It didn’t look like anyone was here yet. While part of Tiffany was glad for that, given that meant she’d be alone with time to think, the rest of her knew why that was. And in the privacy of her own head she could admit that she wasn’t thrilled.

It really was too bad that the inn was the last project she had for the year. With winter moving in, she’d have nothing to do until spring came around and quite honestly, she wasn’t the sort of person who was happy with enforced idleness. Maybe I should take up a hobby. She thought. Learn to paint, or weave fabric, or grow plants. Or maybe she’d spend the winter months planning new public works buildings.

Something to keep her occupied. Because if she had to listen to Fiona lark on about anything much longer, she was going to kill her. And killing your king’s girlfriend was probably a bad idea.

Maybe I should spend the winter getting to know Gray. She snorted to herself as she pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard. Emanuel had done a really good job with the flowers outside. It was kind of riotously bright, but in a welcoming way. But Emanuel circled her back around the same old problem.

Because Emanuel had proposed to Kennedy, probably in counter to her “scandalous” idea of cohabitation. While it certainly wouldn’t bother Kennedy if people talked about her living with Emanuel without putting a ring on it, it would probably bother other people. And the stress of it bothering other people might put Emanuel back on the bottle.

But Kennedy’d be moving into her new house just after the wedding and that was going to leave her in the barn with Jennica and the idiots. Stupid was all over young like white on rice. She could live with the fact that Zahrah and Fiona still had some growing up to do. At least she hoped that at some point they’d grow up.

She just didn’t know how well she’d do with being cooped up in a house with the two of them all winter. Which she would be. Unless she wanted to subject all of her friends to old third wheel Tiffany–one or the other of them got married. She sighed and ran her hand over the back of one of the chairs.

And here in the privacy of her own head, she might as well be honest with herself, that was bothering her too. Her dad had always ruffled her hair and quoted Ferris Bueller at her “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” And she did, it was always like she’d look up and there’d be another chunk of life gone by.

The night of the prom, she’d an hour and a half late to the dance because she and her date, Sherman Wallenstein, had been building an Eiffel Tower out of celery sticks and cream cheese frosting. Homecoming, in college, even the year they’d been winning, she spent the game in the library because it was quiet, and the one party she went to she spent it building a scale model of the great pyramid out of beer cans.

She’d always got caught up in a project or an idea or whatever and suddenly there was life, gone by. She’d promised her dad–or at least his memory–when she ended up here in Shadowcrest that she wouldn’t do it again. She’d live life here and now.

Except she hadn’t. She’d gotten caught up in building and city planning–then the castle. The castle. Hmmm, was that door hung square? She paused and tested the close on it. She’d give her left arm for a laser level. Well, actually not. She needed both arms. How about Fiona’s left arm?

All Fiona did with them was gesture wildly, do her nails and wrap them around Lock like a Kudzu vine. But that was mean. She probably did more than that–besides it wasn’t fair to inconvenience someone as much as losing a limb would just so she could get a bit more square on a door. Besides, the door seemed square enough.

Tiffany had woken up nearly eighteen months after arriving in Shadowcrest to find herself with nothing much to do, a whole season of idleness ahead of her, and everyone neatly paired off around her. Except Tate. Who was a really sweet kid–but not exactly the man of her dreams. Besides, he was sweet on Zahrah. Although who knew where that was going. And Gray, who she spent an hour a week arguing with over matters of city planning. And not in the cute When Harry Met Sally sort of arguing.

There wasn’t even any–passion in it–the sort of arguing she and Gray did was as interesting and exciting as Melba toast. And other than their weekly arguments about the way she was rebuilding Shadowcrest, they had nothing in common, no shared passions, nothing to talk about. The one person of the right gender she did have that with–was taken.

And she wasn’t equipped to take on her “rival”. Sure, maybe, in the movies it would all work out. But Tiffany knew they weren’t living in the movies. He wasn’t going to see her drab-feathers past all her tinsel and flash.

Was it sad that he really did rather remind her of Sherman? The only thing Tiffany had had that was close to a boyfriend in high school. Why, she didn’t know, they looked nothing alike, and even their personalities were different. Sherman had been brilliant, but he had no concept of people. He had no philosophy to offset his science. Math, he understood, emotion he didn’t.

Tiffany flopped down on a stool and stared at the wine keg ahead of her. Nice of Emanuel to donate his stash of “the good stuff” to the cause of opening the pub. Kennedy said it hadn’t even been her idea. That was good though, it meant that he was really serious about getting sober, which was good. And then Kennedy would get married.

Maybe–the borders were opening–that was scheduled to happen in just a few days. That was why they’d been pushing to get the inn open now. Not that they expected too many people crossing over the border before winter set in, but it’d be better to have a place to house them.

Maybe, if Fiona and Zahrah get too annoying I’ll take one of the rooms here. She thought, tracing the wood on the bar with one finger. The door opened behind her and she turned to look at the king who grinned at her for a moment, but continued to hold the door open and her stomach fell, so she didn’t immediately climb down off the bar stool.

“You know you’re supposed to rise when the king comes into the room.” Fiona’s voice, complete with affected girlish lilt, came as she was trying to convince her insides that they really didn’t need to go check on the kitchen without the rest of her.

“No, really?” Tiffany heard herself say before she could stop herself. Both Wesley and Lock gave her puzzled glances while Fiona glared. Jennica offered a smile that seemed sympathetic, but who knew if it actually was, considering she and Fiona were best friends.

“Well–,” Fiona started.

“She knows, Fi. Leave off.” Jennica said.

“Your majesty, Sir Wesley, Fiona, Jennica.” Tiffany said by way of greeting as she walked over to the group of new arrivals.

