12. Robin
12
Robin
I closed my eyes, desperately willing sleep to come, but it eluded me like a mischievous sprite. The silk sheets whispered against my skin as I tossed and turned, unable to find comfort in any position. My fingers strayed to my lips for what felt like the hundredth time, tracing their outline with trembling anticipation. The ghost of the duke’s kiss lingered there, a phantom touch.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered into the darkness, flipping onto my back and staring at the ornate ceiling. The moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains cast intricate shadows across the room, but all I could see was the duke. His golden eyes, piercing and intense, seemed to gaze at me from every corner. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the image only grew more vivid. The firm press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the strength in his hands as they had cupped my face—every detail was etched into my memory with startling clarity. My heart thundered in my chest, its frantic rhythm echoing in my ears. “This is madness,” I whispered to myself, but even as the words left my mouth, my traitorous mind conjured up new images of the duke, each one more enticing than the last.
I must have dozed off at some point, for the next thing I knew, I was adrift in a sea of dreams. Duke Darius was there, his presence both comforting and thrilling. We were in the castle gardens, the air heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. The duke’s hand was warm in mine as he led me through a maze of hedges, his golden eyes glowing in the moonlight. Just as he leaned in, his lips a breath away from mine, the dream began to fade, colors bleeding into the encroaching light of dawn.
I stirred, caught in that hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, painting a golden stripe across my bed. For a moment, I lay still, blinking away the remnants of a dream that slipped away like water through my fingers. All I could recall was the duke’s face, his golden eyes gazing at me with an intensity that made my breath catch even now.
“Duke Darius,” I whispered, the name a prayer on my lips. My mind swam with images of him—his broad shoulders, the curve of his jaw, the way his lips had felt against mine. A warmth spread through my body, settling low in my belly.
Then I became aware of a familiar pressure between my legs. I lifted the covers and groaned in frustration, letting my head fall back onto the pillow with a soft thud . “Not again,” I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. This was becoming a daily torment, and I had no idea how to make it stop.
I rolled onto my side, curling into myself as if I could hide from my own body’s reactions. “Why?” I whispered to the empty room, my voice tinged with exasperation. “Why does this keep happening?”
Russet stirred at the foot of the bed, his tail thumping softly against the mattress. I envied his peaceful slumber. Starling, too, seemed untroubled, preening her feathers on the windowsill. Neither of them had any idea of the turmoil raging within me.
Suddenly, I remembered—I was supposed to go riding with Duke Darius after breakfast. Panic seized me, my heart leaping into my throat. How could I face him like this?
Before I could spiral further into my anxious thoughts, I realized I needed to act quickly. Meredith would be here soon to help me prepare for the day, and I couldn’t let her find me in this state. In a flash I was out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet as I dashed to the en suite bathroom. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of panic and lingering arousal making my movements clumsy. I closed the door behind me with trembling hands, leaning against it for a moment to catch my breath.
With shaking hands, I stripped off my nightclothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. The hot spring pool beckoned, steam rising from its surface in lazy curls. I slipped into the water, gasping at the heat that enveloped me.
As I began to wash, my treacherous mind wandered back to Duke Darius. I imagined his strong hands in place of my own, trailing over my skin. The thought sent a jolt of pleasure through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan.
My hand drifted lower, almost of its own accord. I wrapped my fingers around my hardness, stroking slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. In my mind’s eye, I saw the duke—his muscular chest, his powerful thighs, the tantalizing trail of dark hair leading down to…
I faltered, my inexperience leaving me uncertain. What would the duke look like fully unclothed? Just how large would his “sword” be? The mere thought made me blush furiously, even as it sent another wave of pleasure coursing through me.
My strokes became faster, more erratic. The water lapped at the edges of the pool, echoing my ragged breaths. I was lost in a haze of sensation, teetering on the edge of something monumental.
When release finally came, it crashed over me like a tidal wave. I cried out, my voice echoing off the tiled walls as my body shuddered with the intensity of it. I clung to the edge of the pool, my legs trembling beneath me.
As the aftershocks subsided, I was left with a whirlwind of emotions—satisfaction, embarrassment, and a lingering fear that gnawed at the edges of my mind. My body felt languid, relaxed in a way I’d never experienced before, but my thoughts were anything but calm.
