Chapter Eleven

I couldn't have told you what happened during the rest of the ball, and even the carriage ride home was nothing more than a blur of Ryia's father drunkenly spewing what I'd dubbed Sawyer Propaganda. Thankfully, he hadn't seemed to care that Ryia spent so much time dancing with Lawrence. That, or he'd had too much wine by that time to remember. It wasn't until I was in Ryia's room, trying to escape the gossamer maze that the women here called dresses, that I was able to pull myself together enough to talk.

"So, are you going to tell me what you and Oliver were doing out there alone, or am I going to have to wait even longer?" Ryia asked, loosening the ties on the back of the dress enough for me to shimmy my way out. She sat on the edge of her bed, her wiggling eyebrows saying I'm waiting.

After a grumbled thank you, I picked my dress up off the floor and began to fold it up. "It really was nothing. He wanted to dance but isn't great at it, so we went outside where no one could see and danced together… as friends."

Ryia rested her chin on her arms, pouting at the lack of scandalous gossip she'd been hoping for.

"And what about you, I saw you dancing with Lawrence for like fifty songs." I smirked, watching as her face flushed bright pink. She plopped back on the bed, covering her face with her hands.

"It's the same as you," she grumbled, "we're just friends."

"Speaking of Lawrence, why don't you invite him over as a thank you?" I asked, sprawling on the bed next to her. As soon as my head hit the soft comforter, exhaustion hit.

"Do you think that would really be an appropriate thank you?" She asked, turning to face me, "don't you think he'd appreciate a new jacket more?"

"Lawrence has enough money to buy fifty new jackets. He'd much prefer spending time with you instead."

"That's a good point." She scrunched her nose.

"We could invite him over for a lunch at the pond. If you really feel that bad, you could try making something special. It's the thought and effort that counts," I yawned, stretching my arms back.

"That sounds like it could be fun," she said, "but if we do that, could you go into town to get some extra ingredients? I don't think asking one of my father's servants to do it would be a good idea."

"Sure, that'll be easy." Knowing nothing about how markets or bartering worked here didn't seem like an issue in my groggy state.

"Perfect! I'll write up a list for you after I send Lawrence the invitation."

"Can I add a letter to that message, too… don't you dare say anything," I added, already sensing the eyebrow rise sure to come from Ryia.

"What? I wasn't going to say anything." She laughed and threw her hands up defensively. I adjusted myself, pushing my back against the headboard. Ryia didn't seem to want me gone, and I wasn't inclined to get up and leave on my own. We'd shared a bed before, and quite honestly, I'd gotten close enough to her that I didn't mind her company in the slightest. It was nice having a friend that I could be this comfortable around. She hadn't been lying when she'd told me that my job was nothing more than a formality to her.

It wasn't long till both of us had passed out, doing the bare minimum to move under the covers before falling asleep.

❧

"Sure, that'll be easy," I mocked myself as I helplessly walked through the crowded streets of the market. The overwhelming smell of spices and livestock mingling together was enough to make me nauseous, and the addition of a hundred screaming merchants and patrons did little to help. I stared down at the list in my hand as I wandered aimlessly through the wooden stalls, hoping something familiar would catch my eye. Cinnamon, cucumbers, eggs… what was she even trying to make?

"Hey, Miss," a man at a nearby stall called out. I stopped and pointed to myself, silently asking if he meant to single me out.

"Yes, you," he rasped, "you look lost, do you need some directions?"

"I think I'm okay, but thank you." I gave him a smile that didn't reach my eyes, hoping he wouldn't press any further. With a crooked gait, the man made his way from behind his dilapidated stall. He eyed me up and down, taking in my clothing. A greasy grin crept across his face when he noticed the quality of them. I'd dressed modestly, trying to avoid this exact situation, but no matter of plainness could hide the clean, fine fabric of my dress. A glazed, wily look passed over his eyes when he realized I was a noble. I could see the cogs turning in his head, calculating just how much money I'd have on me, or even be worth myself.

"Come on, there's no harm in getting some help." He had crept close enough for me to see the yellow tinting in his teeth and beady eyes. I'd dealt with enough sketchy peddlers like this in the city to know that my best bet was to calmly back away, keeping a pleasant smile as I did so. Still, panic seeped into me as I did my best to stop my hands from shaking. There was a desperate glint in his stare that told me he was more dangerous than any peddler I'd encountered before, and no one here looked particularly inclined to help me if things went south. If anything, I could swear a few people around me were even eyeing us eagerly, hoping to get a cut of whatever wealth I had on me if the opportunity arose.

