I stepout of my tent, the missive clutched in my hand. The sun’s barely up, and the camp already buzzes with activity: warriors training, cooks stirring breakfast pots, and—
Oh.
There he is.
Cenric stands by one of the horse corrals, his back to me as he tends to a stunning dark brown gelding. The horse tosses its mane, and Cenric reaches out to stroke its neck. The simple gesture makes my belly tighten in ways it shouldn’t after he was mean to me.
Damn him and his stupid, perfect everything.
He runs a brush along the horse’s flank, his muscles rippling beneath his surcoat. It’s utterly unfair how good he looks doing the most mundane tasks. He could probably make mucking out stalls look heroic.
Focus, Everly.
You’re here on a mission.
I march toward him, clutching the missive like a shield. With each step, I rehearse what I’ll say.Here’s a letter from the rebel leader. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and by the way, sorry for lying to you. Want to kiss?
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
As I approach the corral, I spot Morwen walking by with anarmful of dried herbs. I wave at her, and she grins at me.
Cenric turns and stares at me. The gelding whinnies, as if greeting me too. At least someone’s happy to see me.
I hold up the missive. “Here.”
He frowns, eyeing the parchment like it might explode. “What is that?”
“A love letter from Hawke. He’s madly in love with you. Wants to know if you’ll run away with him and start a goat farm.”
Cenric’s mouth tightens. I’d like to believe it’s a struggle to suppress a smile, but it’s more likely a grimace from clenching his teeth. “Everly...”
I sigh, dropping the act. “It’s from Hawke. He appeared in my tent—don’t ask, I don’t know how he does it—and told me to give this to you.”
Shadows darken Cenric’s eyes as he speaks in a voice sharp enough to slaughter at least one hundred people. “He did what?”
“He appeared in my tent.”
“When?” Cenric snaps.
I shrug. “A moment ago.”
“Why didn’t you call for me?”
Indignation flares through me as I shove my braid over my shoulder. “You wanted me to call for you when you berated me yesterday?”
A fierce scowl twists Cenric’s features. “Yes.”
“Even if I had called for you, Hawke would have disappeared before you arrived.”
“It doesn’t matter. If he shows up in your tent, you call forme.”
Anger spikes through my veins as I glare at Cenric. “Should I ask before I blink too?”
His jaw tightens. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Truly? I thought we were putting on a comedy routine for the horses.” I gesture to the gelding, who’s watching us with what I swear is amusement in its big brown eyes.
Cenric takes a step closer. “You don’t understand the danger—”