“What in Aethoria’s name is happening to me?” I whispered to the steamy air, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of water.
I sank deeper into the pool, letting the warm water cover me up to my chin, as if it could shield me from the implications of what I’d just done. My mind raced, piecing together a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve.
Why was it only thoughts of Duke Darius that brought about these intense reactions? I’d seen plenty of attractive people before—both men and women—but none had ever affected me like this. The duke’s face, his voice, the mere memory of his touch… they all sent my body into a frenzy I couldn’t control.
A startling thought struck me, causing my eyes to widen. “Am I… attracted to him?” The words felt foreign on my tongue, both thrilling and terrifying. I’d heard whispers of men who preferred the company of other men, but I’d never considered that I might be one of them. Was that even possible?
But if that were true, why had I never felt this way about any other man? Why just Duke Darius? The confusion swirled in my mind like a tempest, leaving me dizzy and uncertain.
And if I was falling for Duke Darius—a demon lord, no less—what could possibly come of it? The very idea seemed ludicrous. He was powerful, ancient, and undoubtedly experienced in ways I couldn’t even imagine. And I was… well, I was just me. A boy playing at being a girl, way out of his depth in a world of demons and desires I barely understood.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to push back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill. “This is madness,” I muttered, echoing my words from the night before. “Complete and utter madness.”
Yet even as I said it, I couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in my chest at the thought of the duke. It was more than just physical attraction—there was a pull, a yearning that went beyond the corporeal. It both excited and terrified me.
I let out a long shaky breath, watching the ripples spread across the water’s surface. My mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions, each one vying for attention. I’d never felt so confused, so out of my depth. These new sensations, these unfamiliar feelings for Duke Darius—they were like a foreign language I was struggling to understand.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of water against the pool’s edge. The question hung in the steamy air, unanswered and daunting. I had no precedent for this, no prior experience to draw from. All I knew was that every time I thought of the duke, my heart raced and my body responded in ways I couldn’t control.
I sank a little deeper into the water, as if it could wash away my confusion. But even as the warmth soothed my body, my mind continued to churn with unanswered questions and unnamed fears.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I murmured, more to the steam rising off the water than to myself. My query vanished into the warm haze, as did any semblance of an answer.
A discreet knock at the door pulled me from my reverie. “Master Robin, dear?” Meredith’s voice carried through, tinged with her usual blend of affection and barely contained excitement. “We must get you ready for the day. You’re going riding with the duke this morning, remember? Oh, what an honor!”
Oh, heavens. The duke. The ride. My stomach performed an acrobatic feat that would have impressed the most seasoned circus performer.
“Just a moment!” I called out, my voice an octave higher than usual.
Meredith’s enthusiasm bubbled through the door like an overflowing cauldron. “Isn’t it thrilling? A private ride with Duke Darius himself! We must make sure you look absolutely perfect!”
Her excitement was almost palpable, a stark contrast to the dread pooling in my stomach. I could practically hear her bouncing on her heels as she continued. “Just think of the romantic possibilities, dear! Riding side by side through the lush grounds, the wind in your hair, the duke’s strong presence beside you…”
“Meredith, please!” I squeaked, feeling my face flush hot enough to rival the spring. “It’s just a ride.”
Her laugh tinkled through the air. “Oh, my sweet innocent. There’s no such thing as ‘just a ride’ with a demon lord. Now, do hurry up. We can’t keep his grace waiting!”
I groaned internally. Meredith’s fervor was doing nothing to calm my nerves. If anything, it was making me even more anxious about facing the duke after… well, after my rather vivid imaginings this morning. This was going to be a long day indeed.
I emerged from the hot spring like some mythic creature, albeit one with less grace and far more trepidation. Water cascaded down my skin as I wrapped myself in a thick, luxurious robe.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, my appetite nonexistent as I pushed food around on my plate. Eventually, a young servant appeared in the doorway, his eyes bright with curiosity. He was a gangly boy, all knees and elbows, with a shock of red hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose.
“Lady Robin,” he said with a polite bow, “I am to escort you to the stables. My name is Finneus, but you can call me Finn.”
I nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile as I rose from the table. “Lead the way, Finn.”
As we walked, I couldn’t help but fidget with the hem of my riding habit—a hand-me-down from Lily. The deep emerald velvet of the jacket hugged my torso, the silver embroidery of intertwining vines and leaves catching the light with every step. The long full skirt swished around my ankles, its hidden slits a secret ally for easier movement. Underneath, the cream-colored breeches felt oddly liberating, a practical necessity hidden beneath the feminine facade.
Atop my head sat a small, stylish riding hat in matching emerald green, adorned with a delicate silver hatpin. A short, diaphanous veil hung from its brim, ready to be lowered should I need to shield my face—or my blush. My long pale-blond hair had been expertly braided by Meredith, the plait hanging over my shoulder and contrasting beautifully with the dark velvet of the jacket.
My feet were encased in knee-high riding boots of supple black leather, their slight heels clicking softly against the stone floors with each step. The silver buckles on the sides caught the light, matching the thin silver belt cinched around my waist. As I walked, I was acutely aware of the frothy white cravat at my neck, secured with a silver and emerald brooch that felt cool against my skin.
I tugged at the elbow-length cream kidskin gloves, trying to distract myself from the nervousness bubbling up inside me. The entire ensemble was both beautiful and slightly intimidating—a far cry from my usual attire. I felt like a child playing dress- up, yet the weight of the clothing reminded me of the very real situation I was walking into. With each step toward the stables, I became increasingly aware of just how unprepared I was to face Duke Darius in all his demonic glory.
Upon reaching the stables, I was greeted by the sight of Duke Darius standing tall and imposing beside a massive black stallion whose mane shimmered like the night sky. The duke was a vision of dark elegance, his riding habit a masterpiece of midnight hues, every inch of it tailored to accentuate his formidable physique. His horns gleamed under the morning sun, and his eyes—those piercing golden eyes—were fixed squarely on me.
My heart stuttered in my chest, and a blush crept across my cheeks. I felt my body respond to his presence with an all-too-familiar heat, a flush that started in my core and spread outward to the very tips of my fingers. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of every reaction, every quickened heartbeat, every catch in my breath.
The duke’s lips curled into a smile, his fangs peeking out from behind his lips. “Good morning, little dove,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within me. He approached with fluid grace, taking my hand in his and brushing his lips across the back of it.
My breath hitched, my pulse quickening at the contact. I managed a clumsy curtsy, mumbling a greeting that was far less composed than I would have liked. I nearly stumbled over my own feet, more flustered fledgling than noblewoman.
“You look absolutely enchanting this morning,” the duke said, his golden gaze sweeping over me appreciatively. “That color suits you wonderfully.”
I felt the heat in my cheeks intensify. “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” I stammered, barely able to meet his eyes.
“Shall we?” the duke asked, gesturing toward the horses. “The morning awaits, and I find myself eager to spend it with you.”
I nodded mutely, clutching at composure as though it were a lifeline thrown amid stormy seas. As we walked side by side toward our mounts, I dared not meet his gaze again for fear of what he might read within mine—a heart racing with forbidden desire. This was going to be a most challenging—and thrilling—ride indeed.
As we approached the horses, my excitement at finally riding a stallion battled with the sudden realization that I had absolutely no idea how to mount one. The stable hand brought forth a magnificent chestnut mare, and I gawked at her sheer size. Unlike the modest farm horses back at Aldercrest, this beast was enormous—her withers nearly level with the top of my head. I swallowed hard, wondering if I’d need a ladder to reach the saddle.
“After you, little dove,” the duke said, his voice tinged with amusement.
I gulped, nodding as if I knew exactly what I was doing. With as much grace as I could muster—which, admittedly, wasn’t much—I grasped the saddle horn and attempted to hoist myself up. The riding habit’s skirt, however, had other ideas. It tangled around my legs, causing me to lose my balance and stumble backward with an undignified yelp.
Determined not to be bested by mere fabric, I tried again. This time, I gathered the skirt in one hand, bunching it up in a most unladylike fashion. I managed to get my foot in the stirrup, but as I tried to swing my other leg over, the skirt caught again. I found myself awkwardly straddling the saddle, half on and half off, my face burning with embarrassment.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I muttered, struggling to right myself.
