Page 3 of A Queen and Her Knight

He had somewhat wild hair at the moment, shining like the banister, and metal in his ears and leather cuffs at his wrists. Those were new or he didn’t normally wear them where Azar or Zarrin would see.

Azar continued down the stairs before he could look up and find her watching him, tugging one last time on the hem of her red shorts when it felt like they were riding higher than she would have preferred. After the disaster of her arrival last night, she’d wanted to look better—more put together.

She didn’t like flying. Thankfully, no one in her family had caught on to that, but her fears plus turbulence had left Azar shaken. She’d had days of exams and studying before then, which she’d been grateful for at the time since they’d meant she’d had that to focus on and not her impending summer at the mansion. She never knew what to feel about the place where her parents sent her and Zarrin when they didn’t want to deal with them. She loved the woods. She liked the house. She loved her brother. She hated that she was sent there because her parents were not proud of her.

And Bernard was there.

She’d seen him first thing as she’d gotten out of the car. Bernard had been on the porch with Zarrin, already home. Well…homewas what the mansion was to Zarrin, like with Bernard. Azar was merely in a familiar house, but the two of them werehome.

She had been a sleepless disaster: hair in a drooping ponytail, tired eyes, hungry because she hadn’t eaten on the plane, her study materials in her arms while the hired driver got her bags. Bernard came forward to take them in a band shirt with rolled-up short sleeves that clung to his biceps.

The driver had been trying not to show his fear of dragons but Azar had smelled it most of the way, distracting and uncomfortable and made worse when the driver stepped away from her before she could thank him.

Then Bernard had said, “Studying already?” with a disapproving glance over Azar. “It’s your summer vacation.”

A cloud of something had taken over Azar for those to be his first words to her in months. She’d walked past Bernard to greet Zarrin, and told him she was tired and wanted to go to bed, then left them both there, staring after her.

Azar was no kind of valedictorian. Of course, she wasn’t, no matter how hard she worked. But she didn’t want to disappoint her parents even more, so she studied in her spare moments. Bernard had probably just been worried, and instead of recognizing that, Azar had been rude and stupid because she was tired and Bernard had…. It didn’t matter. She was determined to do better now, anyway.

She kept her book in one hand at her hip, because shedidneed to study to get a jump on next year and stay ahead, but she kept the title facing out in case Bernard happened to have readThe Cherry Orchardand might want to talk about it.

She had a pencil case with her highlighters in her other hand, and tapped her rose-red fingernail on it before she controlled her nerves. Her nails were already red, but she’d painted them to match her lipstick. She’d only done a hint of eye makeup, not wanting to seem too obvious, and chosen a simple necklace of small gold chain for the same reason. Her earrings—hoops as large as she dared—were less subtle but she thought they went with the twist of her bun.

Without her parents around to see, she’d put on clothes borrowed from her roommate, red shorts that rested high on her thighs, but her roommate insisted Azar had the legs for them. Azar had almost put on a tank top, but then worried about her chest. Flat was fine for a dragon, but might not appeal to others, so she’d thrown on a loose, long-sleeved shirt with thumb holes at the cuffs that she’d cut in herself—another piece of clothing she never wore around her parents. She was casual and comfortable and elegant. Last night might not ever have happened.

The staircase gave her away and creaked beneath her tennis shoes.

Bernard looked up.

Azar’s heart pushed against her ribs and was nearly consumed by the fire inside her. A shock went all the way down to her toes and she worried she might trip, and then that she might blush. She could never seem to be cold-blooded how she was supposed to be, and wouldn’t forgive herself if it happened to her now, with Bernard gazing up at her as she came down the stairs.

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Azar,” he said. Azar felt herself slow and then stop. Bernard hadn’t put down his dusting cloth. “I was expecting Zarrin to wake up first,” he went on. “He mentioned wanting to go on an early hike.” Bernard glanced over Azar much as he had done the night before. He frowned and then possiblysmiled, but it was so quick Azar might have imagined it. “There’s no way your mother approved of those shorts.”

Azar glanced down without thinking. All of her tugging had not lowered the hem any. “I’m nearly eighteen,” she answered without thinking, louder than she’d meant to speak. “She doesn’t dress me.”

“Okay,” Bernard said, lifting his hands in a placating sort of way that he had no business using. “I take it from that you could use some breakfast.”

“Take it from what?” Azar asked in return, even louder before she caught herself and looked away from Bernard’s incredulous face. She realized a little too late what he meant and her voice crept higher again. “You think I’m upset because I haven’t eaten?”

“Don’t worry.” Bernard gave her a warm, crooked smile to go with his warm, friendly voice. Warm and friendly because he thought Azar was being irrational and ridiculous because she was hungry. “When I heard you were coming back this summer as well…”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Azar clutched her pencil case so hard it should have broken in two. “It’s as much my house as Zarrin’s.”

“Of course, it is.” Bernard’s eyebrows came together. Then he bent down to set his dusting cloth aside before he straightened back up. He cleared his throat. “I was just letting you know that I made some brioche for your french toast.”Herfrench toast meant the recipe with brioche, orange peel, honey, and cinnamon that Bernard had discovered in his first years of figuring out how to be a housekeeper. Zarrin liked it but Azar loved it. Bernard directed another brief smile her way, sending more lightning through Azar’s nervous system. “I got berries andcream too. I can make simple pancakes to satisfy Zarrin but you always did have a sweeter sweet tooth.”

Azar stared at him with eyes that almost felt like they were burning. “Yes, when I was a child.”

She was only one or two steps from the bottom of the stairs. One or two steps above him, and then another one or two steps from where he was standing. Close enough for her to see the quirk of his eyebrow and the way he pursed his lips.

Because he thought she still was a child. Or just childish.

Azar drew herself up, although she was not a large dragon. “I don’t eat that anymore. I’ll have oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal?” Bernard was absolutely astonished. “You loathe oatmeal.”

“No, I don’t,” Azar insisted. Then, uncomfortable with the lie, added, “I have it every day at school.”

“Because that’s what they serve.” Bernard stared at her while his eyebrows came together again. “That’s why you hate it. You said so last year.”

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