“Sorry we’re late. The ride took us a little longer than we thought it would, Lady Tiffany.” Lock said. He only ever called her that any more when Fiona was around. It probably wasn’t a coincidence.

“Meh, it’s okay. I just went and checked all the doors and windows and what not, not like I exactly need my hand held for that part, your majesty.” Tiffany said.

“So why do you need King Lachlan to come to every one of your buildings before you finish it?” Fiona asked.

“Uh, habit? I mean usually the contractor and architect would meet up with the client before signing off on the building.” Tiffany said after a moment’s thought. Now that Fiona mentioned it she didn’t know why she did it other than that–not that she really wanted to admit that to Fiona.

“But isn’t your client here Olivia?” Fiona asked.

“And she should be here soon, too.” Tiffany said, trying valiantly not to let Fiona get her goat.

“But couldn’t you just do the walk-through with her?” Fiona pressed.

“Lady Fiona.” Sir Wesley said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“So what’s with all the plants?” Fiona said, seemingly changing the subject.

“I thought Lady Olivia liked plants.” Lock said, sounding puzzled by the comment.

“Well, I just thought this was a bar, not a greenhouse.”

“Not every bar has to be a dance club or smoky dive. And I do like plants.” Olivia said from behind Fiona, causing the dark-haired girl to jump. “I don’t happen to think pub and plants have to be mutually exclusive.” Olivia grinned a rather feral grin at Fiona.

“The place looks amazing, Tiffany.” She gave Tiffany a hug. “It turned out better than I imagined.”

“And she imagined a lot.” Zahrah put in.

“Silence, peasant.” Olivia tossed her head regally. “I mean, please be quiet, assistant, you’re ruining my mystique. So, how bout we christen my new bar?” She chuckled, brown eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you want to make sure the building isn’t going to fall down, first?” Fiona asked.

“Nah, I trust Tiff, why? Don’t you?” Olivia asked, Fiona’s mouth worked for a minute before closing in a bitter line.

“So, do I get some wine?” Zahrah asked, hopping onto her barstool as Fiona slid into the seat next to Tiffany, leaving Lock with the end.

“I dunno, you legal?” Olivia said pouring a wine into the glasses.

“Um. Am I legal?” Zahrah looked at Wesley and Lock who exchanged puzzled glances.

“Legal for what, exactly?” Wesley finally offered.

“To drink.” Zahrah’s tone and expression were just so–teenager–as she said it. Like it was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked. “What is Shadowcrest’s legal drinking age?”

“I’m gonna guess by the blank looks, there isn’t one, drink up, kiddo.” Olivia slid a glass down the bar at Zahrah. Rather amazingly it skidded to a stop without slopping over, right in front of Zahrah. After they all had a glass of wine, Olivia raised her glass and intoned solemnly. “And here’s to the bar with no name.” And if Tiffany glanced to her left before adding her “Hear, hear.” and drank maybe a bit too much for a toast, no one commented.

They’re home! They’re back! Thaniel tumbled out of his bed, tripping over his tiny feet and nearly faceplanting before running for the door. After a moment’s thought, he sat down, tail wagging. It was sit, right? Not chew, pee, or beg for food. When Master bent over and patted the top of his head, he knew he’d done right.

And then the lady that Master liked. Thaniel only tried to like the people Master liked, but it was hard sometimes. They were all nice to him, gave him treats and scratches, and that made it hard to not like them. Maybe when he was older he’d be better at it.

Still it was easily dismissed as Lady tickled his ears and rubbed his tummy.

Play time seemingly done, Thaniel laid down on the rug in the sun and watched as Master sat on the high bench. Lady hesitated a moment and then slid onto the bench beside him.

“Alistair?” She kicked her foot back and forth, worrying with the thick fabric of her skirts.

“Hmm?”

“Why isn’t your house as nice as everyone else’s? I mean it’s nice.” She looked around the room. “But, it’s kinda–I dunno–bare.”

“I prefer the spare look.” Master said with a brief lift of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be brave with me.” Lady said. “If it bugs you, you can tell me.”

“My lady, I don’t need you to go to battle for me.” Master smiled. “There are no dragons in need of slaying here.” He tipped his shoulder into Lady’s and she blushed and giggled.

“Why–why did you come back to Shadowcrest? I mean…” Lady dropped off and bit her lip.

“For my father.” He smiled but it didn’t seem like a real smile. More the kind that he tended to give the horse-man who came by to talk about things sometimes. Thaniel knew that Master really didn’t like the horse-man, he was always in a foul mood whenever the horse-man left. Almost as bad as when the herb-lady came. Thankfully she’d only come twice.

“But–didn’t he disown you?” Lady asked, cocking her head to the side as Thaniel did when he didn’t understand something that Master said.

“Aye.” Master said. Thaniel wasn’t sure what “father” was, but though he’d never met Master’s father, Thaniel knew he didn’t like him most of all. He made Master more angry than horse-man and herb-lady together.”But he was still my father.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’d probably go back to my father if he were sick or hurt, even with all the stuff between us.” Lady sounded sad. Odd, Lady had a “father” that made her sad and Master had a “father” who made him angry. Thaniel chewed on the itchy spot by his tail.

“Aye. Fathers are like that.”

“My aunt used to say that parents always knew where the hooks were cause they put ‘em there.” Her foot thumped against the wood of the high bench. Thaniel gave up on the itchy spot by his tail for a new itchy spot behind his ear. His foot sorta sounded like Lady’s as it hit the floor.

“This is not untrue.” Master said. Lady looked at Master.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You didn’t really, my lady.” Master said smoothly.