In my flailing, I somehow managed to turn myself around, facing the horse’s rear instead of its head. The mare, bless her patient soul, merely flicked an ear in response to my predicament.
I heard a deep chuckle behind me and turned my head to see the duke watching my struggle with undisguised mirth. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and I could swear I saw the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Having some trouble, little dove?” he asked, making no move to help me just yet.
“Not at all, Your Grace,” I lied through gritted teeth, attempting to salvage what little dignity I had left. “I’m simply… admiring the view from all angles.”
This elicited another laugh from the duke, deeper this time. “Indeed? And what do you think of the… posterior view?”
I felt my cheeks flame even hotter. “It’s… quite nice,” I mumbled, trying to turn myself around again.
In my efforts, I lost my grip on the saddle horn and started slipping. In a panic, I grabbed the first thing my hands could reach—which happened to be the horse’s mane. The mare, startled by my sudden grasp, took a step forward, leaving me dangling off her side like a sack of potatoes, my feet barely touching the ground and my riding habit hiked up to my thighs.
“Your Grace,” I squeaked, my voice muffled against the horse’s flank. “I may require some assistance after all.”
Finally, I felt strong hands on my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my body despite my predicament.
“Allow me to assist you, dove,” the duke murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
With seemingly no effort at all, he lifted me and settled me properly in the saddle. His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and I felt my heart racing at the proximity. As he stepped back, his eyes met mine, a mixture of amusement and something else—something heated—in their depths.
“There,” he said, his voice low and rich. “A perfect fit.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant me on the horse or his hands on my waist, but either way, I was breathless. “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” I managed to stammer out, my cheeks aflame.
The duke mounted his own horse with effortless grace, making my struggle seem even more comical in comparison. As we set off from the stables, the castle’s imposing silhouette receded behind us, giving way to a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and lush meadows. The morning sun bathed everything in a golden glow, making the dew-kissed grass sparkle like a sea of emeralds. It was a view straight out of a fairy tale, and for a moment, I forgot my precarious position atop this enormous beast.
That is, until my mare decided to veer off course, apparently enticed by a particularly appealing patch of clover. I tugged desperately at the reins, my knuckles white with effort, but to no avail.
“No, no, no,” I muttered under my breath. “Left, you stubborn creature. Left!”
The duke’s amused voice floated over. “Having trouble steering, little dove?”
I felt my cheeks burn. Of course he would notice my ineptitude. “Not at all, Your Grace,” I lied through clenched teeth, trying to salvage what little dignity I had left. “I’m simply… taking the scenic route!”
Just then a rabbit darted across our path, startling my mare into a sudden gallop. I let out a most undignified shriek, clinging to the horse’s neck like a limpet to a rock. My life flashed before my eyes—admittedly, a rather short and unimpressive montage.
“Make it stop!” I wailed, my carefully crafted facade crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a spring flood. “I’m too young and pretty to die!”
The duke’s stallion easily caught up, and I felt strong arms encircle me, hauling me back into a proper sitting position. His touch sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with my near-death experience.
“Thank you,” I gasped, heart pounding like a war drum. Scrambling for any shred of composure, I added, “I was merely… testing the horse’s reflexes. She passed with flying colors, wouldn’t you say?”
“Of course,” the duke replied, his voice rich with barely suppressed laughter. I could practically hear the smirk in his tone, and it made me want to sink into the ground.
No sooner had we resumed our leisurely pace than we encountered a slightly rocky incline. My mare, apparently deciding that a brisk trot was in order, picked up speed once more. I bounced in the saddle like a sack of potatoes in a cart on a cobblestone street, another scream tearing from my throat.
“Oh, sweet Aethoria, save me!” I yelped, my legs gripping the horse’s sides in sheer panic, which only encouraged her to go faster. In that moment, I swore I’d never so much as look at a horse again if I survived this ordeal.
Before I could topple off entirely, I was lifted bodily and deposited in front of the duke on his stallion. His strong arms encircled me, one hand holding the reins while the other steadied me against his chest.
“Perhaps it would be safer if you rode with me, little dove,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I nodded mutely, too mortified to speak. After a moment, the duke asked, “I thought you said you knew how to ride and loved it?”
