"I used to think about you a lot, you know," Ayla says.

"In what way?"

She raises her eyebrows at him, and he grins. "Oh."

"I was twelve! I was lonely! You were the first boy ever to be nice to me. And besides …" She trails her fingertips lightly across his cheek. "You were very handsome."

His hand comes up to hold hers in place. "I'm not sure I like the past tense in that statement, Ayla."

"Don't worry." She leans forward until her lips are almost touching his. "You've only improved with time."


The next day, after Ayla's lessons were finished, a Helmsman arrived as usual to escort her out of the tower for her afternoon walk. Only this time, it was the same young man from the day before. The one who'd held the door.

"My lady." He bowed to her, and again she saw the sincerity in it. Just like yesterday, he was offering her genuine respect. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Could respect be another form of mockery? She could hardly see how, if he meant it.

"What's your name?" she asked abruptly. The question came out haughty, even to her own ears, but he didn't seem to take it amiss.

"Tomas." The hint of a blush crept up his cheeks, warming the brown of his skin. She watched in fascination. "That is, I should say … Caraway."

"Tomas Caraway," she repeated. "Am I not allowed to call you by your first name, then?"

He met her gaze. "That's up to you, my lady."

He had pretty eyes, she thought. In fact, he was generally … pretty. No. That was the wrong word, not masculine enough for a man who carried a sword and whose muscles showed clearly beneath the sleeves of his coat. Attractive. He was an attractive man.

And he was looking at her as though she were something rare and precious.

Heat squirmed in the pit of Ayla's stomach. She wasn't sure what it was, but the feeling wasn't unpleasant. It was a little of fear, a little of excitement, and a little of something completely new.

"I want to walk outside the tower," she said. Then, savouring the slight, illicit thrill of speaking to him as an equal instead of a servant, "Would you escort me, Tomas?"

"Of course." He held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. It took her a moment to realise she was meant to take it. Helmsmen never did that. They walked several paces behind her, a cold weight of disapproval at her back.

"I'm sorry, my lady." He lowered his arm, gaze turning to the floor as consternation swept across his face. "I shouldn't have –" Stepping to one side, he opened the door and gestured her through it. "After you."

He continued to stare at the floor as she approached him. She put a hand on his arm, and he lifted his head sharply.

"I misunderstood your intent." Her pulse had speeded up, for some reason. She was very aware of the solidity of him beneath her palm. "Accompany me. Please."

He scanned her face, then smiled. It was a small, tentative smile, as though he feared she might reject it. "It would be my honour."