“I never know.” Lady slid off the high Bench and turned to face Master. “You guys never talk about it. I mean it’s like life didn’t exist here before Kennedy showed up. Except for Emanuel’s booze problem and the cemeteries all over the place.”

“That is more or less the Crestian way, work, work, work so that the bad of the past cannot catch up to you.” Master agreed, slipping off the bench to stand facing Lady. The smell in the room had changed slightly, Thaniel didn’t like it, that smell. Though neither Master nor Lady seemed to notice.

“The whole stiff upper lip thing.” Lady nodded.

“Well, I guess we needed stiff somethings.” Master took a step closer to Lady, and the smell jumped. Thaniel wrinkled his tiny nose, if they kept this up, he’d have to go for food, or maybe wriggle through the bars and go play with the skunk.

“And everything else was taken?” Lady batted her lashes at Master. Yep, definitely had to go somewhere else. Neither Master nor Lady noticed as he made his way to the back door and pushed it open.

Lady was gone when Thaniel came back from getting his snack. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lady, after all she seemed to make Master happy. Although he was the one who was really supposed to make Master happy, it’s just they got so–odd when they were alone together. Thaniel didn’t like odd.

“At least Zahrah doesn’t tell me my house is cute.” Master said. “You are supposed to be cute.” Thaniel wagged his tiny tail looking up at Master. Cute was good, right? “A house is supposed to be impressive, opulent, intimidating even. But no, that smug little chit gives me a house that’s cute and then tells me it suits me.”

“If even Lady Zahrah can tell that my house is hardly more than a shack, then something is definitely wrong. I’d bet, even after our falling out, my father would be horrified to see me living in this. I’ve got the blood of kings, and the house of a back country squire.” Master snarled. But he wasn’t snarling at Thaniel, at least Thaniel didn’t think so. He seemed to be snarling at the rug, but why?

Rugs didn’t make houses. Rugs did less than Thaniel did. Some day Thaniel would be able to do more–when he grew into his feet–and the rug would still be a rug.

Master kept muttering, but it was getting harder and harder to pay attention to what he was saying, the fire was warm at Thaniel’s back, and beyond the sound of Master’s muttering, the sounds of popping wood and crackling ash, night birds and crickets wove together like the strains of a lullaby and before the puppy knew it, he was off to sleep.

—

Gray had always preferred to think that he was cautious, not paranoid. Surely there were more important things than if Tate showed up to work one day. But the thing was, Tate always showed up to work. Unless the king gave him the day off, Tate was there, sick or well, no matter the weather. If he was too sick to work, he let Lock make that call, he never made it himself.

So when Gray had arrived, mid morning, with a stack of paperwork the size of a small child in tow and Dumpling hadn’t been in the stables, Gray had thought it odd. But not entirely remarkable, after all he could have taken the horse to run an errand for Lock or something. But when Wesley had come in with a rather sad luncheon of leftovers and told them that after the meeting he would go down to Master Jarrett’s and speak with Olivia about coming up to the castle to cook dinner that night, a spark of worry crept through Gray’s veins.

Tate not only wasn’t there, he hadn’t been there all day. Gray’s father, what felt like several lifetimes ago, had told him that being a steward was half answering questions and half asking them. Sometimes men didn’t show up for work. Finding out why was the steward’s job. But usually the ones you had to question were the ones with a list of excuses as long as their arm for why they weren’t at work. Not the ones who always were.

Tate lived alone, except for a cat. A dog you might train to go for help, a cat–well no one trained a cat–there were any number of things that could have happened, fire, head injury, he could have been thrown from his horse, or kicked, something could have fallen on him. And unless someone came along in time…

Gray had excused himself from the meeting, which was just a bunch of diplomatic bullshit sent from Archerglen and had headed down the hill to Tate’s. The house was still standing, seemingly untouched, but silent as a grave. No sign of Tate in the garden or out front.

He paused, for a moment, hand on the familiar wooden gate, but he heard nothing. “Tate?” Gray called. All that answered him was a faint echo of his own voice.

The door hadn’t been locked, that meant that Tate was still home. He always locked the door when he went up to the castle, even if Gray wasn’t certain why. But every room in the house was empty of anything living.

The barn, maybe? The snickt of the door closing behind him, seemed very loud as did the rustle of the thatch in the breeze.

Butterscotch appeared in the doorway of the barn and twined around his ankles. Dumpling was still in her stall, but nothing looked out of place. Something had been going on with Tate since Lord Dolph’s wedding, but none of them knew what it was, they’d all chalked it up to him being a teenager, most teenagers were moody and sullen at times. But what if there was more to it than that.

He stood up when a sound caught his ear. It was a cry, the sound of something in pain. “Tate?” Gray asked, peering into the semi-gloom of the barn. The sound immediately cut off. If it had been one of the kittens, the sound would have gotten louder, not stopped. Dumpling danced in place and Gray stepped further into the barn.

“Tate, what’s wrong?” Gray didn’t remember moving into Dumpling’s stall or kneeling in the straw that was pristine as fresh snow, or his hand falling on Tate’s shoulder.

Tate scrambled back, to his feet, ducking his head in something that was more of a cringe than a bow. “Lord Gray, I am so sorry. I-I-I…” That was all the further the boy got before his words disintegrated into sobs, though he didn’t actually cry. Gray put his arm around Tate’s shoulder, feeling as if he were reaching back in time, there was a time when Gray had cried like this. The sort of crying that felt like your insides were coming loose from their normal places.

“No,” Gray breathed into the boy’s hair. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to be sorry about it.” Other words were ringing in Gray’s ears, further blurring the lines between then and now.

“But the–the king, he was de-depending on me.” Tate said.

“The king can manage.”

