Page 27 of Lore of the Wilds

Oh stars, thistle, and sage.

This was probably her doom.

What did the fae do with thieves?

Her gaze slowly slid up from the sticky lemon jelly clinging to the gleaming golden buttons of the uniform, to a vaguely familiar chin, to the guard’s smirk, two prominent dimples, and piercing onyx eyes.

Relief shot through her. Asher.

Lore’s lips pursed, and she decided to ignore his raised eyebrow.

“I recognize that garland. Tsk tsk. Just like a little mouse to be thieving pastries from the crown. Turns out I was right all along.” His voice shook with what she thought was poorly restrained laughter.

Lore sniffed, stepping back half a step—sage, he was tall. She glared, shaking her head. Wild curls flew around her face. She put on a shocked expression. “I would never. I was told to bring these—er—cookies to...” She trailed off.

At what point would she have been ordered to bring cookies anywhere? Why hadn’t she included an alibi in her plan?

His smirk deepened into a mischievous grin. “Mmm-hmm,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I know exactly where a thief like you can enjoy their spoils. Come with me.” The guard turned, walking toward the door.

Lore hesitated, confusion shooting through her. It was almost like he was two different fae males: the one who wouldn’t speak to her while on duty and the one he allowed her to glimpse so rarely.

She stepped reluctantly after him. “If you take me to the dungeons, I swear...”

He turned; his eyebrow raised again. He pushed his hands through his thick hair, tapping one of his antlers, the same way someone else might crack their knuckles or chew their lip. It seemed to be a habit of his.

“You’ll what, exactly?” He turned away once more and quickened his pace. “Just follow me, thief.”

Lore huffed, but followed him, nonetheless, clutching the bowl to her chest. She ought to be afraid, but something in his playful tone put her at ease. Besides, what else was she going to do—sit by herself in her room all night? Wallow in lonesome self-pity while eating every single cookie she’d nabbed?

“Where are you bringing me?” She had to raise her voice a little, given the distance between them, and quickened her pace.

His long legs had carried him out of the dining hall and far into the corridor already. He paused for a moment, turning to her, and she almost bumped right into him again.

“Let us start over for tonight,” he said. “Let’s pretend that this is our first meeting. I am not your guard. You are not my charge.” He tilted his head a smidge, midnight eyes sparkling in the torchlight of the corridor, and reached out a large hand, palm up. “I’m Asher Gylthrae. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you.”

She would play along. Pretend he hadn’t been her constant guard for weeks now. “Seeing as you refused to give me your name when we first ran into each other by the dungeons, I believe it’s your fault we haven’t formally met yet,” she chided.

His smirk grew, as if taking delight in her standoffishness, but he kept his hand outstretched. Lore reached out with one hand, shaking his. His fingers were calloused, and the muscle of his arm flexed against the sleeve of his uniform. By looking at his broad shoulders, she had already gleaned that he must be very skilled with the twin swords he wore low on his hips.

Asher Gylthrae.

He brushed his calloused thumb against her palm, sending lightning up her wrist. Her core warmed and her stomach tumbled around as if moths had suddenly taken flight.

“Again, true, little mouse. I suppose I owe you an apology for my standoffish behavior,” he replied.

“Lore Alemeyu.” She tightened her fingers on his hand, her lips widening into a smile. “And I don’t think that constitutes as an apology.”

Asher dropped her hand, grinning. “I said I owe you one, not that I’d give one,” he said over his shoulder as he turned and headed back down the corridor.

She shouldn’t trust this guard and yet... she snorted as he led her through the twisting corridors and out through a side entrance to one of the garden paths.

When they pushed through the door, her breath caught in her throat. Chilly, ice-kissed air brushed against her face, blowing her curls around. She glanced every which way, drinking in the sights.

Though this looked to be one of the castle’s smaller gardens—at least compared to the one she had seen through the window in the library—it had still been completely transformed for the festival. Lit paper lanterns hanging on string were wrapped around tree trunks and branches, were bobbing in the fountains, and were artfully placed in patterns around shrubs. Candles floated along the pathways, clearly magicked. Heaps of pumpkins and gourds in every autumnal shade imaginable were stacked in elaborate displays.

Fae roamed, and though their attire was usually beautiful, tonight they had outdone themselves. Dresses made of delicate fabric shimmered in the lantern light like the incandescent wings of beetles. They had drinks in hand and were smiling, something Lore had rarely seen in the fae. They all were clearly enjoying the festival. Some danced together to lilting music; the band was playing a slow tune that reminded Lore of the wind dancing through autumn leaves. But where that tune yielded to the autumn night, another in the distance tried to keep up with the wind in a jovial race.

Lore realized there wasn’t just one band, but various forms of entertainment sprinkled throughout the grounds. A juggler here, a storyteller there, and, farther down one path, she could see a small theater troupe putting on a performance.

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