Page 45 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“I enjoy a classic adventure,” Dorian says after a moment. “Nothing too melancholic or philosophical, although I’m never averse to learning more about the world.” He casts her a sidelong glance. “Yourself?”
“I used to enjoy a nice romance.”
“Used to?”
Selene swallows. She tightens her grip on the reins, though Clover remains as steady as ever beneath her. How can sheexplain that she has struggled to disappear into a romance this past year—a year that hasn’t happened for anyone but her—because she either found the couples completely lacking, or found the beauty of their relationship a cruel taunt?
Why doesn’t he want me anymore?she would wonder.Why doesn’t he treat me like this?
She forces a small, dismissive shrug. “They just… don’t hold the same appeal as they used to.” She adjusts the brim of her hat, tilting it slightly against the sun as if that’s all that occupies her thoughts. “Perhaps I’d better try an adventure book, for a change.”
“I have several that I could recommend.”
She likes the idea of reading something that Dorian likes. “If I don’t enjoy them, will I have to lie to you and tell you that they were excellent?”
Dorian smiles. “No. You can give me your honest opinion.” He pauses. “You canalwaysgive me your honest opinion,” he adds.
“Ebonrose is in desperate need of updating.”
He laughs. “Of this, I am well aware. Perhaps you can arrange something?”
“I’d like that.”
There’s a blur of fur and movement—then the snap of branches as a squirrel bursts from the undergrowth. Clover jerks sideways with a startled whinny.
Selene, unused to the rhythm of riding, doesn’t shift her weight in time. The world tilts. For a breathless moment, she feels weightless—and then she’s hitting the ground, the impact jarring up her side.
Pain blooms in her ankle.
She exhales sharply, the breath knocked from her lungs. Dorian is there in an instant. She barely has time to push herself up before he’s kneeling beside her, eyes wide withsomething bordering on panic. “Selene?” His hands hover at her shoulders, as if unsure where to touch. “Are you hurt?”
She blinks, momentarily stunned. “I—” She pushes herself upright, only to wince as her ankle throbs in protest. “I think I twisted—”
She doesn’t even finish before Dorian moves. He’s already checking her leg, hands gentle but firm as he braces her ankle. His mouth is tight, his usual composure fraying at the edges.
“Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing lightly.
Selene tries to wave him off. “Dorian, I’m fine—”
He exhales sharply, as if she’s said something truly ridiculous. “You fell. You’re hurt.” His fingers graze her stockings as he adjusts the angle of her foot, and his expression darkens. “It’s already swelling.”
Selene forces a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. “Well. That’s what I get for being an abysmal rider.”
Dorian doesn’t laugh. He’s already shrugging out of his coat, folding it swiftly before tucking it beneath her for support.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, his focus entirely on her.
It’s—unsettling, being the centre of someone’s concern like this. Selene doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“I can walk,” she tries again.
Dorian lifts his gaze to hers, expression flat. “No, you cannot.”
She scowls at him. “You can’t just decide—”
“Selene.” His voice softens. “Let me help you.”
She swallows, thrown by the quiet sincerity in his tone. A moment passes. The wind stirs the golden grass.
