The three Stav at his back dipped their chins at the sight of me. Roark spun around, eyes like a fading sun drawing me into its brilliance.

Gods, I was a fool. Yes, he was handsome, and competent, and loyal. Perhaps he was not the worst of company to keep, and now I knew he respected the most innocent, but he was still Roark Ashwood, a man who saw me as a duty to his position.

I had no business wishing he might come a bit closer.

Why are you out here alone? He wore a shadowed expression.

“Emi is only there.” I gestured toward the pearl cart with one hand, adjusting the weight of the satchel on my arm. “I’m not a fool, and I didn’t mean to interrupt your time away from your nursemaid duties to the melder.”

Roark tilted his head, then replied with his fingers against my cheek. A secret delight of mine. A duty I enjoy.

He pulled his hand away as though he’d replied without thinking. The Sentry rubbed the back of his neck for a breath, then took note of the leather pouch filled with ribbons.

With a signal to the Stav Guard, he instructed them to take my things to my chamber.

Do you wish to return? he asked once the three guards had gone.

“No.” I allowed my eyes to flutter closed. Scents of baked breads and rosy skin oil, leather and a bit of woodsmoke. “I was going to beg Emi to stay a bit longer. I’d like to see the whole of the lower township.”

Roark glanced over my shoulder. You have been abandoned.

I followed the point of his finger. True enough, Emi’s tight, icy braids were nearing the bridge to cross over onto palace grounds. She held her own purchases, but waved wildly as she bid farewell. With the distance between us I couldn’t see her sly grin, but I could damn well feel it.

My insides twirled when I faced Roark again. “I should follow her, I suppose.”

He shifted on his feet for a breath. I can stay with you.

What was this new…pressure that always seemed to gather in wretched places near Roark Ashwood? Chest, head, and somewhere low, low in my belly. “Well, then, lead the way, my lord Sentry.”

He feigned irritation at the mock propriety in my tone and stepped into the flow of the market, keeping close to my side.

Strange, but folk in the market seemed to revere the Sentry more personally than the Stav Guard.

Old women slipped him more than one fresh herb roll or strip of seasoned venison. Carpenters and street sweeps waved and bid him a good day. Roark responded with respect and something gentle, but there was a touch of shyness in each dip of the head, each twitch of his mouth. Seemed the Sentry cared for the attention of others as much as me.