Page 5 of Within the Hollow Heart

“We can’t very well go to mine,” she explained.

Chancery, she’d said. She worked in chancery. Her rooms would be there, right next to the cursed chancellor and every law official in the kingdom.

He stared at her, his hands stilled in their task of restoring his wardrobe to order.

She gestured toward the long, empty corridor. “It’s hardly fitting to discuss here.”

“It?” His voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.

“Our bargain.”

He kept staring, pinned by those big dark eyes, his words barely above a whisper. “Whoareyou?”

She smiled politely. “You may call me Jules.” Then she turned, flapping her fingers and chirping, “Come along.”

Saints protect him, he did. When they reached the entrance to his suite, the woman—Jules—waited patiently. Nickolas did not unlock the door. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his palm flat against its finely carved surface to peer at her. “My lady, how is it that you knew precisely which door was mine?”

“I work in chancery.”

It was no explanation at all. He waited.

She shrugged. “If you’d rather stand draggle-tailed in the corridor, that’s perfectly agreeable to me.”

He glanced at her skirts, which did not appear at all as if they’d been dipped in mud, despite that she’d been kneeling in the courtyard. She must have been aiming the remark at him, then. “Right. So I should let an unfamiliar woman and her dubious bird into my suite?”

“Frederick is of good character. And you and I…” She glanced up at him. Those eyes were weapons. “Are betrothed.”

Nickolas’s forehead thunked against the door. He left it there for a moment then drew a steadying breath. He would do this. If it meant foiling his mother’s plans with the Carvells, Nickolas would take the risk of exposing his private life to a stranger with ties to chancery—and her dowdy bird. When he finally straightened to take the key from his pocket, he did not look back at her. “I cannot believe I’m letting fowl enter my sanctuary.”

Small cooing sounds came from behind him as Nickolas fired every taper and lamp in the room. He would chase away every shadow in the suite and shed light on every detail of whatever fool bargain he’d agreed to. The woman had warned him, told him not to accept terms he knew nothing of, but he could not fathom how her terms might be worse than what fate had planned for him. He lit the last taper and slid toward the center of his mantel a vase he’d been gifted by a consul, knowing it was time to face her demands.

When he turned, she was standing in the center of his sitting room, her dress the only drab color in the entire brilliant space that was his suite. Well, her dress and that bird. The bird was still glaring at him. He picked up the cage once more, gesturing for Jules to sit while he crossed to a side table to retrieve an ornate letter opener to use as a tool. She chose a low white settee, and he returned to settle across from her, cage in hand. “Tell me about this bargain of yours.”

“You don’t like birds,” she said.

He didn’t. He would like very much for one not to be on his furniture. “This isn’t about birds. But while we’re on the subject, what were you about in Carvell’s courtyard?”

“I’ve been trying to set him free. Frederick, that is.”

Prying a wire straight with the letter opener, Nickolas glanced at the bird cradled in her lap. Clearly, it had an injured wing. “He won’t be safe if he can’t fly.”

She seemed as if she couldn’t meet his gaze, her slender fingers adjusting the lay of the bird’s wing. “I can’t keep him in a cage forever.”

“He’s fed. He seems loved. Is that not enough?”

“No.” The word was not exactly sharp, but it came too fast to pass as indifferent. In a quieter voice, she added, “A creature cannot truly feel loved if it is not free. He must be free before it is too late.”

When she finally looked up, Nickolas realized he’d gone still, watching her. He made himself focus once more on the cage. “The bargain. You’ll keep me from being charged with breaking into Carvell’s rooms, keep him from forcing his daughter upon me, and I’m to marry you. Is that the trade?”

She shifted forward on the settee. “No. Not truly. The betrothal is only a pretense until we are each free of the danger we are in.”

The opener slipped from a metal wire to knock against the base of the cage. Nickolas looked up at her.

“You, with the Carvells. And me, with a minor legal issue that I need to resolve posthaste.” Her lips shifted into what was likely meant to be a reassuring smile. It failed the task. “The whole thing will be over quickly, I’m certain. We’ll be free again before the next moon.”

“My lady—”

“Jules,” she reminded him. “The marriage won’t go through. I’ll submit the paperwork but prevent it from being filed. We don’t have to announce it.” Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “It won’t even be a lie. Wehaveagreed to the betrothal. We just won’t actually carry it out.”

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