”
Her eyes darted to the door, a hint of urgency in her gaze. “I’ll be just outside, preparing your attire for the evening.” The unspoken weight of the impending dinner with the duke hung in the air between us.
Meredith’s footsteps receded, but the expected click of the door closing never came. Instead, I heard the soft whisper of fabric against wood as she left it slightly ajar. A sliver of cooler air from the bedchamber beyond crept in, a subtle reminder of the world waiting outside this steamy sanctuary.
Left alone with my thoughts and the lapping of the water against the tub’s edge, I couldn’t help but feel both relieved at the momentary solitude and anxious about what was to come. The weight of expectation seemed to press down on me, even in this tranquil space.
As I floated there, my gaze drifted to my sodden undergarments clinging uncomfortably to my skin. A sudden urge for complete freedom washed over me. With a furtive glance at the slightly open door, I made a decision. Surely, I reasoned, Meredith wouldn’t return without warning. My fingers found the hem of my wet garments, and in one swift motion, I peeled them off. The freedom of being completely unencumbered by fabric in such luxurious surroundings was exhilarating, almost scandalous.
Then I noticed a flutter of movement. Starling had flown in through the gap in the door. The iridescent bird perched on the edge of the tub, tilting her head as if curious about my state of undress.
Feeling suddenly playful and uninhibited, I spread out like a starfish in the water, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness. But the cool air from the slightly open door reminded me of the world beyond this watery haven. With a soft sigh, I swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted myself up to sit on its rim. The water lapped gently at my waist, barely covering my lower half.
I reached for a bar of fragrant soap, rolling it between my palms to work up a lather. “Did you see him, Starling?” I asked, my voice low and conspiratorial as I began to wash my arms. “The duke—how grand and intimidating he is? Those horns of his, so sharp and elegant… And his eyes? They’re like pools of molten gold, aren’t they?”
As I spoke, I continued to run my soapy hands over my body, the motions both practical and indulgent. “And have you seen his shoulders? They’re so broad and strong. His chest… it’s massive, isn’t it? Nothing like mine.” I glanced down at my own slender torso. The difference between us was as clear as night and day, and I couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and inadequacy.
Almost unconsciously, my hands lingered on my chest, fingers tracing idle patterns across my skin. I explored the contours of my own body, wondering how the duke had achieved such an impressive physique. Did demons naturally grow to such imposing proportions, or did it require rigorous training? As my mind wandered, my fingertips brushed lightly over my nipples, sending an unexpected shiver through me. I imagined the duke’s powerful form, his broad chest and sculpted muscles, and felt a strange mix of admiration and something else I couldn’t quite name.
“I wonder what it would be like,” I mused aloud, my voice dropping to a whisper, “to have such broad shoulders and such… solidity. Do you think demons and humans are really so different, Starling? Could I ever hope to grow to be like him?”
My cheeks warmed as my thoughts drifted toward more intimate curiosities. “And his… manhood—they say it’s impressive, don’t they? I wonder if the rumors are true.” My gaze dropped lower, to where I’d become acutely aware of myself. “I suppose compared to mine, it must be… well, it’s like comparing a sapling to a mighty oak, isn’t it?”
I paused, brow furrowing in confusion. “But Starling, why does everyone seem so in awe and terrified of the duke’s… impressive manhood? Is it just because it’s larger? Does size truly matter that much?” I shook my head, feeling both curious and bewildered.
Just as I was about to delve deeper into these scandalous reflections, Meredith’s voice cut through my reverie. “Master Robin! Time to finish up, dear!”
Reality came crashing back, and I sighed deeply as I began to climb out of the tub. “Oh, Starling,” I said softly as I reached for a plush towel, “I wish we could delay this dinner somehow. I’m not ready to face him again.” I wrapped the towel around myself, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “Gods help me if I swoon again. What must he think of me already?”
