I was scrubbing sweat from a saddle over my knee when the young page arrived breathless at the door.

"Letter for Mr Murray, sir," he said, his adolescent voice high-pitched. He held a piece of parchment in his hand, folded in half so its contents were obscured from view.

Amadi faced the group. "Which of you is Mr Murray?"

The other grooms exchanged shrugs and anticipatory glances, waiting for the man to be revealed. I realized I had yet to give any of them my surname. "I am," I said, my voice wobbling slightly. What if something had happened back home? Would Westley even bother to tell me if our mother had taken ill?

The page walked over and presented the parchment in a sweeping bow. Only five words were written, in a delicate, flowing hand, like the letters were soft dandelion seeds floating over a meadow.

A single purple thistle was pressed to the page.

Philip, I thought.

"Oi, let's see it," one of the boys called. He snatched the parchment from me and held it close to his face. "Teh- Tie-"

"Piss off, you know you can't read," another said.

"It's some sort of sappy love letter," a third joined in.

A rush of urgency powered through my sluggish limbs. This was my second chance. My offer of forgiveness. "I must go," I said. "At once-"

"Absolutely not." Amadi's deep voice cut me off. "Back to work, all of you. Your little lady-friend can wait."

"Ha!" one of the stable grooms chuckled. "Little lady-friend." He slapped the arm of his friend as they walked into the tack room.

A sense of hopelessness filled me as I twirled the dried thistle between two fingers. It had been only a few hours since the incident with Hero and the Marquis, and now this. No wonder Amadi was so suspicious of me. Trouble surrounded me like the flies surrounding our horses.

"I, uh, I just remembered," I said, my hands trembling as I tucked the thistle into my vest. "I'm to retrieve the horses from the pasture."

"Not so fast, Mr..." Amadi blocked the door. "What did he call you? Murray? If you think you can just waltz in and out of here whenever you please-"

"Who, me?" I gave him a reassuring smile. "Never."

The taller man's eyes narrowed. "I don't like you, Murray," he murmured. "If it weren't for your... esteemed recommendation... you'd be long gone."

I chuckled. The sound came out tight and high as if someone had just gotten through strangling me. "I won't be two minutes. Promise."

"Murray-" I flinched as his fingers jabbed into my collarbone. "I best not find you anywhere but that pasture."

"You won't, sir." I gave him a little salute and trotted out the back entrance of the stable.

I really, really needed to keep my job.

I didn't want to go back to carrying bloody hunks of meat to and from the kitchens all day in the heat.

I didn't want to go back to Geoff and his knife and the constant temptation to kill.

And most of all, I didn't want to return home in shame and tell my mother I'd failed at the one thing she was proud of me for.

I needed this job. Even if I didn't deserve it in the first place.

I made it about three steps towards the pasture before veering off towards the garden instead.

God damnit, Auden.

Oh, shut up. You would do the same thing.

I wasn't sure where he wanted to meet. The bloody note couldn't be more vague. But the sun was high in the sky, about the same time of day the King and his courtiers had last walked the gardens.

It was deserted when I got there.

"Hello?" I called, feeling like a sitting duck in the middle of open water. "Phil...?" The name sounded wrong on my tongue. "Ah, sod it." I turned and tramped down the path, away from the garden. I had to get back and bring the horses in before Amadi sent someone to look for me.

Imagine telling Mama you lost your job because you couldn't stop chasing after some fat ginger.

That's all he was. Take away the crown and the power to demolish entire nations and he was nothing but a stupid, childish-

Something small struck my back.

I turned, my brow scrunched up, rubbing the spot along my spine where I'd been hit.

A pebble lay in the grass.

I grinned.

"Where are you?" I shouted, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. "I've got to get back soon!"

The King rose from behind the hedges, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the other holding a fistful of tiny pebbles. "What took you so long?" he called.

He was dressed extravagantly as ever - a moss green doublet with gold trim and huge, billowing sleeves like curtains. Each of his fingers bore multiple glinting rings.

I pressed my lips together. "Goddamn Amadi is what."

He strolled deeper into the hedge maze without a word, as if no longer interested. I watched him go, wondering if he was upset with me, then took a deep breath and followed him.

I wanted answers.

Specifically, why he'd made me hold his hand to go chat with the girl he intended to marry. To get back at Beauregard for annoying him? To show Henriette what sort of man he was? For no reason at all, because he was a mindless simpleton who acted solely on impulse?

I stopped walking.

I hadn't realized how angry I was.

I was angry, I decided. Angry that I'd met him in the first place. Angry that in so little time, he'd taken up so many of my thoughts. Angry that I was a bloody stable groom and my only chance to see him was sneaking into a labyrinth of manicured shrubs and smelly men in wigs.

"I'm going to get fired for coming to see you, you know," I said as he walked ahead of me. "I'm on my last strike."

The King smirked. "What were your other strikes for?"

I tried to remember. "Uh, hiding in the tack room and making Amadi saddle your horse."

