Page 65 of Spar of Hearts

“To name a star after a sea creature. I can’t think of two things further apart. The depths of the ocean and the heights of the sky?” She shook her head. “Foolish.”

“I disagree,” he said.

“Big surprise.”

“I disagree,” he continued pointedly, “because the stars are navigable. You’ve proven it. Degrees, hours, minutes. Sounds like only a matter of time before you find your way straight to the heavens.”

Butterflies filled Anya’s chest. She’d never been given such a compliment, let alone one that mirrored her most fanciful, childish wish. It was better than any apology he could muster.

Her canine eyes grew wide. “Do you really think we can sail to the stars?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. But if anyone can get us there, it’s you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. But why? His words? Her stress? Or perhaps because Blackbird was right. If Anya became Queen one day, journeying to the stars—or anywhere, for that matter—would be nothing more than a distant dream.

“Thank you,” Anya murmured. She turned away and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, then distracted herself with the astrolabe, setting it back to its neutral position.

“It’s a bit late for a picnic,” Roderick commented. He gestured to the cloth spread on the baluster. A half-eaten roll and small bit of salt pork remained, the apple untouched.

“Blackbird packed it for me. I love eating under the stars.”

“I can see why. It’s a shame I failed to appreciate them for so long, and they’ve been right above me this whole time.”

“You’ve never stargazed?” she asked. Surely a noble knight such as himself had folk tripping over themselves to stargaze with him on the equinox.

“I wanted to. My intended had other plans.”

“Were they busy?”

“Busy falling in love with someone else.” He sighed. “The Centarian woman you met in Balcott…that was Millicent. She was my lifelong friend and later, my fiancée. We were only marrying to protect our families from blood testing, or at least, that is what I tried to tell myself. Hearts don’t tend to listen to reason.”

Guilt pricked her conscience. Both Roderick and Millicent had escaped the Gathering, only to be forced into something else out of necessity. She couldn’t fathom the bond he must have formed with Millicent, feeling responsible for the life of not just her, but two whole families. It was no wonder he was so passionate about helping her—even if bending the knee was in poor taste. Roderick was not always the most observant of folk when it came to social cues.

But Millicent was married, and it couldn’t have happened too long after she and Roderick ended things. The heartbreak must be fresh, and Anya had poured salt on the wound.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to open old wounds.” Anya stared down at her hands.

“With claws as lovely as yours, it would be impossible not to.” Roderick slid his scarred fingers atop hers, gently stroking the tips where her fingers became claws.

She didn’t pull away from his touch. She wanted to know what it felt like. Just a touch. Light, genial—like he’d been in the garden. Unlike many a suitor before him, he didn’t shy away from her claws, even as the points pricked at his skin. He was calloused and scarred enough not to notice or care. This simple act made her feel so elegant, so beautiful. And there was no one here to see. So she leaned into the sensation and closed her eyes for a long moment.

Her eyes only opened when he stopped petting her hand.

“You didn’t deserve my outburst.” Roderick squeezed her palm. “It’s true that Millicent was very important to me, and I think I will always care for her, in a sense. But she has a wonderful life now. A loving husband, a daughter, and loyal friends, myself included. So I’ve decided something.”

“Oh?” Her interest was piqued.

“I’ve been chasing an illusion—an idea. But not anymore. I’m going to show you the kind of man I really am,” he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers “and I hope you like what you see.”

The words made her heart race.

Perhaps the man she met in the garden really was his true self—one and the same with the gallant knight who tucked Mabel in and soothed the little girl with a story.

But what if this moment—this side of him—was a mask unto itself? If she invited him to her lips now, her secret could be out. Would he laugh and shove her out of these shadows and into the judgmental light of the world?

More. She needed more to grasp. A better reason to deny him, and herself, whatever this moment was becoming.

Her mother’s threat rang in her mind.