I stood before the mirror, my reflection a stranger adorned in a gown that belonged to a life not mine. Lily’s old dress, a soft pink silk that shimmered in the light, clung to my slender form with an uncanny perfection. The fabric whispered secrets with every movement, accentuating the delicate lines of my body and lending a subtle, feminine grace to my naturally lithe figure. Over this, an elegant kaftan flowed, its high waist and bell-shaped sleeves embroidered with silver thread that caught the light and made it dance, further enhancing the ethereal quality of my appearance. The ensemble seemed to blur the lines between masculine and feminine, creating an enchanting ambiguity that even I found captivating.
The vibrant hues brought out the green in my eyes, giving them a depth I hadn’t known they possessed, and cast an ethereal glow over my pale skin. My hair had been brushed to a glossy sheen and cascaded down my back like a waterfall of moonlight. In that moment, I could almost believe I was a true noblewoman, the epitome of Aethorian grace and beauty.
Yet beneath this captivating facade, terror gripped me. The thought of dinner with Duke Darius loomed like an executioner’s blade, poised to fall.
What if he saw through my disguise? What if his legendary temper was unleashed upon me? I shuddered to think of the retribution that might befall my family. Visions of horror flashed through my mind: the duke devouring me whole, his demonic form twisted with rage; Rosalind and Lily screaming as they were dragged away to some unspeakable fate; our home engulfed in hellfire, my father’s lands laid to waste. Even Lady Aldercrest, Henry, and Gavin, for whom I held little affection, didn’t deserve such a gruesome end.
“You look divine, Master Robin.” Meredith’s voice broke through my dark musings.
Russet wagged his tail in agreement, while Starling chirped from her perch atop the wardrobe. Their silent support was a balm to my frayed nerves, but it did little to quell the storm of anxiety within me.
A young male servant arrived to guide us through the labyrinthine corridors of Argentum Keep. My heart pounded against the constricting corset with each step, the soft rustle of silk against marble floors sounding thunderous in my ears. Meredith trailed close behind, her presence a small comfort in this sea of uncertainty.
We stopped before an ornate door, its surface adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. The servant gestured for me to enter, and Meredith squeezed my hand. “Good luck,” she whispered, her voice thick with concern.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room. The sight that greeted me was nothing short of breathtaking. The private dining area was a masterpiece of luxury and refined taste. Plush velvet seating surrounded a low table of polished obsidian, laden with crystal goblets and silver platters that caught the light like captured stars. Candles flickered in ornate holders, casting a warm, intimate glow over the space.
The balcony doors were thrown open, revealing a sweeping view of Lunaria below. The city glittered like a blanket of jewels strewn across the landscape, each light a silent whisper of the countless lives unfolding beyond these gilded walls. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something deeper, more primal—a scent I couldn’t quite place but that made my pulse quicken.
There, silhouetted against the twilight sky, stood the Duke of Lunaria. His entire presence commanded attention, an awe-inspiring figure that seemed to dominate the space around him. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe, struck by the sheer power and grace he exuded. As if sensing my presence, he turned, and our eyes met across the room. Golden irises locked on mine, and I felt pinned in place, a butterfly caught in amber.
Internally, I was screaming. My mind raced with increasingly absurd thoughts: Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods! Run, you fool! Leap off the balcony! Surely plummeting to my death would be less terrifying than this! My legs, however, seemed to have other ideas. They trembled like a newborn fawn’s, apparently having forgotten how to function properly. What if I faint again? At least unconsciousness would be a reprieve from this terror. No, wait! What if he carries me again? I’d rather melt into the floor right now!
With faltering steps that I prayed didn’t resemble a drunken chicken’s gait, I approached him. I mustered every ounce of grace I possessed to curtsy, silently begging my knees not to buckle and send me sprawling at his feet. Please don’t trip, please don’t trip, please don’t— “Good evening, Your Grace,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, and by some miracle, without a squeak.
The duke drifted his gaze over me slowly, methodically, as if he were savoring every detail of my appearance. His golden eyes seemed to caress every line of my body, their intensity so palpable I could almost feel their touch. When his attention lingered on my chest, I silently cursed myself for not wearing a scarf or having something to cover the exposed skin there. My mind raced with panic.
Oh gods, can he tell? Does he see through this flimsy disguise? There’s nothing womanly there to admire!