He looked up. "My horse?"

I shrugged, thinking back on the day we went riding. How happy I'd been that he wanted to spend time with me. Fool. "I didn't want to do it wrong," I mumbled finally.

He sat on the bench by the fountain, the smile on his face loosening some of my anger. "So you cannot ride horses," he said as I stood before him, grinning slowly. "And you cannot saddle them. Remind me why we decided the stables were the best place for you?"

I shook my head, my grin turning to a teasing smirk. "I do not question the King's orders, sire."

He rose to his feet then, not two inches from me, and I sucked in my breath, frozen in place. Captivated.

If you take my hand, I won't run this time.

I kept still as he brushed past me to face the flowers. A rose bush grew at the base of the fountain, the water sprinkling the closest petals as it streamed from the stone whale's mouth.

His back was to me, so close he might have felt my breath on his neck, if I'd been breathing at all.

He ran his fingers across a drooping rose. Summer was at its height, but the flowers had seen their peak a month ago, worn down by the heat. His fingers dipped lower, grazing a sharp thorn along the stem.

Gasping, he retracted his hand sharply. Blood welled up on his fingertip.

"Fuck," I murmured.

He looked at me, his eyes impossibly wide.

I lifted his hand and pressed my thumb to his middle finger, just beneath the glistening red bead. I could feel his pulse. It was quicker than mine, stronger. Without thinking, I pressed his finger to my lips and licked the blood away.

His breath came out hitched, his cheeks pink. I watched his throat contract as he swallowed, his finger still in my mouth. My eyes flickered to his ruby lips, then back up. His breath quickened and he leaned closer, drawing me in.

As if in a trance, I dropped his hand.

"Mr Murray-" he started.

"Philip."

He let out a little sound of shock as I tilted his chin up and kissed him.

He leaned into me, warm and tender, his lips parting and his hands sliding up my chest. When his eyes fluttered shut I came to my senses.

I pulled back.

His eyes opened. Landed on mine.

A heartbeat later he gripped my jaw and crushed our lips together in desperation. Philip was a sloppy kisser, innocent in a way. Our chests grazed, my lungs constricting as if all the air was gone from the world. The questions circling my head slipped away like the petals of his wilting roses, replaced only with single thoughts:

His lips.

His touch.

His heart, pounding against mine.

He was breathless when we pulled apart again, his amber eyes glued to mine, wide and searching.

I licked my lips, savoring the taste of him.

I liked how warm he felt in my hands, how alive. I could practically hear the blood rush in his veins, feel the thud of his heart.

A rustle came from the hedges, a light tap of a footstep on the soil. A small party of men ducked their heads away as we turned.

"I have to go," I whispered.

Philip was silent, his eyes still locked on mine. He grasped my vest as I turned away. "Stop doing that," he hissed, more assertive than I'd ever heard him.

I took a shaky breath. "Doing what?"

"Running away."

I realized now what the problem was. The same problem that was the cause of almost all my misfortunes. "I'm a coward," I said. "I always have been."

The men were staring. Some blatantly, some through shifting eyes that flicked down, then up, then down. I couldn't tell if they found our kiss erotic or offensive.

He leaned close. I could feel his breath on my lips and longed to connect the space between us, to sweep my tongue across his beautiful mouth. "So am I," he said.

I threw a glance over my shoulder. "I can't keep sneaking off," I murmured. "Send for me."

"I did."

I took a breath. "Somewhere private. Send a page to the servants' quarters and say I'm to come to your chambers."

His cheeks reddened, blotches of embarrassment blooming on an ivory canvas. The sight drew a little sympathy from me, but also a dark need tightening in my crotch.

That was the first time I allowed myself to accept it.

I wanted him.

I wanted him, this man who posed such a threat to me, my family, my people. Who came from such a different walk of life I could barely comprehend it. Who I'd walked into that courtyard on my first morning in the castle hating, and left bewitched by.

It was sick, how deeply my desire ran, yet just the sheer knowledge of my depravity aroused me all the more.

"Will you do that?" I whispered. I didn't want the men to overhear. "Send for me?"

He nodded, his eyes still huge. He stumbled a little and I gripped his waist.

"Alright. Don't faint on me."

"I won't," he said, but his breathing was so unsteady I worried he would hyperventilate.

I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles, the way he was used to being greeted hundreds of times. Then I turned his hand and kissed his wrist.

His skin was soft, so soft, like silk. "Until then," I smiled.

He collapsed onto the stone bench, his breaths deep and gulping.

I turned, hoping I didn't look as dizzy as I felt as I walked past the group of onlookers. The greenery seemed to swallow them whole, and soon the flashy colors of their bright coats were behind me. My dazed mind was spinning out of orbit.

What did I just do what did I just do what did I just do-

I scrubbed both hands over my face to sober myself up.

It would be alright. Everything would be alright.

The last shred of calm I clung to vanished entirely as my own words played on repeat in my head.

Until then.