Oh, heavens. My little white lie had come back to haunt me. “Ah, well,” I stammered, scrambling for an explanation. “I’m used to… smaller horses. These are practically giants compared to the ones at home! More like furry mountains with legs, really.”
The duke’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and I suddenly became acutely aware of our proximity. His solid form pressed against my back, strong arms bracketing me as he held the reins. A wave of heat washed over me, my face flushing for reasons entirely unrelated to my recent exertions.
My mind reeled, torn between embarrassment and a thrilling awareness of every point of contact between us. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping through my clothes. It was… distracting, to say the least.
In my flustered state, I somehow managed to jostle the duke’s arms, causing the stallion to veer sharply to the left. “Oh no, not again,” I whispered, my eyes widening in horror as I realized what was about to happen.
Before either of us could react, we were tumbling into a muddy ditch. I landed with an ungraceful splash, my riding skirt flying up and my hat sailing off into parts unknown. The duke, to his credit, managed to land somewhat more gracefully beside me.
As we sat there, covered in mud and bits of grass, I realized with horror that my riding skirt had torn away, leaving me in nothing but the breeches and jacket. I looked like a drowned rat at a masquerade ball—if rats wore emerald velvet and had a penchant for mud baths.
I looked at the duke, expecting to see anger or frustration. Instead, I found him looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher, a mix of amusement and something… warmer. A glob of mud slid down his noble nose, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing hysterically.
“Well, little dove,” he said, plucking a piece of grass from my mud-splattered hair, “it seems you’ve managed to make this ride far more exciting than I anticipated. I must say, your equestrian skills are… unique.”
I could only groan in response, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. If not, I was certainly giving it my best effort. “Your Grace,” I mumbled, “I don’t suppose we could pretend this entire morning never happened?”
His answering laugh, rich and genuine, made my heart skip a beat. “And deprive myself of such delightful memories? I think not, little dove. I think not.”
Despite the warmth his words stirred in me, the chill of wet mud was becoming impossible to ignore. With as much dignity as I could muster—which, admittedly, wasn’t much at this point—I gingerly rose to my feet.
Attempting to pat myself clean was a futile effort, given the sheer amount of mud coating me from head to toe. I looked like I’d been wrestling with a particularly aggressive mud monster—and lost spectacularly. As I surveyed the damage, I silently thanked the heavens that my riding jacket was at least long enough to cover my most… telling areas. The emerald velvet, once so pristine, now bore a striking resemblance to a swamp creature’s hide. Still, it served its purpose in maintaining my precarious disguise, for which I was immensely grateful.
My eyes darted nervously to the duke, who was also rising from our muddy misadventure. Even covered in muck, he managed to look regal. How terribly unfair.
As I shifted, I became acutely aware that while my jacket preserved some modesty, my legs were now on full display. The cream-colored breeches, clinging to my slender limbs like a second skin, left little to the imagination. A blush crept up my neck as I realized just how exposed I was.
I could feel the duke’s gaze on me, his golden eyes lingering on my mud-splattered limbs. A flutter of panic rose in my chest. Surely he couldn’t tell I was male from this, could he? But as I chanced a glance at him, I saw something in his expression that looked suspiciously like… appreciation?
The thought sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with my sodden state. I quickly averted my eyes, focusing instead on the ruined remains of my riding habit. “I don’t suppose there’s any saving this outfit,” I muttered, more to myself than to the duke.
His deep chuckle made me look up. “I’m afraid not, little dove. Though I must say, you wear mud rather charmingly.”
I felt my face heat up even more. Was he… flirting? Surely not. He must be mocking me. Yes, that had to be it.
“I’ll fetch the horses,” the duke said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Try not to find any more trouble while I’m gone, little dove.”
As he strode off, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. But trouble, it seemed, had other plans for me.
A soft whimper caught my attention, and I turned to see a small wolf cub lying in the underbrush, its leg bent at an unnatural angle. Without thinking, I rushed over, my heart clenching at the sight of the poor creature’s pain.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I cooed, kneeling beside the cub. It looked up at me with wide, frightened eyes, and I felt a surge of protective instinct wash over me.
