Fear of Fire and Shadow (The Fade #1) - Samantha Young Page 0,13

for what they assumed was a noblewoman to purchase some expensive bauble from them—I loved the market in that moment. Because I was alone. All alone. Free.

I was quick on my feet, dodging persistent sellers and hopefully any of the Guard who may have followed me. In no time at all, I found the stall with the fabric that called to my magic. I recognized it immediately. Velvet, the color of lapis lazuli, made from the finest silk in the textile factories in Ryl. Haydyn would look wonderful in it. I reached out to stroke the beautiful fabric when a hand clamped around my wrist.

“No, no, miss.” I looked up into the ruddy face of the market seller. “Not the right color for you, miss. Come see some of my silks.” He tried to pull me toward the more expensive material. I tugged on his grip, but he was determined.

I grew irritated by his persistence. “Sir—”

“With a face and figure like yours, you shouldn’t hide behind heavy textures. Fine silks, miss, fine silks for you.”

I tugged again. Oh yes. This was why I hated the marketplace.

A large hand came down on top of the seller’s, ripping it from my own and holding it tight. Both the seller and I looked up into the angry face of Wolfe Stovia.

“You dare to lay your hand on the princezna’s handmaiden?” Wolfe growled at the man.

The seller blanched as he looked at me, recognition finally dawning. “Oh, my lady, I meant no disrespect.”

Wolfe grunted and shoved the man away a little. “Lady or servant, I see you trying to coerce a woman again, and you and I will have words.”

I’d never seen anyone look so green with fear. “Apologies, my lord. I was overexcited. It won’t happen again. Apologies, my lady.”

Oh, for haven’s sake. “I’m not a lady,” I snapped, furious at Wolfe for drawing attention to the situation and blowing it out of proportion. The overbearing lout. I glared at him. “You, sir, are a bully.”

Wolfe frowned at me. “And you are the Handmaiden of Phaedra and as such, a lady. You are not to allow strange men to touch you.”

“I’ll allow a mountain man of Alvernia to touch me before I take advice from you, Stovia.” Dismissing him, agitated by his presence, his ruination of my pretense at freedom, I turned to the seller. “I want one bolt of the lapis lazuli velvet and one of the emerald silk chiffon.”

I relaxed a little at having completed my task for Haydyn, but then my body hummed with energy again. I turned without thinking toward a stall some quarter of the way back into the middle of the market. The fabric that would suit me most was in there somewhere. Damn Haydyn. Damn being an Azyl.

I spun back to the seller. “Have the fabric delivered to the palace and ask for Seamstress Rowan. You’ll be paid well for your troubles.”

He nodded, doing this obscene half-bow/curtsy thing that made me throw a growl in Wolfe’s direction. Turning sharply from them both, I followed my magic across the marketplace and drew in a breath at the pleasant sandalwood scent that signaled Wolfe had fallen into step beside me.

I stopped abruptly. “What are you doing?”

Wolfe shrugged, refusing to look at me, refusing to leave. “Just one of the more unpleasant jobs of being captain of the Guard. Protecting you.”

“We are droll, aren’t we?”

“Some people think I’m charming.” He grinned flirtatiously at a passing tavern girl who continued to eye him over her bare shoulder as we walked away.

“Some people don’t know any better.”

“Ooh, is that judgment I hear in the voice of the lady who was flirting with a mere stable boy this morning?”

I gritted my teeth. “Stable master.”

Wolfe raised one annoying eyebrow. “As if that makes it any more palatable. You know he’s bedded every woman in the palace. You’re not special.”

My blood boiled beneath my skin, as it did whenever I was forced to be in proximity to this man. I tried to take deep, calming breaths. I did. I really, really did. It didn’t work. “Who I choose to converse with is of no consequence to you, Captain Stovia. And may I remind you to whom you are speaking?”

He threw me a mocking look. “So, there is a snob buried under all that ‘I’m not a lady, I’m not a lady, I’m just like everyone else’ piffle?”

“I am just like everyone else. Except,” I snapped, “when it comes to you. You will talk to