His scrutiny continued, unhurried and thorough. I felt naked under his piercing stare, certain that at any moment he would declare me a fraud. My imagination ran wild with terrifying scenarios. What if he decides to strip me right here and now to prove I’m a boy in disguise? Would he call for guards? Would he— I couldn’t even finish the thought, my terror was so complete.
Yet as frightened as I was, something else stirred within me. A warmth I’d never experienced before spread through my body, pooling in my belly and making my skin tingle. It was as if a fire had been lit inside me, burning hotter with each passing moment. An unfamiliar ache bloomed deep within, a need I couldn’t comprehend or control. I was both terrified and, inexplicably, thrilled by these new sensations.
Without a word, the duke closed the distance between us. My heart pounded so fiercely I was sure he must hear it. As he reached for my hand, every instinct screamed at me to pull away, to flee. Run, you fool! my mind shrieked, but my body betrayed me, frozen in place.
He took my hand in his, and the heat of his touch seared my bare skin. I wanted desperately to yank my hand free, to dash for the door, but I remained rooted to the spot, terror and something else I couldn’t name holding me in place.
He bowed over my hand, and as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin at the back of my fingers, a small gasp escaped me. The contact sent a jolt through my body, shocking me to my core. My senses reeled, overwhelmed by the unexpected gentleness of his touch. His breath was hot against my skin, fanning the flames of these strange new feelings that warred with my panic.
I stood there, trembling slightly, caught between the urge to flee and an inexplicable pull to stay. These strange new feelings coursed through me like liquid fire, igniting sensations I’d never experienced before. A warmth pooled in my belly, spreading outward, making my skin tingle and my breath catch. There was an unfamiliar ache, a craving for something I couldn’t name or understand. Part of me wanted to run, to escape these overwhelming sensations, but another part—a part I barely recognized—yearned to lean in, to explore this bewildering new territory. I remained frozen in place, my mind a whirlwind of panic and unfamiliar longings, unable to comprehend the conflicting impulses that warred within me.
“Good evening, Lady Robin,” Duke Darius intoned, his voice a smooth baritone that reverberated through the room. His gaze remained fixed on me, a golden stare that seemed to see right through the facade I clung to. “I trust you’ve had a good… rest?”
Rest? My mind scoffed. If by rest he meant a brief period of unconsciousness brought on by sheer terror , then yes, it was positively rejuvenating. A far cry from a gentle nap in a sun-dappled meadow, to be sure.
“Oh yes, Your Grace,” I squeaked, my voice sounding about as convincing as a mouse trying to roar. “Most… restful.”
He guided me to the table, his hand still clasping mine with a firmness that belied the casualness of his tone. I was grateful when he finally released my hand, allowing me to reclaim it as though it were a wayward lamb returning to the fold. Half expecting to see scorch marks where his fingers had touched, I discreetly flexed my fingers.
The duke poured me a drink—a deep-red wine that glowed like rubies in the candlelight. My fingers curled around the stem of the goblet, seeking solace in its cool touch. In my nervousness, I brought it to my lips and took an eager gulp, desperate for anything to calm my jittering nerves, as if it were the watered-down ale we drank back home.
Mistake. Big mistake.
The liquid ambushed my senses, a fiery assault down my throat that had me sputtering like an amateur fire-breather mid-performance. I erupted into a fit that would have put a dragon to shame. Spasms racked my body as I realized my faux pas—this was wine, and I had just taken it like a parched traveler at an oasis. Eyes watering, I wheezed and gasped, certain that my face now matched the color of the wine.
“Are you quite alright, Lady Robin?” Duke Darius asked, his eyebrow arched so high it threatened to disappear into his hairline.
“Splendid,” I gasped, waving away his concern with all the grace of a drowning cat. “Just… savoring the bouquet.”
“If the wine isn’t to your liking—” he began, reaching for another bottle.
“No!” I blurted, louder than intended. Clearing my throat, I tried again, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. “I mean, it’s delightful. See?” I took another sip, smaller this time, and managed not to recreate the great fountain displays of Aldercrest.
