Page 13 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

She snorted too, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then went still. I followed her gaze down to the tents – and the tall man who was creeping toward them.

“That looks like trouble.”

“Yeah, it does,” I said. Nothing good would come from Trevellyan sneaking around the army’s camp. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER THREE

We left the icewine and crept toward the camp, then between the first row of tents. The soldiers were organizing gear, cleaning cannons, and cooking meals in pots – small cauldrons suspended over fires. There was no immediate sign of Trevellyan; he’d disappeared into the labyrinth. I thought of raising the alarm, but decided it would be better if we could remove him without the army noticing the intrusion.

“Go that way,” I told Graene, and gestured to the left. “I’ll go right.”

She nodded and we split up, moving briskly as we searched and darting into shadows when soldiers passed.

I found a larger tent in the middle of the camp. Logical to conclude it belonged to the man in charge – and might be Trevellyan’s destination.

I waited for a soldier to pass, then snuck to the front flap and glanced inside. I found Darien standing alone behind a table and frowning down at a spread of parchment. I moved inside, stood in silence for a moment as he reviewed… and I reviewed him.

“Princess,” he said, without looking up.

“I’m not a princess anymore. And how did you—”

He flipped over a sheet of paper. “You smell like flowers. A rarity in a moving army.”

He looked up, hobbled around the table to a low bench, and sat down, propping his injured leg onto a wooden chest. He wore no jacket – just dark trousers and a linen shirt open to the waist, showing a bit of bare skin and muscle. “What brings you here?”

In for a copper coin, in for a gold. “There’s a man snooping around the camp. He may try to cause trouble.”

“Aren’t we all friends now?”

“He doesn’t think so.”

“Description?” Darien asked. When I told him, he called in a guard, gave him instructions to search. Then he returned his gaze to me. “You’re good with a bow.”

“Clearly not good enough.”

That had him smiling. His face was dangerous enough already; the dimple that appeared at the corner of his mouth and the joy in his eyes was absolutely destructive. “You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”

“You didn’t burn my village. I don’t think you’ll attack me here.”

He inclined his head then rose and walked toward me. I hadn’t been quite so near to him before, and he was a more powerful presence up close: a full head taller than me, his shoulders wider, and his body hard with muscle.

“I should have known you were a princess when I saw you in the woods,” he said.

At my raised brows, he pointed to my feet. “Good boots. Good cloak. And I bet you have soft hands.”

“I do not have soft—”

He took one of them before I could object, ran his calloused finger across the palm, the fingertips. “You’ve nocked your fair share of arrows,” he concluded, “but you don’t work with your hands.”

I didn’t like the way his fingers lingered, like the touch was its own promise. I didn’t like the darkening of his eyes. But I didn’t pull my hand away, because for all that he was a warlord, a general, a momentary enemy, there was something soothing about his nearness. How could he be both shelter and storm?

“I wasn’t allowed to join the army,” I said.

He looked interested at that. “That was your hope?”

“I can track and shoot as well as any of the others and better than some.”

“Yes. I’ve seen your work.”