Alina smiles for the first time since I walked through the door. “That’s fair. I’ll get you one at breakfast.”
“Speaking of breakfast”—Maeve pushes to her feet and stretches her arms overhead—“can we go? I’m starving.”
“I suppose Lyra has been thoroughly reprimanded,” Alina says, lips pulling into a sideways smile. But then it slips a bit, and her eyes look troubled again. “But remember what we said. You have to be careful.” She puts a hand on my knee. Her skin is a bit cold from her frost magic as she gives my knee a squeeze. “If you get caught, who knows what’ll happen...”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise her.
But despite my promise, a little seed of worry and doubt has planted itself in my gut, and I’m concerned it’s there to stay.
Chapter 29
Cairn
AFTER LYRA LEAVES, MY HUT feels... empty. This space, which always feels so warm and welcoming, seems too quiet without her here, too peaceful—if there is such a thing. It’s unsettling enough to get me up and heading out to my garden in an effort to distract myself from thoughts of her.
The rain last night left everything soaked, and water droplets cling to the crunchy blades of grass and the plants that remain in my garden, not yet having been harvested. I’ll need to pull the cart up to the castle today so the kitchens can deal with all the mugs and mead kegs, but it’s still too early for that.
I grab a wicker basket from atop the bistro table and breathe in the rain-scented air. It calms my heart, if only a small amount, and helps put me at ease as I kneel beside a raised bed full of carrots and plush-leafed spinach. Theseplants like a bit of cold, so they’ll last well into the late days of fall.
I pluck spinach leaves and pull bright orange carrots from the dark earth, and I try to think about anything except Lyra Wilder.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.
No matter how hard I try to focus on the task at hand, her crimson eyes keep flashing in my mind, and her moans from when I had my fingers inside her echo in my ears.
Witchcraft, I think with a huff.
I’ve never had a smidgen of interest inanystudent. And up until I met Lyra, I never thought I would. I’m a man who follows rules, who likes to color inside the lines and not make any waves. I keep my head down, keep to myself, and live a safe, quiet life.
But she’s changed all that.
I signed a contract when I accepted the job here, and part of that contract included a clause explicitly stating I’m not to have a relationship of any kind with any student—and now here I am, trying and failing to forget how amazing Lyra’s hands felt around my cock, how she stroked me until I couldn’t hold myself back. Then we bathed together, and I told her about my failed engagement, and she slept beside me, leaving behind the sweet scent of soap andher.
I let out an audible groan.
What have I done?
I’ve fucked up, that’s what. I allowed her to wrap me around her little finger, and though she might not know it yet, I’m pretty sure I’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked me to.
Finishing up with the carrots and spinach, I move to the bed of red beets and pull a few of those as well, gently brushing the dirt from the dark purple-red roots. I can chop these up later and roast them, then add them to a bed of spinach leaves and diced carrot.
Does Lyra like beets?I wonder.
Then I remind myself that I shouldn’t care what Lyra likes—she should be Miss Wilder to me, not the fire witch I want to toss into my sheets and ravage until we’re both too exhausted to move.
I am absolutely hopeless.
“Good morning.”
I nearly jump out of my hide.
Whipping my head around, I find Lysandra Moonhart standing there, her pale eyes sweeping over my garden as the morning sun makes her silver-blue hair twinkle.
“Headmistress,” I say, trying not to let on how badly she startled me. She’s the last person I need around when I’m thinking of all the inappropriate things I want to do with my student helper. I stand from beside my bed of beets and roll out my shoulders. “You’re here early.”
Her smile is quick and easy. “I hope I’m not intruding. Knowing you, I figured you’d already be up and working on something.” She flicks her gaze across the garden, then toward my hut.
Am I imagining the curious look in her eyes, or is she looking for something—orsomeone—specific?