“Just–just give me a minute to clean up, I’ll be–I’m sorry you had to come after me I-I-I promise it’ll never happen again. Never.” Tate said into his hands.

“No, Tate, the only place you’re going is to see Lady Kennedy.” Gray said. Tate wailed, the first sign of a tear appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“No, please! I-I can’t–not to Lady Kennedy’s. The–the–she’s there.” The hysterical note in Tate’s tone, though the words made little sense, told Gray that whatever had lead to this was in some way tied to someone at Lady Kennedy’s.

“Okay. To my house then. I’m not leaving you here, Tate. And I’m not going to take you to the castle until she’s seen to you.” Gray said firmly.

“I’m not hurt.” Tate protested, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Gray. “Nothing–nothing’s wrong, nothing happened.”

“Tate.” The boy only whimpered. Oh Tate, what happened to you?

“You know, I’m glad that I’ve got a chance to talk to you by myself, Zahrah.” Sawyer said giving his most disarming grin. Zahrah rolled her eyes.

“You’re married now, Sawyer. And your wife is jealous.” Zahrah told him. His brow went upward.

“She is?” Sawyer asked.

“That’s what everyone says and they do know her better than I do.” Zahrah shrugged.

“And to think just a couple of weeks ago she was still throwing me at other women. If it wouldn’t scandalize the entire country, I think she’d still be throwing me at other women.” Zahrah paused in midstep and stared.

“But you’re married.” She put her foot down on the ground.

“Aye.” He nodded.

“But–what are the divorce laws like here in Shadowcrest?”

“I–don’t know.” Sawyer said. “It’s not the divorce, really, it’s the annulment that’s usually a problem.”

“What’s the difference?” If she was going to have to get married as a teenager, maybe it would be better to know this now. Though she’d hope that if she got married it would be for love and to someone who she would never, ever want to divorce.

“Between an annulment and a divorce?”

“No. I mean how hard is it to get an annulment over a divorce.”

“Depends. Depends on the priest, depends on the kingdom, depends on if your marriage has been consummated.” Sawyer told her. “I think if we were really miserable, both Lord Gray and King Lachlan would give us a divorce.”

“So, it’d only be the consummation that would be a problem for you and Jolene?” Zahrah asked only to see Sawyer’s eyes drop to the cobblestone he was kicking at. “Sawyer? You–you guys haven’t–done it?” A flush crawled up his cheeks and over his ears as he continued to stare at the ground.

“She needs more time.” Sawyer whispered.

“Wow, cause if I was with a guy as hot as you–I think I’d have a hard time waiting til the wedding.” Zahrah exclaimed. Sawyer drew his hazel eyes up and looked hard at her.

“You–you think I’m–attractive?” Sawyer asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Hell yeah.” Zahrah said. “Most of you guys are. I mean, Emanuel is a bit mopey and emo for my taste, And Jarrett’s just–I don’t know how you could be attracted to him. And I mean, Lord Gray is kinda–I mean you just can’t entertain fantasies about him. There’s nothing there to work with if you spent five minutes in his company. But you’re very good looking.”

“What about Tate?” Sawyer asked after a moment’s quiet.

“He’s–cute.” She bit her lip.

“Cute?” Sawyer asked. “In what way?”

“Well, you know, cute, like Alistair’s puppy, or the new foal, or the baby chicks.” Zahrah cocked her head to the side. “How else could he be cute?”

“Like an attractive guy is cute?” Maybe Sawyer meant it as a statement, but it definitely went up in pitch as if he weren’t sure. Zahrah must have looked puzzled. “I’ve heard Lady Fiona telling Lady Jennica that King Lachlan is ‘cute’, which sounds different than when Lady Heidi or Jolene would tell me I was cute. The former sounds like someone you’re–what’s Mistress Peyton say ‘in to”? The latter was definitely baby chick cute.”

“Oh, well, it’s not that Tate’s not kinda hot. He’s just–he’s not swoon-worthy. He’s so boy-next-door.” Zahrah tossed her hair. “It’s not that I don’t like him–but he’s like best friend material. Sweet, kind, the guy you can depend on,” She listed.

“You make that sound like a bad thing. Mistress Raquel says the same thing about Blake, only it doesn’t sound bad when she says it.” Sawyer said.

“I don’t mean it bad.” Zahrah said. She chewed on her cheek for a moment trying to think. “It’s just–he’s like the actor you see in a movie that always does a great job, and you enjoy seeing him in the movie. But he’s not the leading man. He’s not the one you go to the movie for. He’s not the one you daydream over. He’s not the one you spend all weekend cutting pictures out of your magazines of.”

“And Alistair is the ‘leading man’?” Sawyer asked.

“C’mon, why is everyone so down on Alistair. He can be a really great guy if you get to know him!” Zahrah found her bottom lip pushing out into a pout. Seriously, it was totally like a movie, she was the only one who could see past his outside to the sweet guy he was underneath that.

“Maybe we do know him.” Sawyer muttered before turning to resume his path toward the house that Nessa, Jarrett, and Olivia shared. “Morning, Nessa!” He called as she stepped out onto the small front porch. “You’re looking particularly lovely this morning.”

“Sawyer, your flattery will get you nowhere.”

“But you do! Doesn’t she?” Sawyer asked turning toward Zahrah again.

“Her–your hair looks nice.” She didn’t understand Nessa. She was so much prettier when she put a little effort into her appearance. Most of the time she didn’t do anything more than pull her beautiful strawberry gold hair back in a completely unflattering braid or knot.

Between Kennedy, Jennica, and Emanuel it wasn’t like they didn’t have cosmetics around to be worn. But she was pretty sure the only time she’d seen anything on Nessa was at Jolene’s wedding. She didn’t even attempt to cover the scars on her face or give you anything else to focus on.