With a subtle gesture from the duke, a parade of servants entered the dining room, each bearing trays laden with dishes that looked like they’d been conjured from a fever dream of luxury. My eyes widened as platter after platter was set before us, transforming the expansive table into a veritable landscape of culinary artistry.
There were roasted pheasants, their golden-brown skin glistening with herb-infused oils, surrounded by a moat of glazed root vegetables. Whole fish, their scales seemingly painted with silver, nestled on beds of vibrant greens and citrus slices. A towering meat pie stood proudly at the center, its crust latticed like delicate lace and emanating an aroma that made my mouth water instantaneously.
Dishes I couldn’t even name appeared: strange fruits cut into fanciful shapes, glistening jellies that shimmered like jewels, and sauces in colors I’d never seen before. A whole roasted pig, complete with an apple in its mouth, took up one end of the table, while the other end boasted a mountain of sweetmeats and pastries that looked too beautiful to eat.
I gaped at the spread, wondering if the duke had perhaps invited an entire village to dine with us and simply forgotten to mention it. This feast could feed Meredith, Bernard, and me for months! My mind flashed back to our simple meals at home—boiled potatoes, cabbage soup, the occasional bit of cheese or cold meat if we were lucky. This… this was beyond comprehension.
As the last dish was placed and the servants retreated, my stomach let out a growl so loud it could have been mistaken for a bear’s mating call. I froze, mortified, but the duke merely chuckled.
“Please, eat,” he encouraged, gesturing to the feast before us with a graceful wave of his hand.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I attacked the food with the enthusiasm of a starving man at a banquet, only remembering halfway through a particularly succulent slice of roast beef that I was supposed to be a delicate lady. I slowed my pace, trying to eat daintily while my stomach screamed in protest.
Each bite was a revelation—flavors I’d never experienced danced across my tongue, textures I couldn’t have imagined delighted my palate. I was torn between wanting to savor every morsel and the desire to try everything on the table before it mysteriously vanished like some cruel illusion.
As I reached for what looked like a miniature fruit tart, I caught the duke watching me. I felt heat rise to my cheeks, suddenly very aware of my less-than-ladylike enthusiasm. But hunger and curiosity won out over embarrassment, and I popped the tart into my mouth, unable to suppress a small sigh of pleasure as the sweet-tart flavor burst across my tongue.
“You have quite the appetite for such a small woman,” the duke remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
I nearly choked on my wine again as I took a sip. “The journey from Aldercrest was… invigorating for the appetite,” I managed, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin.
“Any… hiccups along the way?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. The way he said it made me feel as though he was privy to some private joke, one that I wasn’t part of.
Oh, you mean besides the constant struggle with the infernal gowns or trying to eat in a moving carriage without wearing half my meal? Perhaps you’re referring to nearly suffocating every time I breathed too deeply thanks to the torture device they call a corset? Or maybe the time I almost drowned in a rushing river during what was supposed to be a simple bath? Thank the stars for Russet; without him, one of your soldiers might have had to fish me out, ending this charade before it began. And let’s not forget the fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares of the very demon lord now sitting across from me.
“Not at all,” I lied, smiling so sweetly I could practically feel my teeth rotting. “Though your soldiers are quite… imposing.”
His laugh was rich and warm, like honey poured over thunder. “You’ll get used to them. The people of Lunaria did.”
“And yet there are no women in this castle,” I pointed out before I could stop myself.
“It’s quite pleasant, actually,” he mused. “No swooning or shrieking.”
My cheeks blazed hotter than Rosalind’s fire magic. I had indeed fainted spectacularly upon our first meeting. “How fortunate for you,” I muttered into my wineglass.
“Indeed,” he agreed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Though I must say, your… unique approach to curtsying earlier was quite refreshing.”
I groaned internally, remembering my graceless attempt at a curtsy that had more closely resembled a newborn foal trying to stand. “I aim to entertain, Your Grace,” I quipped, deciding that if I couldn’t be graceful, I might as well be witty.
“And succeed you do, Lady Robin,” he said.