Page 47 of Scarred
It isn’t until the door shuts behind her, echoing off the arched ceiling and stone pillars, that I drop my shoulders and relax, turning to look at my closest friend. The one who’s felt like a stranger since arriving here.
A smile breaks across my face and she mirrors it, both of us bursting into giggles.
“I don’t think she likes me,” I say through the laughter.
Sheina’s blue eyes sparkle. “I don’t think she likes anyone.”
My hands rest on my hips, my head cocking to the side. “I’m pretty confident she likes my soon-to-be husband fairly well.”
Her brows shoot to her hairline. “No, do you think? Is she one of his mistresses?”
I lift a shoulder. “Who’s to say? I’m sure he has several. For all I know,youcould be one.”
She shoves at my shoulder. “Please, Sara. Be realistic.”
“Well, what do I know? I brought you along to be my lady-in-waiting, and yet you’ve been like one of the ghosts you claim haunt the castle.”
Her smile drops, fingers tangling in front of her. “I’m sorry, don’t be mad. I just...” Looking to the side, her cheeks grow rosy.
My chest pulls tight. “What is it?”
“I’ve met someone,” she whispers. “He’s a general in the king’s military and he’s…everything.”
My eyes widen, surprise dropping like a lead weight in my gut. “Already?”
“He’s very handsome. And very good at… other things.” The pink on her cheeks turns splotchy.
I lift my brows, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my cheeks. “And you callmethe wicked girl.”
Her hands shoot up to cover her face and she groans into them. “I’m foolish.” Looking up, she reaches out to grab my palm with hers. “But I won’t disappear on you again. I’m sorry I did.”
The middle of my stomach burns in warning, just like it always does when my intuition is pricking at me, screaming to pay attention. “Well, do I get to meet the mystery man?”
Her features stiffen, and the change in her energy spikes through me like an arrow.
Something is off.
“I’d love that,” she says.
But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
* * *
“I wantto go back to the queen’s garden. Will you remind me how to get there?”
I peer up at Timothy from behind the top of my poetry book. He sits in the chaise by the fireplace in my sitting room, his body the most relaxed I’ve seen. Ever since he was forced to speak to me in the forest, he’s loosened up, and as long as we’re in my private quarters—which he actually steps into now as long as other people are present—he graces me with his beautiful voice.
Turns out, he’s not such a dead fish after all.
“Why?” he questions.
My brows rise and I set down my book. “Well, I’d rather leave the castle entirely, but I’m sure you won’t allow that, since apparently becoming engaged is akin to regressing into an adolescent who needs a nanny.”
His forehead scrunches. “Are you calling me your nanny?”
I shrug. “What else would you call it?”
He purses his lips. “I requested to be your guard.”