The looser hair was marginally more flattering.

“Okay, Liv, you win this one.” Nessa called back in the house, a laugh drifting out in response on the late summer breeze.

“Goody! I adore winning.”

“And I’ve resigned myself to not winning.” Nessa said dryly, Sawyer laughed as he followed her into the house. Zahrah followed Sawyer, knowing she shouldn’t, he was married but he had a very cute, tight butt under those hose and the fabric left very little to the imagination and it was kind of distracting, really.

“So, you ready to head up now?” Jarrett asked standing up from the table.

“Just about.” Sawyer said, turning to Zahrah, who was still lingering in the doorway. “You know, exciting isn’t always better. Fires, floods, and animal stampedes are all kind of exciting, that doesn’t mean they’re good.” What? Why was he going all Yoda all of a sudden? But he apparently wasn’t going to explain because he just nodded to her, bowed to Nessa and Olivia and followed Jarrett out the door.

“So you never finished telling me what he said.” Nessa said to Olivia who put down the needle she was using to weave with.

“Oh–you know him. King of the backhanded compliment. He asked me if I always put on weight in my ass because it was looking better these days.” Olivia tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at her backside.

“Well, what did you expect, he’s not exactly Shakespeare.” Nessa said. “And your ass looks fine, Liv.”

“That’s cause you don’t have to see me naked.” Olivia retorted dryly. “Then again no one else does either, so I guess I can live with it.”

—

Afternoons like this, soft and sweet like warm honey, were just too rare to spend cooped up in the house helping bake pastries. And even a hard task master like Olivia realized that the heart wasn’t in her apprentice about the second time she found her thoughts wandering off as she was applying icing, getting it all over the counter. So Zahrah found herself banished to the outside while Nessa and Olivia finished up the last couple of batches.

The only thing better than lounging on the pillowy grass watching the clouds in the sky was if there had been anyone to watch them with. Someone like…

“So the cruel dungeon master let you out for the afternoon, my lady?” Alistair’s handsome face stepped into her view. She felt her heart thumping just a little harder in her chest. He was so handsome and even though almost everyone called her my lady or lady Zahrah, there was just something–personal about the way he said it, something cutely possessive. Like a pet name.

“Olivia isn’t cruel, she’s really nice.” Zahrah told him as she stood up and brushed the grass off her skirt.

“Certainly.” He smiled, although there seemed to be something else behind it. But before she could decipher it, he held out a dozen roses to her. It wasn’t shy how he did it, as Tate might have, with a blush and a stammer, simply graceful and charming. “A rose for a rose, Lady Zahrah.” No, Zahrah was the one blushing.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” Zahrah said bending to inhale them.

“Well, what else could I bring such a beautiful lady” He asked.

“Oh, there you–oh Alistair.” Nessa said coming through the gate.

“Lady Nessa.” There was something small and tight in both their voices, though all they directed toward her was smiles, forced smiles, but smiles. Like she was five again and couldn’t see through it.

“Does Olivia need me for something?” Zahrah asked, her heart sinking, just a little. Yes, she was supposed to be helping Olivia and learning how to cook, but really who wouldn’t rather spend their afternoon with their crush, holding roses and being flattered rather than packing pastries up for the next morning’s market.

“Well, we do need to get these carried up to Fox’s for market.” Nessa said. A whine built up in Zahrah’s throat, which she wouldn’t give voice to, it would only make her sound like a petulant little kid in front of Alistair.

“Right.”

“Couldn’t you assist her, Lady Nessa.” Alistair asked dryly.

“Only if someone else wants to go check on the barn and feed the animals in it.” Nessa’s voice was bland. “And Zahrah is supposed to be Olivia’s assistant, which makes carrying them part of her job.” Zahrah sighed.

“I’ll be right in.”

“Tate!” Nessa called, suddenly. Zahrah looked at Nessa, then in the direction Nessa was looking, yes, there was Tate. Maybe Tate could take the pastries to market with Olivia and Zahrah could leave early. Although there was a part of her that felt guilty for even thinking it. Tate had already put in most of an afternoon working for the king, it probably wasn’t fair to make him do her job on top of his.

“One moment, Lady Nessa.” He called back.

“Well, my lady, it seems our time has been cut short.” Alistair leaned closer to her to murmur in her ear. If she’d been looking she might have noticed the way his leaning closer was timed just for when Tate rounded the corner. Might have seen the look of hopelessness cross his face. See the look of disgust cross Nessa’s. But all she could see were Alistair’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Guess so. I’ll–see you later?” She asked. He nodded with that smile that made her knees get all quivery, then headed off toward the front gate. She was still watching him, so she didn’t see Nessa pat Tate’s shoulder, or the pain on his face as the other woman did so.

“Oooh, I had never noticed that before.” Tate heard Lady Zahrah behind him, but it was obvious by the hushed tone and snicker that she wasn’t talking to him.

“Noticed what?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“That. Tate’s got a really nice ass.” Tate was glad that he was facing away from them, because his face had to be a red to rival the king’s chair cushions. And it was only getting worse as they both burst into snickers. The giggles lead him to wonder if she was serious, it would be nice if she found something about him to be attractive. It might mean he’d have a chance against Alistair. His hand tightened on the watering can handle to the point of pain.

Damn it. He thought switching the hand that the can was gripped in and reflexively clenching his now free hand. There was nothing like finding yourself short. Except, maybe, short a couple of times over. He knew he couldn’t compete with Alistair on looks, or manners, he was the fifth kid, third son, of an indentured farmer. Plain as the dirt he was currently pouring water over. Alistair was a noble.

