The next day, I set out looking for Savina. Since we were to leave tomorrow, I only had today to fulfill my promise. I could also use the distraction. All night, I’d tossed and turned, lying awake in a fit of thoughts about Lou. The way her skin felt under my hands, the touch of her lips against mine, her panting breaths heating my face, the way she moaned when I pressed against her. All of it consumed me from the moment I lay my head down until the sun winked at me through the curtains, mocking my weariness. I couldn’t tell if I was angry or enamored.

Cobblestone trails wended through patches of flowers throughout the palace gardens. First, I passed by the rose bushes that gave Little Rose her nickname. Each row varied by color and size. Every bud was cared for like a beloved child, not a dying bloom among them.

Farther along were beds of other species—lilies, witch-hazel, wild bergamot, lilacs, and oxalis—but it was the row of Himalayan blue poppy that stopped me in my tracks. Their rich color reminded me of the sea, the breeze creating a ripple over their petals like a gentle wave. My fingers skimmed the blooms in a light caress.

“They are beautiful,” a female voice behind me said.

I turned to find an unfamiliar woman standing with her hand threaded through Savina’s.

“Her Highness asked if you’d help her pick a bouquet of flowers for her mother.”

“Will you?” Savina raised onto her tiptoes, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“Of course, I’d love to.” How could I resist?

The nursemaid, I presumed, smiled. She was younger than most, though, and the slits up the sides of her dress were an unusual attire for a caretaker, especially in Queen Olivine’s court. Something about her grin seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

She smoothed Savina’s wild red curls with her hands and cupped her face. “Darling, why don’t you go clip some of the yellow roses.” An unusual address and level of familiarity for a nursemaid, as well. “They will add a bright and cheery color to the bouquet.”

“Alright,” Savina said before skipping off.

The nursemaid returned my watchful gaze, and her hazel irises flickered between murky green and a glorious bronzy gold. I squinted. I knew her. How?

“You know, Rylander, the blue poppies are a heavily sought-after beauty, very rare and delicate.” She plucked one of the stems from the bed and twirled it between her thumb and pointer finger. “They also can be very temperamental.” She winked. “You don’t happen to know anyone like that, would you now?”

My mouth skewed. I crossed my arms, ignoring the way the thread pulled against my taut muscles, my body instantly on edge. “Artemis.”