“I’m grateful to see you, Wesley. And please,” she glanced at Maris, “both of you may call me Nim, at least when there is no one about to take issue with our familiarity.”
“Yes, my lady,” they echoed.
Nim gave them each a look then ran her hands over the front of her gown. “I suppose I am ready.” The words came easily, but she felt nothing of the sort.
As Wesley led Nim down myriad corridors, each filled with milling ladies and lords dressed in finery and staff about their work, Nim glanced over her shoulder at an unsettling shape in the shadows, only to find, when she looked harder, that it was gone. No one was there, and the rest in the corridor appeared to pay her not a bit of mind, yet she could not shake feeling as if all eyes were on her. “Wesley,” she whispered, “how unusual is it for a new lady to be installed inside the castle?”
His gaze did not stray from the path, but she felt him shift closer in their striding. “Fairly,” he admitted, “though yours has not been officially announced.”
“And what do you suppose will happen when I’m installed in my post?”
The edge of his mouth shifted into a pinned-on grin. “Warrick has ensured that the details of your post will not be made entirely public, my lady.”
They walked past a row of armed guards, whose breastplates were stamped with the emblems of Inara and trimmed in steel and the king’s colors. Nim held her tongue at any questions that might have broken free. She did not relish the idea of drawing more attention to herself than her mere presence already had.
When they finally arrived to a small study that seemed disused, dimly lit only by the late-day sun though a row of high windows, Nim felt her chest ease. But Wesley closed the door, someone moved behind her, and she startled, reaching automatically to her thigh, where her mace and dagger no longer rested.
“My lady,” came Warrick’s smooth voice. “I apologize.”
She made a sound in her throat that she wasn’t certain even she could decipher.
Warrick smiled. “Thank you, Wesley,” he said after a moment. “I’ll see that she’s returned in time for dinner.”
Wes grinned at Nim, but at Warrick’s look, he snapped his expression back into place and gave a stately bow.
When he exited the room, Warrick turned to Nim. “Walk with me?”
She inclined her head then walked beside him through a long corridor empty of any courtiers or castle staff. Warrick had likely had her brought there so that no one would see them, so the seneschal and Lady Weston together would draw no attention. And still, he did not touch her but only held his head high and his shoulders straight in the posture of a king’s man.
Their steps, quiet and steady, led them to another corridor then a twisting flight of stairs. It was only when they came through a small door to an even darker corridor that Nim sensed a change in Warrick. He seemed to relax as the door closed behind them in a muffled slide of wood against frame, then Warrick’s magic rose warmly through her and a row of torches flared to life.
The hall was lit by the soft glow of the magical flames, and his hand slid against her arm as he turned to face her. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, his fingers slipping into her hair as he shifted nearer. “Stewart told me his decision. I’m sorry I was not informed immediately. I would have come to you.”
Nim’s eyes closed as she settled into his warmth. It was no great surprise that Stewart had not disclosed how he’d threatened Nim with death should she make even one misstep. He must have only revealed that they did not have his blessing for marriage. She wasn’t sure she had the heart to tell him, not when he finally held her so near.
Warrick pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. “It is not his choice to make, my lady. It is only up to him whether it is made public.”
She opened her eyes to stare up at the man who had saved her, the man whose fate was tied to hers.
“I prefer having you at my side, in my rooms,” Warrick told her. “It makes protecting you easier. But I won’t risk your status among court when you’ve only just won it back.”
She frowned. “I have not won it back. I’m here, in the castle, but that means nothing. I’m not sure”—she shook her head—“I’m not certain it matters to me now.”
“It might.” His hand slid over her shoulder and down to her waist. “Someday.”
Nim remembered when Warrick had said he would never lie to her. Lying is for cowards, he’d vowed. I have nothing to fear. But he’d found something to fear—losing her, that he would not be able to protect her—not only her reputation but her very life. She could feel it.
At her hesitance, he said, “For now, it is your choice to make. You can stay in your rooms with vetted guards at the door and at your side when you venture out, or we can complete the ceremony and announce our intentions to those who will be aware that you are staying with me.” They could save themselves the repercussions of being found out, of a seneschal, head of law and order, capering about the castle with an outcast lady with ties to magic.
“But the king—”
“Does not always like what I do. That does not mean he can stop me.” His words were a vow, entirely truth.
“He can stop me,” she whispered. “It would be very easy for him to deal with a girl nearly no one knows is even here.”
Warrick’s grip tightened. “A woman,” he said, “who is the seneschal’s wife.”
Any response Nim might have made was drowned by the intimation that came from him, swift and strong. “Thank you,” she said after a moment, “for all that you have done.”
His gaze danced between her eyes, then he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry that this has been such an adjustment for you.” His words were quiet, his mouth sliding to her hair as he drew her deeper into his embrace. “Is it too terrible?”
She sighed. “I expected it to feel smaller, after so many years. Like any other place I’ve not been since I was a girl.”
He drew back to look at her.
“It’s not,” she said with a half smile. “Everything seems so much larger.” And terrifyingly real.
“And irretrievably structured?”
Her smile grew. “Dreadfully so.”
He stepped back, sliding his hand into hers as he turned them toward the long corridor. “You do not have to stand on occasion with me.” Not when they were alone, anyway. There was a twinkle in his eye when he glanced at her again. “I’m quite fond of your indiscretions.”
Her quiet laugh echoed through the corridor. “Remember you said that, my lord.”
Warrick bit his lip as he glanced at her again, a sensation rising from him that Nim could not quite interpret. As they moved farther along the corridor, with its high ceiling arched with thick beams crisscrossing overhead to meet the smooth stone walls, the torches seemed to flare a little brighter. Warrick led her past a row of portraits then turned her to face one halfway down the row.
“I’m sorry that Stewart may have been sharp with you, but trust that he has been tormented by all that he has lost. He no longer believes he has the luxury of taking chances with her.”