Being buried between the rocky cliffs brought rogue gusts of wind, but the square within the palace walls always breathed of fresh basil and lavender.

Emi nudged me aside when a trio of Stav Guard stomped over the cobbled paths. I thought it more for show. They plodded their boots with unnatural force to jangle the buckles on their ankles, and more than one Stav puffed out his chest when a cluster of young ladies traveling for a wedding in the township to the north whispered and snickered and sighed when they passed.

We arrived at the square outside the great hall after the final bell, and the way Stonehands pinned me with his gaze, I feared I might fall to my knees merely to escape his attention.

“Let’s be off, then.” With a grunt Stonehands adjusted a pigskin satchel on his shoulder and stomped toward the first portcullis leading away from the palace.

“I think he likes you,” Emi muttered.

I turned to frown at her, but caught movement beneath a shadowed arcade.

Roark, dressed in a black Stav tunic with a gray wolf fur cloak over his shoulders, stepped onto the road. The Sentry kept a distance of more than fifteen paces, but moved as though weightless.

He maneuvered around the inner guards and courtiers, barely snatching the attention of others, yet my gaze found him in the crowds as if he were dressed all in red, waving his arms to steal my notice.

Annoyed as I wanted to be at the king for demanding the Sentry stand as my personal guard, I could not deny an unsettling sort of relief knowing Roark Ashwood kept watch on my back.

Melder Fadey was slaughtered just beyond these walls. Roark was swift and dangerous with a blade, a sight I’d witnessed firsthand, and he had what appeared to be unwavering loyalty to the royal house. Perhaps the Sentry despised me, but I was of value to the house of Oleg.

I’d few doubts that Roark would take countless heads in order to keep me safe.

When his sharp eyes found mine from his place in the shadows, breath caught in my throat. In haste, I turned away and blended into the back edges of the touring crowd.

“Keep close,” Stonehands called out. “Makin’ our way to the inner market, roads get a touch narrow.”

I felt a great deal like a hog being squeezed into the slaughterhouse the way folk pushed through the arched gates into the lower township.

Stonegate palace sat on the top of a rocky hillside and below were homes and the market square that bustled with hawkers trading their hogs and goats and hens. Fish and smoked meats passed hands as swiftly as florin coin, and beneath it all was the scent of damp grass, soil, and salt.