She moved close to him, so close that there was no space between the two of them, and Greave felt sure he could feel her heartbeat against his. Or maybe it was his heartbeat, thrumming with the excitement of being there like this.

Now we move together. Feel the music. Move in time to it, she said.

Greave did his best, listening to the music not for the technical components of meter and scale for once, but just for the flow of it. He felt himself falling into that flow, and Aurelles presence made it easy. He felt as though he could feel every moment she was going to make and respond to it automatically, as if she lent him her grace in some indefinable way.

In the moment when she kissed him, even that felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. Her lips met his, and in that moment, Greave couldnt work out which of them was leading the kiss, which of them was kissing the other.

I… havent done that before, Greave breathed when they pulled back from one another.

You havent kissed someone? Aurelle asked.

Greave shook his head.

Then youre a very fast learner, she said with a smile.

In that moment, there was no doubt left for Greave; he knew he was in love. It made no sense that he should be in love so quickly, but he knew he was.

It makes me wonder what else I might teach you, Aurelle said. Her finger hooked into Greaves shirt, gently drawing him with her.

Where are we going? Greave asked.

To my rooms, Aurelle said. She hesitated for a moment, looking suddenly as shy as Greave felt. That is… if you want to?

That hint of shyness was the thing that clinched it for Greave. It said to him that this was as strange an experience for her as it was for him, and that some part of her felt all the strange, impossible things that were running through him. Greave stared at her, seeing yet another side to her: this vulnerable, gentle need to be loved as much as he needed it. Slowly, carefully, Greave nodded.

I want that more than anything, he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Renard watched Lord Carricks castle home the way he might have stared at a musical score, or perhaps at Yselle when she was in one of her more unfathomable moods: looking for understanding, for the chink of light that would show the way in. He stared at it from the fields beyond, dressed in peasant garb so that none would think twice about his presence there, memorizing all he could of the movements of the guards and the hidden spots around the walls.