I grimace. “Arun?”
There are few things more painful than forced exercise. The fact that Maeve chooses to willingly exert herself like that is insane to me.
As if to prove my point, I take another bite of my cupcake.
“So, are those for her?” I point to the last remaining cupcakes sitting on the low table.
Poppy shakes her head. “No, she already had one. And so did Raelan.”
Oh, right. I thought he smelled oddly sweet when I passed him in the stairwell.
As I take another bite, I recall the carrot cake Cairn made, the buttercream frosting so smooth and the perfectly fluffy cake beneath it. I’m pretty sure he has a sweet tooth, not unlike Juniper. And hedidhelp me when I sprained my wrist. Maybe I could take him a cupcake as a thank-you gift.
Does he like chocolate?I wonder, staring at the two cupcakes.
“What is it?” Poppy asks, eyeing me over her teacup.
I reach up and snag a curl, then twist it around my finger. “Do you mind if I take those?” I ask.
Beside me, Alina lowers her book enough to gaze at me over the pages. “Take them where?”
Of course she’s going to give me a hard time about it. Must be payback for how often I nettled her about Raelan last year.
In the most nonchalant tone I can manage, I say, “I want to take one to Cairn. To thank him for helping me with my wrist.”
Alina and Poppy exchange a glance. And despite how they try to hide it, theybothsmile.
THE SUN IS ALREADY GOING down as I leave the castle and start making my way through the courtyardand toward Cairn’s hut at the edge of the trees. I pass under the barbican, feeling the cold air pebble my skin despite my cloak, then step through to the other side, where the Mistwood towers high over my head, casting long shadows in the falling light.
And there, standing across the valley at the edge of the tree line, is Cairn’s thatched hut. Smoke puffs slowly from the chimney, curling into the cool leaf-scented air before disappearing into the pine trees above.
As I approach, the door to the hut opens, and Cairn steps out. There’s a cart parked just outside his door, loaded down with wooden boxes and what look like bags of grain and flour. He hefts one of the huge sacks easily over his shoulder, then starts to turn. But he must catch sight of me in his peripherals, because he stops suddenly, head swiveling in my direction, wide horns catching the evening light.
When he meets my gaze, a full-body shiver goes through me, and I tell myself it’s just from the chill in the air and not the depths of his dark brown eyes.
I close the distance between us, holding the covered platter of cupcakes in my hands. Cairn doesn’t move as I approach, just watches me curiously, that huge sack still slung over his shoulder. It probably weighs nearly what I do.
“Hi,” I say as I come to a stop a few paces from his door.
He stares at me, brow furrowed. Then, slowly, he says, “What day is it?”
Tipping my head, I say, “Wednesday.”
My community service is only on Saturdays, and I’ve never visited him on any other day of the week. Maybe that’s why he’s confused.
He reaches up to scratch his scruffy beard, and I get the overwhelming desire to know what that beard would feel like beneath my palms, running through my fingers.
Uh-oh.
“So . . . why are you here?” he asks.
Clearing my throat, I hold out my hands, and his gaze slides to the platter held aloft. “I brought you a little something to say thank you for helping me with my wrist the other day.”
Cairn’s eyes meet mine again. As I recall how careful and gentle his hands were when he wrapped my wrist, my cheeks start to tingle with warmth.
Quickly, I turn my face and body toward the cart, trying to banish the rush of heat. “D-do you want some help unloading this?”
A long moment of silence passes. It’s long enough that I actually glance over at him.
