found the quaint market town of Paimpont, where they’d dropped their bags and made their lives.
Lilac listened intently through her hefty helping, disguising her awe with contentedness. It was the first time he’d revealed any detail of his family history, and for all Lilac knew, he’d told the story of his own parents, instead.
Or, it was all a lie. Just as good, just as convincing as the others he’d told.
Only after she’d scarfed down an entire thigh did she glance up to see Jeanare retrieving a half loaf of sliced bread and cheese from the kitchen. She eyed the wheel of soft cheese with chagrin; it looked and smelled incredible, but she had started to grow full. Garin, however, happily accepted a slice.
Lilac fought to keep her expression deadpan as she watched him in her peripheral. Despite the fact that they were among strangers, he had easily made himself at home. He complimented the couples’ abode and it’s fourteenth century architecture all while helping himself to a second slice of cheese-topped meslin. Lilac couldn’t help but smile at her faux partner; it was a side of him she’d never seen. Even if it was a facade, he played it well enough to be entirely believable, even for Lilac. And at least no one questioned her contented silence since she’d supposedly just been attacked by a vampire; there would not be much else to say. The whole story wasn’t too far off from the truth, she mused thoughtfully, chasing a small bite of potato around her plate with her fork.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Garin’s toe nudged hers. “Some blood, dear?”
She dropped her fork with a clatter onto the stoneware. “What?” she replied a little too hastily.
He held a beautiful, roughly etched glass out to her, filled halfway with a deep red liquid. Another like it, though empty, was tucked in the crook of his elbow. As she shrank back from him, he mirrored the movement, pulling the glass away. “Some Bordeaux, dear? Did I… is there something wrong?” The laugh that followed was light, but his brow furrowed concernedly above his eyes, which scanned her with minute scrutiny.
Just then, Jeanare returned from his second trip to the kitchen, both hands cradling a terracotta bowl of steaming golden liquid. “Or, if wine isn’t your cup, we have cider here.”
Breton cider was a local staple of the west coast and Rennes, she knew that much about her country. Her parents never kept it in the castle; it was too much of a commoner’s drink for her mother’s liking.
Lilac turned red as the liquid in the glass, then let out a flustered giggle. “I apologize. It’s just… the tire of our journey catching up to me, that’s all. I’ll gladly have a glass of cider.”
“You both should get some good rest today,” said Sable consolingly as Garin poured and slid her the glass of cider across the table. “We won’t bother you. Leave when you’d like.”
To be honest, she could’ve stayed in the cozy farmhouse for ages. The princess grinned to herself, realizing she would have a whole day to sleep in again. She wondered if Garin had planned it that way on purpose; they’d eat a nice meal together to build trust with their hosts, allowing them to excuse themselves upstairs without appearing suspicious. It probably should have intimidated her how adept he was at… whatever fooling the entire world was called.
He sipped his own glass while handing hers over. As she grasped the stem, his fingers lingered upon hers long enough for her to notice.
She cradled the cup and took a dainty sip. Absently brushing her fingers against the carved patterns, she froze, feeling something different. Removing the cup from her lips, she traced her nail along a lone letter, intricately woven into the crystal.
An unmistakable “T”.
18
Lilac stared at the insignificant detail. Something like déjà vu nagged at her memory, tugging from within her subconscious. The longer she studied the glass, the closer to the surface it floated. Garin held an identical glass while Jeanare and Sable drank from stone goblets.
“These glasses are stunning,” she commented. “Were they wedding gifts?”
Jeanare chuckled. “If only we had such acquaintances. They came with the house—in the aumbry, actually. They didn’t belong to the family who’d sold us the property, either.” He gave a mischievous smile.
“They must very old.” Lilac swallowed thickly.
“Might even be haunted.”
Sable shot her husband a warning glance, but he was already on his second hefty glass of wine. “Aye,” he chided