Page 21 of The Baker and the Wolf

“Never. Although I must adhere strictly to the rules of my bondage, your grandpère would tell you that I delight in exploiting the rare loophole.” His eyes briefly glint with humor. “This one is new to me.”

Even as he speaks, I become aware of the intricate network of spells encasing him, almost as if I can see it. Layer upon layer of magic with countless trigger points. Is he revealing his shackles to me, or has my magic ability improved that much in one day? Just moments ago, I reached right through that mess of spells.

“Since I don’t have to follow those rules,” I guess aloud, “I exploited that loophole for you.”

A brief flash of his smile is confirmation.

“So, your actions and words are tightly constrained,” I state, pondering.

He is silent, but I see his brows twitch. I’m right, I know.

“You took a risk in holding my hand.” I think back. “Although I sort of made that happen too.” Which is slightly embarrassing.

“I am grateful.”

A simple statement of fact—his tone holds all the depth of meaning. I continue: “You cannot touch me except in conventional ways, such as to offer your arm when I practically ordered you to, or in an emergency like you did when the tray of pastries fell,” I conclude.

“Your grandmère grants me personal privacy within my constraints,” he says quietly. “She assigned me to observe you and accepts my daily reports without delving into my emotions. Words can’t express how greatly I value her generosity. She doesn’t know—although she might suspect—that after the first day, I would have spent every possible moment in your presence without her orders to do so.”

“Really?” Feeling bold, I arch one brow. “You were hoping for free pastries?”

“Are free pastries a possibility?”

“I could save you a few at the end of the day.”

Again I glimpse his smile, and his boot nudges the basket at my feet. “I’m hoping for apple éclairs again tomorrow.”

The deepening darkness emboldens me. I gently squeeze his hands. “Come and help me make them in the morning?”

I hear his breath suck in. “I accept your invitation.”

Lighthearted as a child, I jump to my feet, and when he stands beside me, I pull his head down for another kiss. I have no experience at this, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Although his hands and arms remain at his sides, his quickened breathing and eager response are encouragement enough. I shove my fingers into the thick, soft hair behind his ears and kiss his cheek, enjoying the scrape of whiskers. He sighs and turns his face, speaking against my palm, “Cerise, I cannot say what I . . . I have never . . .” His voice trails off.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, concerned at his tone.

“No!” Then, more softly, “Yes. My wardens might detect . . . I fear triggering the spells. I don’t fear the pain, but if they find out . . .”

“They might take you away from me forever?” I guess, letting my hands drop to his chest.

He slowly nods. “Our time together cannot last long, but every moment is a gift.”

More disappointed than I want him to know, I step back and stoop for my basket. “Then I won’t do it again.”

His reply is so quiet, I scarcely hear it. “That isn’t what I want . . . but, yes.”

I shrug and try to keep my tone light. “Don’t want your jailers coming after you.”

After a pause, he says, “We need to go to the bakery.”

“What? Now?” I look around. “It’s Sunday night. What would we do there?”

He releases a long breath, his eyes focused inward. “Rina cannot enter the city”—he raises one hand to forestall my question—“for reasons I don’t entirely understand. And I can’t enter the grounds of your stepfather’s estate—the magical barrier around it would instantly detect my magic and alert the thief to my intrusion. But I can’t let you walk back into your enemy’s grasp alone.”

“Rina taught me how to protect my magic.” My words sound weak.

“Yes, but we don’t entirely understand how your magic is being stolen. And if you are asleep when the thief attacks, your magic will be stolen to no purpose.”

My hands go to my chest as if to protect my magic. Now that I have it back, the idea of giving up even part of it is abhorrent. “So, I’m to sleep at the bakery? How does that—”

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