Page 4 of Gilded Locks

For the people, she settled deeper into her wobbly chair and refused to dance. The uneventful life of a rebel.

“Ugh. You’re a sourpuss. I just want to have some fun!” Lizzy tugged on Grace’s arm, but Grace gripped the sides of her seat. Her friend’s dainty arms were no match for those of a farmer and tree climber.

“Thenyougo dance with James Patton,” Grace said.

Lizzy’s eyes glinted. “Maybe I will.”

Grace pursed her lips. Why had she suggested that? Curses.

What does it matter?she asked herself. Yes, Grace had her eye on James Patton, but there was nothing between them yet.

“Oh, go on, dear,” Grace’s mother said from her seat behind Grace. Her words were an arrow to the back.

“No. I’m tired.”

“We’ll save your seat until you’re done,” Father said. Another arrow.

Grace tightened her grip. Nothing was getting her out of this chair. Not Lizzy, not her own restlessness, and certainly not her parents. “I’m far too worn to dance any more tonight, Lizzy. Please give James my best.”

Lizzy huffed and flounced off, but her annoyed expression evaporated the moment she faced James. Grace turned away and tried not to think of James smiling at beautiful Lizzy with her blonde hair piled in an elegant updo, her lips reddened with strawberries, and her figure accentuated by her cherry-blossom-pink linen dress.

“Fledgling…” Mother wove soft chastisement into the term of endearment as she placed her hand on Grace’s shoulder. Grace flinched away.

“I’m eighteen now. I’m one of you.”

“Very well.”

They dropped the matter and returned to the silent observation Lizzy had interrupted.

Indignation hardened inside Grace. How could her parents suggest she go with Lizzy? They’d placed her own verdure cloak about her shoulders and secured the clasp at her robing ceremony. She was a true Protector now. They had to stop treating her like a trainee if she was ever going to handle the responsibility on her own.

On her own.

Grace’s eyes drifted to the empty chair to her left, her mind filling it with memories.

Jonathan, tousled hair, laugh lines on a face the color of baked clay, lounging carelessly, mischief so much a part of his being it was almost tangible. “Took you long enough to join us. I’m languishing here by myself.”

“It’ll do you some good,” she replied.

“I knew it was intentional!”

Their parents shushed them. “The toasts are about to begin,” Mr. Ferrer said.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, leaning closer to Grace to whisper.

“Next timeIget to avoid this useless protest.”

“Good luck getting me to sit first.”

The challenge ignited Jonathan’s determination, as Grace knew it would. She smiled.

As they were shushed once again, Grace whispered, “Two years.”

Like salve to a burn, the words calmed Jonathan, and he nodded in agreement. The two of them settled back to sit in boring, useless silence while the rest of the gentry spouted artificial praise of their leader.

The memory faded and the emptiness returned.

Two years.

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