Oh sure, he’d been disowned, but the same blood that ran through his veins ran through the veins of some of the greatest men in the kingdom, both past and present. He was a cousin of some sort of Lord Dolph’s, and there was some connection between Alistair and Sir Wesley.

He wasn’t related to King Lachlan, but he had been related, distantly to King Phillip. And he’d grown up in the court, with all the advantages. Tate might as well have grown up in a barn for all the manners he had. He wasn’t charming, or talented at anything except growing plants. Oh, that would impress a girl. He could grow roses, but he had absolutely no idea how to go about giving one.

“Oh, hi, Butterscotch.” Tate heard Mistress Raquel say. He turned around to see the carpenter’s wife bending down to pet his cat. The bending down was no mean feet. Compared to Mistress Raquel’s slim form, her belly seemed almost as big as she was. He had no idea how much longer she had before she was due, but he certainly would have kept an eye on a pet or horse if they’d been her size!

“Mistress Raquel, Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed, a bit stiffly, Sir Wesley was trying to teach him how to bow. There was still talk of the borders being opened before winter–or at least of diplomats arriving before winter–and Tate had to be ready to receive them and not look like a plowboy stuffed into a page’s uniform–even if that was what he was.

But like when Sir Wesley tried to teach him anything that was graceful, he might as well have had two left feet and a spear shoved up his arse for all the graceful he managed.

“Afternoon, Tate. Blake was wondering if you’d be–attending the King tonight?” Mistress Raquel said, giving the soft fur on the cat’s head one last stroke before standing up.

“Nah, I have the afternoon off. His Majesty says that if I have the day off, I might as well have the whole thing off.” Tate smiled even if he couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding sideways to Zahrah, who offered him a friendly smile back. A friendly smile. It might not be exactly what he wanted, but it was a smile and he had to keep from notching it up to a foolish grin.

“Well, we were wondering if you’d like to come for supper.” She offered.

“Oh, does Master Blake need help with something?” Tate asked trying to rearrange his evening chores to make time to help with it.

“Nope, just dinner.” Mistress Raquel said with an encouraging smile. “Sawyer was moping this morning when he came by to help Blake with some something that Tiffany wants for the pub. Apparently his wife is going to be at Heidi’s all day.”

If Lady Jolene were invited to Lady Heidi’s for dinner, why wasn’t Sawyer? It wasn’t the stigma was it? That Sawyer was just a gutter rat and not fit to eat at a Lord’s table?

“And Sawyer didn’t want to tag along, he says that he’s always afraid that he’s going to sit on one of the chairs and break it or something.” Mistress Raquel rolled her eyes. “Blake’s a better carpenter than that. But I understand what he means. I sorta feel out of place myself when I’m at Heidi’s or Victoria’s, y’know?”

“Aye.” Not that he spent much time at any of the noble’s houses. Still when he’d first come to live with the king, when the plague was really still a rumor in Shadowhaven, he’d felt that way about the house that was now his. While he was still racking his brain to think of something to add onto that, perhaps that it got better with time or something, Butterscotch fell into the fish pond and looked so affronted and dismayed with her wet and bedraggled state that he went to go find her one of those treats that Lady Nessa had given him for her.

“Would you like to come over too?” Mistress Raquel asked, obviously asking Lady Zahrah.

“Can I invite Alistair?” Tate’s heart plummeted and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked as miserable and unhappy as Butterscotch at the moment. It was a good thing he as in the barn and not in the yard. “That is a no face, that is definitely a “no” face.” Lady Zahrah pouted, he could hear it in her voice. “I don’t see why you don’t like him.”

“I don’t see why you do.” Mistress Raquel responded.

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“No, Jarrett is a sweetheart. Alistair is an ass.” Mistress Raquel said with a blunt forcefulness that Tate certainly had never heard in her voice before.

“He has never been anything other than a complete gentleman to me, Rae.” Lady Zahrah told her.

“You know, he used to say my lipstick looks like swamp muck and that I had a disease on my face. He used bully Blake too.” Mistress Raquel answered in that same tone.

“Well, you gotta admit, purple lipstick isn’t natural.” Lady Zahrah said. “Maybe it’s just a cultural thing, I mean some people just don’t like that sort of thing. I think my dad would say the same thing.”

“Would you ever call your dad a sweetheart?” Mistress Raquel asked.

“Well, no.” Lady Zahrah said.

“I’m not going to say that you have to choose between me and him or anything.” Mistress Raquel said. “Just don’t ask me to like him.”

“Here you go, Butterscotch.” Tate murmured to the cat who daintily took the treat and made her way off to a patch of sun.

“So, about dinner?” Mistress Raquel asked as Tate as he walked into the shadow along the side of the house, feeling, very definitely, like he was walking into a real life shadow.

“I–uh–well.”

“Great! We’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” She pulled him into a hug.

“All-All right, then.” Tate said. “Lady Zahrah.” Tate bowed again, trying extra hard to do it exactly as Sir Wesley had taught him to. Lady Zahrah smiled and turned to follow Mistress Raquel who was off toward the gate already.

If she was expecting him in a couple of hours, he’d probably better get his chores finished so that he wasn’t trying to get them done after dark. He made his way into the barn, pausing in the doorway as always to look at the beautiful mare in the first stall. Why King Lachlan had given him such a beautiful horse Tate would never know.

Tate wasn’t a noble or anyone who deserved to ride or let alone own a horse like Dumpling. He would have counted himself lucky just to have the chance to groom her. She rattled her oat bucket. She’d grazed that morning, but she was just a wee bit greedy and he–probably–spoiled her. At least there were two girls in his life who liked him. He thought reaching out to stroke the silky mane, his fingers, normally so clumsy, finding that spot behind her ear with ease.