"I really am fine on my own, but I appreciate the offer." I quickly turned on my heels, getting ready to run if need be. Even over the sounds of the crowd, I could hear his shuffled steps following me, and a scraping across dirt that sent fear coursing through me. I didn't need to look back to know that he was making a mad lunge for me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. She's a fighter." How had his voice already become so familiar?

I spun around to see the merchant's withered, outstretched hand mere inches from me, stopped midair by someone's strong grasp on his wrist. The tension building released as Oliver slid between me and the man. With his free hand, he brushed me safely beside him. My heart slowed as I inched closer to him, taking full advantage of the protection he offered.

The man spat a curse out at me, and Oliver tightened his grip in return. Anger quickly flashed across his eyes. The cool, playfulness in his voice instantly vanished as he stared the man down. "Now, she said she was fine, so it would be best if you left us alone."

The merchant sneered and shook off Oliver's hand, grumbling a string of curses as he stalked back behind his stand.

"Thank you," I mumbled from beside him. After wiping his hand with a repulsed scowl, Oliver stepped back and looked me over, checking to make sure I was fine.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to trust strangers?" He wasted no time taunting me as soon as he was sure I was unharmed. My relief plummeted into irritation as he smirked. I was beginning to regret having asked him to join me today.

"You know you're technically a stranger, too," I retorted, unnecessarily defensive despite how thankful I was for him at that moment.

"You've sat in my lap and know my biggest secret. I'd hardly call us strangers."

All the embarrassment I'd been too shell-shocked to feel my first day here hit me like a ton of bricks. God, how could I have forgotten that? I whipped around, praying he didn't see my face becoming bright scarlet, but his deep laugh told me he did. I took a deep breath, trying to push aside the little voice praying for me to turn to dust and disappear with the wind.

"So, is this what we're shopping for?" He asked, peeking over my should at Ryia's list, a pleased smile still on his face. "Cinnamon, cucumbers, eggs… what is she even trying to make?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," I said, my face still flushed. "I'm assuming you don't know this market any better than I do?"

"Sadly, I'll be little help beyond keeping strangers from scheming to abduct you." I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the fact that I had laughed a bit inside. I shooed him off my shoulder as I did my best to conceal my smile.

"I've already been down that alley, so we should try that road next," I said, pointing around as if it would help. Oliver nodded in agreement and followed me as I led the way through the streets, acting as if I had any sort of clue where I was going. I was practically leading us blind, but he didn't seem to care. If anything, he looked like he was enjoying it. As we weaved our way through hordes of merchants and buyers alike, I decided to finally address the elephant in the room that had been looming over me for a few days now.

"So, when did you realize that I had, you know, read the book too?" I asked, picking up and inspecting various fruits from the stall we were passing by. I paused, tossing an apple between my hands. I figured that would be as good a place as any to start unpacking the situation that I was still struggling to believe was real.

"Honestly," he started, toying with the collar of the cream lace-up shirt he wore, "I had an idea about it from the very beginning, as soon as you'd said 'I don't know how I got here.' Then when you came to visit, it became pretty clear to me."

"I couldn't have been that obvious, I tried to be careful about it," I griped, hastily placing the apple down as the vendor gave me the side eye.

Oliver laughed, only to quickly stop upon seeing my frown. "Oh, you're serious?" I nodded in return, keeping my expression trained as humiliation pecked at me. I knew I wasn't totally inconspicuous, but it wasn't laughable, right? Right?

"I mean, no offense, but you weren't exactly discreet about it. You practically recited the whole plot of the ballroom scene to me. Plus, you were acting wildly out of character," he said, shrugging.

"Was it really that bad," I whined, my ears growing redder by the second.

"To be fair, I might not have figured it out if I weren't in the same situation. I probably would've just thought you were weird or something," he added. If he was trying to make me feel better, it wasn't working.

"Thanks for that," I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

"You're welcome!" He said cheerily. He continued to look around, blissfully unaware of how much of a threat my foot currently posed to his shins.

