Page 106 of Prince of Masks
I have been here many times, wandering the lush greenery, soaking up the sunrays, weaving around the hedges and the trees.
Eric doesn’t know it, of course, that I am guiding him to a particular spot beyond the boating lake, tucked away in the Queen Mary Gardens.
He has no clue as he babbles on about his apprenticeship, and that he’s sure he’ll be offered a permanent position at Bluestone, that the role of Master Milton is full enough that the load would be better shared.
I nod and smile and hum when appropriate.
Eric thinks I’m listening, and I sort of am, I hear the words droning on and on, but I just can’t unstick my mind from the route: Left at the cherries, right at the old toilets, around the gazebo that’s often filled with teenagers, but not today, not this cold, grey day.
I lead him into the thicker parts of the gardens, where the trees are willows, and cute little bridges arch over the smallest streams, and the flowers are often bloomed all around, but not now, not in winter.
Once we’re over the bridge and past the flock of ducks, I let my wandering steps guide me under the drape of the willow.
Eric ducks to follow, his words failing him as his brow starts to crease. “Where are we going?”
I turn to smile at him, my steps unfaltering, slowly backstepping over the soil. I touch my finger to my lips, a hush, before I turn my back on him.
Eric’s frown remains, but he shadows me through the winter garden, deeper into the shield of trees.
“Here.” I gesture to the grass so light and long that it’s somewhat shaggy looking.
I love the grass here.Willowy.
Soft.
Eric peels off his coat, then drapes it over the dewy grass. I’m quick to drop onto it—right in the middle.
The coat shields my dress from the dampness of the grass, the soil.
Eric hesitates.
His gaze cuts around the coat, as though he searches for a spot to sit down.
But I take up the whole thing.
His lashes flutter with a rapid blink, then he throws his gaze to mine.
My smile tugs.
Slowly, I fall onto my back.
His face shutters.
The surprise, the shock, it has himhesitating.
A cold flurry spreads through my chest.
The nervous pinch of his mouth, sucking his lips inwards as he casts a swift look around our private nook of the park, it ices me.
He’s going to reject me.
Reject what I am so clearly offering.
Asta…
That name thrums through me.
It thrums through him.