The mare sighed with bliss and tilted her head then she nosed at the bucket again and Tate laughed and went to find her some oats.

“I dunno, Dumpling.” He said to the horse who whickered. “Maybe, maybe Sawyer’s right, Lady Zahrah likes Alistair, and I know I’ll never live up to that. Never.” He shook his head. “You can put a tiara on a goat, that doesn’t make her a queen.”

“He thinks I should court Lady Olivia.” Tate sighed. “She thinks I’m a kid, which I know Lady Jolene used to say about Sawyer. But Sawyer never agreed with that. But I do. I do think, compared to her, I am a kid. Maybe it didn’t matter to him, but it does to me.”

The horse said nothing, which was probably all for the better because if the horse started to talk to him, he’d know he’d lost it. After hanging her grainbucket back on the gate to her stall, he bent to pet Butterscotch who seemed to be mostly dry from her adventures in the pond.

“I just wish…” He shook his head. “If wishes were fishes, beggars’d eat.” What’s the point in wishing and hoping, for guys like him, you just had to appreciate what you had. And he had a lot already, a nice house, a steady job, and his two girls, what more did he really need?

“Is it sad how much I want to squee?” Jolene asked Heidi.

“Over the fact that I’m getting married–or over the fact that I’ll be moving out and you’ll have more closet space?” Heidi teased.

“Which do you think? Especially considering that Zahrah will be taking over your wardrobe space before the last of your stuff clears the stairwell.” Jolene stuck her tongue out at Heidi who laughed and stuck her tongue out back.

“Ah, well, then, no. I don’t mind if you want to squee over the wedding.” Victoria tucked a strand of her hair back into the updo and headed down the stairs.

“So, ten bucks says it’s six weeks or less before Kennedy’s firing up the old preg tester again.” Peyton was saying as she came into the living room of the barn.

“You’re betting on people’s sex lives now, Peyton?” Tiffany asked, a bit incredulously.

“Isn’t anything else to bet on. I wonder how hard it is to make slot machines.” She trailed off looking at the ceiling.

“Fairly.” Victoria pointed out as she took a seat in the empty chair to Peyton’s left. The blonde looked at her with an eyebrow quirked. “Think about it. Not only would you have to figure out the mechanics of making one, you’d have to figure out how to build a generator cause they need power to run. Besides, would you really want to dump all your money into something like that?”

“Not for me, I’d build a bank of them and everyone else could lose their money in them.”

“Right.” Victoria said. “And what would you do if someone won?”

“I’d think of something, don’t kill my buzz, Vikki.”

“Have you been drinking already, Peyton?” Jolene asked from behind them.

“Oh, you know. Just a little liquid courage.” Peyton stretched.

“For what?” Jolene sneered. “You aren’t getting married, after all.”  If Peyton was in the room, Victoria would have sworn that it was her permanent expression. Granted this was the real world and not some place occupied by fuzzy little bears or ponies who were all bff’s all the time, but Victoria still didn’t know why Jolene was so disparaging of Peyton all the time.

“For seeing my ass in this dress.” Peyton waved airily. At least Peyton got as good as she gave very rarely letting the other woman get her goat.

“I take it,” Kennedy interjected before they could get any further into a disagreement. “That Heidi is ready to go and that we should head for the chapel?” Jolene looked at Kennedy for a long moment as if judging whether she’d win a battle with the doctor, but apparently she didn’t think so because she just nodded.

Heidi had decided that she wanted to have an outdoor wedding, something that was questionable, given that it was spring, and doubly questionable considering the dark clouds on the horizon, but, as Heidi pointed out, the king was a wizard. If he could bring people from the future, he could keep it from raining on one wedding ceremony.

Though she really didn’t know Heidi that well or Dolph either, the ceremony was very sweet and apparent to everyone that the bride and groom adored each other. After the vows were said, Dolph swept Heidi off her feet and spun her around, garnering applause from the spectators.

Then it was inside, after all there was no reason to tempt fate with an outdoor reception as well. The plants did need rain so if it decided to drizzle all afternoon, they should probably let it.

“Aren’t you going to have any cake, Lady Victoria?” A voice asked by her elbow.

“I want to be able to fit into this dress for the next wedding if I need to.” Victoria said turning toward Camden.

“I think it’ll fit fine,” Camden blushed then. Oh, my. Victoria stopped herself from giggling. He’d been checking her out! Maybe walking everywhere and not being constantly stuck behind a desk going over columns of numbers was helping put her curves back where she remembered them being.

“What about you?” Victoria asked. Camden’s green eyes widened for a moment. “Cake, aren’t you going to have any?”

“Oo-oh. Uh, no–I don’t think so.” Camden glanced around. “The young lady with Alistair, who is she?” She glanced over her shoulder in the direction that Camden was looking.

“Is that Alistair?” Victoria asked. For some reason she had been expect Alistair to be–the skeezy guy in the trench coat. Someone who looked like a rat. He looked normal. Handsome, even. Then her eyes flicked onto the girl talking to him. Zahrah. She was new to Shadowcrest too.

Of course Camden would notice her. Zahrah was young and very pretty, and her curves had the benefit of never having shifted out of position in the first place. She was probably closer to Camden in age than she was. Victoria stifled a sigh, as Camden would probably notice. Still, when she turned back Camden’s eyes shot up from where they’d been settled, which wasn’t on Zahrah.

“That’s Zahrah. She came a few days ago.” Victoria said, watching Camden’s face for a hint of his eyes leaping away to look at Zahrah again. Except they didn’t. Huh?

“Hadn’t you met Alistair?” Camden asked as if the girl was no longer anything he was concerned with.