We continued to walk through the stalls and talked back and forth about the book. Apparently, he'd read the book in an attempt to connect with his new stepsister. Not that it'll matter anymore, he'd mumbled. The pain in his voice wasn't lost on me, no matter how hard he had tried to make light of it. I hadn't left much behind coming here. I wasn't close with my parents, hadn't been for a while, and had recently moved to a new city where I knew no one. It had never occurred to me that he would be any different, that he'd left people behind in his old life. All I'd been able to offer in consolation was a meager I'm sorry.

We eventually found everything Ryia needed for her mystery concoction. As I paid for the last of the ingredients, Oliver had slipped away to buy something of his own. Eventually, he returned, looking slightly like a lost puppy until he found me in the crowd. I couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he quickly jogged over to me, brimming with some newfound enthusiasm.

"Here, put your arm out," he directed me once he was back. With a skeptical glance, I listened and extend my hand toward him. he took a ribbon out of his pocket and tied it around my wrist. The pale blue silk shimmered as I pulled my hand close to look at it.

"Perfect," he said as he stepped back to admire the drooping bow, his smile proud.

"Thank you?" I laughed both in appreciation and in question, "it's a very beautiful…"

"Hair ribbon… I think. The color matched your eyes perfectly, so when I saw it, I knew I had to get it." A traitorous smile bloomed on my face as I stared up at him. He was right; the ribbon was the same light, cornflower blue as my eyes.

"Wait," I gasped, "did your eyes stay the same?"

"What?"

"Your eyes now, aren't they the same color as your old eyes?" I asked, "mine are, even down to the brown speck here."

"Huh," he said, leaning in to look at my eyes, "I never really thought about it, but I guess they did. I just figured the original Oliver just had hazel eyes too." Looking at them as closely as I was now, I could clearly see the light green encircled by a rich brown, with flecks of gold throughout. They matched his tan, freckled complexion perfectly.

"I doubt that original Oliver's eyes were this pretty, considering he was a side character," I said without thinking it through. Immediate regret flashed across my face when I saw the way the corner of his lips curled.

"You think I have pretty eyes?"

I had two options: deny it or own it. I wanted to deny it, to take it back, but looking at him, at his smile, I just… couldn't.

"Yes, yes you do," I said, turning away from him and crossing my arms, "especially with the gold in them." I was now up to a grand total of three times today that I wanted to die from embarrassment because of him.

"Why thank you," he said. I could hear that damned playful grin of his as he spoke, "and for the record, you have very pretty eyes too, June."

Thank God my back was towards him.

❧

"This is perfect, thank you, June," Ryia exclaimed, hugging my side the next morning, "I hope it wasn't too crazy at the market." She took the satchel from me and laid the ingredients on the table to make who knows what.

"It wasn't the market that was draining," I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. My face still reddened every time I remembered the way I'd practically fled from him after a hurried goodbye. Ryia tilted her head, getting ready to question me, but I waved her off. I never remembered kitchens being this hot. I walked around the table to where she stood on her tip-toes, struggling to get a pan off the top shelf. I reached up and grabbed it for her. One thing I couldn't complain about was the fact that I was now a few inches taller than I had been before.

"Thank you," she huffed as I handed the tray to her.

Sitting down, I rested my elbows on the flour-covered table. "So, what are we making," I asked, tracing my finger over the deep cut marks in the wood.

"I was thinking cinnamon custard tarts," she said, "I already asked one of the cooks to make me the pastry dough, so it should be easy enough."

It was, in fact, not easy enough. Despite Ryia's protest, I eventually called for help. If it hadn't been for the poor baker's assistant who came to save the day, we would've been bringing plain, and most likely burnt, toast to the picnic. As we wrapped everything up and placed it neatly into a basket, along with the classic checkered picnic blanket, I tried to cheer up Ryia by reminding her that she'd been able to successfully slice up the cucumbers for the water, but it did little to lighten her dejected frown. It wasn't until Lawrence and Oliver arrived that she perked up, something that I took as a good sign.

I was grinning like a maniac while writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Fun fact: Canonically, Ryia is so bad at cooking that she can't even make cereal

Ryia, setting down breakfast: Sorry this took so long, I kept messing up. I hope it tastes okay.

June: Ryia, it's just cereal, there's no way you could've messed it up. I'm sure it'll taste fine.

Later that day

Oliver: It couldn't have been that bad.

June: If Sawyer doesn't kill Lawrence, Ryia's cooking will.