A day old, Res’s appetite would be kicking in, so I’d visited the castle kitchens with the intent of pilfering some meat. The castle cook was already preparing meals for that evening’s dinner when I slipped into the warm, cobblestone room.

After learning his name was Tarel and asking for some cooked chicken, a man shaping dough beside the oven had grinned at me in a way that made his dimples show. “So you’re the one who’s been ordering all the desserts,” he said.

My cheeks flushed. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“Are you kidding?” replied Tarel as he folded chicken in a cloth for me with nimble fingers. “He’s just happy to make something other than sugarless tarts.”

It’d taken me several more minutes to escape and only after learning the dimpled man was Lyren, Tarel’s husband and the castle baker, along with how many years they’d worked there, how long they’d been married, and their opinions on who’d win the Centerian that year. By the time I’d slipped away with promises to return, I had an additional cloth wrap with scones, hard cheese, and dried fruit.

The carriage slowed outside the bakery, and I leapt out, darting inside with a quick hello to the woman behind the counter on my way up to Caylus’s. He answered the door after the first knock, as if he’d been waiting on the other side.

“How is he?” I asked the moment the door shut.

“Asleep,” Caylus replied. He had purple shadows under his eyes, and his hair had reached a new level of disheveled.

I frowned. “Did you sleep?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

Something warm and pleasant welled in my chest, and I smiled, taking Caylus’s hand to guide him upstairs. His fingers curled about mine, their trembling still. We hadn’t talked about our kiss, and some part of me didn’t want to. Caylus knew about my engagement with Ericen and my plans to stop it, and if he didn’t want to make a big deal of it, neither would I.

Getting caught didn’t worry me—kissing another boy was the least of my subversion.

Res lay cocooned in soft blankets of Ambriellan wool. There were more than when I’d left, as if Caylus had gotten concerned the crow might be cold. A small water bowl sat beside him.

This close, the cord between Res and me felt stronger, the connection a comfort. I knelt beside him, and his silver eyes opened. On his stomach, with his little head tucked in, he was no more than a pouf of feathers with a beak.