Glancing around to ensure the duke was still occupied with the horses, I gently placed my hands on the cub’s injured leg. I closed my eyes, focusing on the warm tingle of healing magic that always seemed to dance just out of reach.
“Come on,” I muttered, willing the magic to cooperate. “Just this once, don’t be stubborn.”
I thought of all the times my father had scoffed at my “parlor trick” magic, how Henry and Gavin had laughed when I couldn’t conjure more than a spark. But here, now, with this innocent creature in pain, none of that mattered. I poured all my concentration into the task, imagining the cub’s leg mending, the pain fading away.
To my surprise and relief, I felt the familiar warmth flow through my hands. It started as a gentle trickle, then grew stronger, like a stream swelling after the spring thaw. The cub’s whimpers subsided, and I opened my eyes to see its leg straightening, the wound knitting closed before my very eyes.
A sense of wonder filled me. As the cub tentatively stood, testing its newly healed leg, I felt a surge of pride and joy.
“Impressive,” a deep voice said from behind me.
I jumped, nearly falling back into the mud. The duke stood there, both horses’ reins in hand, watching me with an unreadable expression. How long had he been there? How much had he seen?
“Your Grace! I… I was just…” I stammered, searching for an explanation that didn’t involve admitting to magic. My mind raced, trying to concoct a plausible story. Perhaps I could claim I was simply petting the cub? But no, he’d clearly seen the healing.
“Healing,” he finished for me, his tone matter-of-fact. “And quite skillfully, I might add. Such magic is rare and valuable, dove. You should be proud of your gift.”
I blinked, stunned. Of all the reactions I’d expected, this wasn’t one of them. “Proud? But… it’s weak. Useless, really. At least, that’s what my father and brothers always said.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, years of internalized shame bubbling to the surface.
The duke’s expression darkened for a moment, a flash of something that looked almost like anger crossing his features before softening. “They are mistaken,” he said firmly. “What you just did was far from weak or useless. With proper training, your gift could become truly formidable. I shall find you a teacher to help you improve your skills.”
A warm glow of pleasure bloomed in my chest at his words. It spread through me, chasing away the chill of the mud and the lingering echoes of my family’s dismissal. “Really? You’d do that for me?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it.
His lips curved into a small smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Of course. Your talent is too precious to be left undeveloped.”
The cub, seemingly sensing that the danger had passed, nuzzled against my hand before bounding off into the underbrush. I watched it go, a sense of accomplishment filling me.
“Now,” the duke said, drawing my attention back to him, “we should return to the castle. I don’t want you catching a chill from all this mud and water.”
Before I could protest, he lifted me onto his stallion’s back with ease, his strong hands gripping my waist. I let out a small squeak of surprise, my hands automatically grasping the saddle horn.
The duke smoothly mounted behind me, his chest pressing against my back, solid and warm. I felt my heart begin to race anew, acutely aware of every point of contact between us. His arms came around me to grasp the reins, effectively caging me in his embrace.
“Comfortable?” he murmured, his breath tickling my ear.
I nodded mutely, not trusting my voice. The proximity was intoxicating, sending my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the warmth of his body seeping through my sodden clothes.
As we set off toward the castle, I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Despite the mud, the embarrassment, and the near-disasters, I realized I was feeling… happy. Truly, genuinely happy. The duke’s words of praise and encouragement echoed in my mind, a balm to years of self-doubt.
The scenery passed by in a blur of green and gold, the morning sun now high in the sky. I barely noticed it, too caught up in the sensation of riding with the duke. Every small movement, every slight adjustment of his posture sent a thrill through me.
And if I leaned back just a little into the duke’s embrace as we rode, well, I could always blame it on the uneven terrain. Or perhaps the lingering dizziness from my earlier panic. Yes, that would do nicely as an excuse.
As we approached the castle, its spires looming ever closer, a small part of me wished the ride could last just a little longer. Despite the disastrous start, this morning had turned into something… magical. And not just because of the healing.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder at the duke, only to find his eyes already on me. He smiled, a warm, genuine expression that made my breath catch.
“Thank you,” I said softly, hoping he could hear the sincerity in my voice. “For everything.”
His arm tightened slightly around me in response. “The pleasure was all mine, little dove. All mine.”