a few seconds longer than he should have—she was so warm, and even under the scent of smoke that permeated her clothes, she still smelled faintly of paper and ink.
It took all his self-control to pull back and smile at her. “Goodnight, Myth. Remember—just a scream away.”
A loose frown invaded Myth’s lips. “You need to reword that. It sounds disturbing.” And just like that, she took her leave of him.
Arvel laughed at her closed door for a moment before he turned to the Honor Guards. “You have your assignments?”
The guards parted into pre-organized groups, half clustering around Myth’s closed door while the other half remained in formation behind him.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” One of the soldiers who moved to stand guard at Myth’s door saluted him. “A squad under Captain Wilford will replace us after midnight, and another squad from Captain Grygg will replace them in the morning.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness!”
Arvel nodded to the men and women standing guard, then headed back the way they had come—this time at a markedly faster pace.
As he passed through the stone archway, he wasn’t quite able to stop the laughter that threatened to break the quiet of the hallway.
After giving me a pep talk about honor and my position, she tells me my words are disturbing. Hah! He shook his head and grinned. I don’t know if there is anyone in the world who cares less about my title than Myth.
The realization made him stop in the middle of the hallway. He turned around and looked back at the royal wing.
And there isn’t another woman I care more about. He furrowed his brow as he was almost afraid to let the thought form. She’s become so much to me. But every time I test it, she reminds me that she’s an “employee”. Unless I really flirt with her, but then I run the risk of making her feel uncomfortable. It’s such a careful balance, and for the life of me I can’t seem to get her to tip toward me!
It occurred to Arvel that it was, perhaps, the greatest irony that he—who fled eligible ladies every week ever since he was named heir—was now chasing after an eligible young lady who didn’t flee from him per se, but was choosing to be very…difficult to sway.
“Your Royal Highness? Is something wrong?” the Honor Guard directly behind Arvel asked.
“Sorry, no. Just lost in thought.” Arvel shook his head, as if he could clear it that easily, and strode off to find his father and continue their conversation about the investigation.
I have time with Myth. For now, the thing of greatest importance is to see that she is safe…and to punish Uncle Julyan for his flagrant illegal activities, and for making Myth cry as if her heart was breaking.
Myth tried to swallow, and instead almost choked on her own spit.
She clutched the leather satchel that held the Fulton ledgers to her chest as she coughed. Eventually, she was coughing so hard she had to lean against one of the wooden railings of the raised bridge she stood on.
Plopped in front of her was a magnificent tear-shaped building. From a distance it appeared white and glittery, but this close Myth could see the massive windows that seemed to defy physics and twist around the sides of the tear. The windows made up most of the walls, with the exception of the white stone framework that gave the building structure. A stream of water curled around it, emptying into the channel Myth’s bridge crossed.
As she stared at the beautiful building, Myth’s hands shook, and the air seemed unbearably hot.
I’m being an idiot. This is the Translators’ Circle. I live here. It’s not terrifying or fear inducing.
And yet, standing in front of the building, Myth wished herself just about anywhere else. But that wasn’t so much because of the building, as because of what she was about to do.
Myth made it a personal policy to refrain from asking for help. It was always better to find the answer herself or to muddle through on her own even if it took extra time. Because that was far better than to ask and be ignored, or to annoy someone, or then to even hear the unwillingness in a person’s voice and witness how little they wished to help her.
Blaise was the only exception to this rule. Or she had been. Myth had become painfully aware the past few days just how much she’d come to trust Arvel. It was