Chapter 9: A Night Without Guards

Seravelle asked for the moonlit balcony and received a drying rack.

The innkeeper pushed it aside with his foot.

"Best view in the house," he assured her.

Two pairs of stockings swung between her and the river.

Caedrin held the door while she carried a candle outside.

He had changed into a plain shirt and dark waistcoat.

Without the sword and uniform, he looked easier to disappoint.

She put the candle on a barrel and faced him.

"I wanted somewhere private," she said.

A voice rose from the kitchen window beneath them.

"Then avoid the front stairs," the cook called.

"The cat has learned to open that door."

Caedrin drew the balcony door shut behind him.

He moved the candle away from a trailing stocking.

Seravelle watched his careful hands and forgot her prepared beginning.

She had meant to call the evening an escape from everything.

His quiet attention made that sound like another way of leaving.

"You could have gone after sunset," she said instead.

"Yes," he replied.

"I was glad you did not."

He stepped nearer without touching her.

"So was I," he told her.

A breeze blew the nearest stocking into the candle flame.

Caedrin caught it and smothered the little spark in his palm.

Seravelle took the candle and put it inside the empty barrel.

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