“No. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I can’t name a single complimentary thing that was said about him.” Victoria admitted. Camden looked thoughtful for a moment. “What?”

“I’m trying to think of a complimentary thing I’ve ever heard said about him.” Victoria stifled a giggle. Alistair had moved away from Zahrah, who sat on one of the benches as Dolph and Heidi took the dance floor.

Camden grabbed a couple of glasses of wine and handed her one. She twisted the stem of the glass in her fingers before taking a sip of the wine, as Camden’s eyes swept over her profile.

The peace was broken by the sound of someone angrily hissing their breath in between their teeth. Victoria glanced at Camden who was watching Dolph and Heidi. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Okay, it wasn’t Camden… who then…? She wondered taking a slightly larger drink of the wine from her glass.

A stir by the door caught Victoria’s attention. “Well, my loves.” Blake said, rubbing Raquel’s tummy in a way that made Victoria smile wistfully. “I think I should take you and your mommy home. It’s walk from here.”

Considering Victoria hardly knew Raquel and Blake even less, it felt somewhat wrong to watch the two of them leaving, so she turned her attention back to the wine in her glass. Whatever it was, it was a lot stronger than the wine in a box that was served at book club and it was seeming to go straight to her head. Just one glass shouldn’t have tipped her into “buzzed” but this stuff had managed.

“Lady Victoria?” Camden sounded concerned.

“I just need a little air.” At least she hoped that she only needed some air. She didn’t know how she’d live with it if she got too drunk to walk home off one glass of wine. The young knight fell into step with her, holding the door open as the still-slightly-chilly night air hit her arms and face and cleared her head.

They both stood looking up at the sky for a moment until a cultured voice speaking in a hushed but obviously angry tone caught her attention.

“Leave her alone.” She recognized the redhair and black embroidered clothes from the back.

“You–you don’t.” Whomever responded was obviously by the voice a lot younger–and a lot smaller as she couldn’t see him past Alistair.

“Oh please, come back and retort when you can do it without a stammer.”

“Go to hell.” The boy said. Alistair grabbed the younger boy and jerking him half off his feet.

“What was that, you little urchin?” The boy didn’t say anything and the redhaired man shoved him away, obviously prepared to walk away. Camden’s fists were clenched like he was about to lay into Alistair.

“Go get Sawyer.” Victoria suggested. Camden looked at her. “Please, Camden.”

“Yes, Lady Victoria.” He said turning and running back into the reception hall. Alistair stalked past her, sneering down his nose and Victoria found her own hands balling into fists. The boy, she thought for a moment, Tate had his face buried in his hands. She wanted to say something, or at least give him cookies and a big hug, but they didn’t even know each other.

And having a woman you didn’t know witness you getting bullied was sure to perk the old self-esteem back up.

“Heyla,” Sawyer said, rounding the corner, Tate pulled his hands away from his face in such a way that Victoria was sure he was brushing away tears. Sawyer didn’t act like he noticed. “What’s wrong.”

“Just–Alistair. I asked–it’s nothing.” Tate said.

“Ah, Alistair, is it? You know the first time Jarrett put him in charge of stirrin’ the laundry, he burnt his braises?” Sawyer said. “He did. He was stirrin’ the pot of laundry o’er the cook fire, and he stirs like a sissy, y’know, barely swishin’ the water an’ me an’ Jarrett are at the pond fishin’ when we smell something burnin’ Go back and there’s ‘is braises at the bottom of the pot, burned just like the tag end of a pot of porridge in a cheap inn!”

The young bard continued to tell what Alistair would surely find to be highly embarrassing tales about him until Tate giggled, just a little.

“Alistair’s a bully isn’t he?” Victoria asked.

“That’s about all I’d call him in the presence of a lady.” Camden agreed. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I hate seeing a kid picked on, but I also know that if you interfered he’d just do it again, sometime when you weren’t around. And that Tate’d feel lower than a worm’s belly.” Victoria sighed. Camden cocked his head to the side. “My brother was bullied when he was about Tate’s age.” She felt her stomach clench.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I don’t. But I used to.” Victoria said staring down at her hands.

“Oh.” Camden said.

“Lady Victoria, Sir Camden.” Sawyer bobbed his head as he sauntered past. Tate barely looked up as he murmured something that Victoria couldn’t catch.

As if that were some sort of a signal for people to start leaving, the doors pushed open only a few moments later, spilling Peyton and Ren out into the street. The two walked along for a moment before Ren caught Peyton’s hands in his. Not a drop of romance in her, my ass.

After Emanuel and Kennedy headed down the dark street toward the town gates, Sawyer, Tate, and Jolene followed.

“That’s quite alright, Alistair. Jarrett and I’ll see Zahrah back to the barn.” Nessa said as the doors pushed open a fourth time. Good, I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to Zahrah, and I’m not sure I trust Alistair any further than I can throw him. Especially not after what he did to Tate. Victoria thought. Not that anyone had asked her. But still it was always good to have one’s personal approval met.

Alistair followed a moment later, a snarl on his face. Lastly Wesley and Fox, followed by Tiffany, and Lock.

“If you’ll wait a moment, Lady Victoria, for me to say good night to Dolph and Lady Heidi I’ll walk you home.” Camden said, twisting his hand nervously. Victoria smiled and nodded.

The walk back was more quiet than talk, but pleasant still. And then they were back at the house with the familiar lanterns and the scarecrow watching lecherously over the crops. Maybe it was just her but that scarecrow was creepy.

“Thank you, Sir Camden.” Victoria tried to curtsy, not that it worked worth anything, but she tried. Camden nodded then raised his hand, tucking it under her chin and lifting it.