Audacity
602 Words
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*Chapter 3:
The cottage smelled like bread and roses.
Lilith stood on the porch with a basket in her hands, staring at her own front door.
It was open.
She had closed it.
She was certain she had closed it.
The man was no longer in the garden.
“...”
A breeze moved through the roses. They swayed as if amused.
With the sigh of a woman who had made one too many decisions today, she set the basket down and stepped inside.
The sitting room was dim. The fire was cold. Dust hung in the air.
And seated at her table, in her chair, with mud still on the hem of his coat, was the stranger.
He looked up the moment she entered.
Dark eyes. Sharp features. A cut at his temple that had already stopped bleeding.
He did not look grateful.
He did not look injured.
He looked offended.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then he did.
“You.”
The word was quiet. Accusatory.
Lilith set the basket on the counter. “Me.”
“You left me in the mud.”
“I did.”
Her voice was steady. Honest.
“I checked your pulse. You were breathing. The guards told me to return tomorrow.”
His jaw tightened. “So you decided to leave a man unconscious in your garden.”
“I decided not to drag a stranger into my home.”
She met his gaze. Large doe eyes, calm, unimpressed.
“Apparently you made the decision for me.”
He stood.
Slowly.
The cottage suddenly felt smaller. He was too tall, too broad, too much for a room meant for tea and mending.
“The point,” he said, and the word sounded like it hurt him, “is that someone drugged me. At a royal banquet. And I woke up in dirt. And the first person who saw me walked away.”
Ah.
So he was someone important.
Lilith crossed her arms. “And the first thing you did when you woke up was walk into my house without permission.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your house.”
“Yes.”
“Then I suppose I should thank you for the hospitality.”
“You are welcome to leave.”
Another pause.
Outside, the evening wind carried the scent of roses through the open window. Sweet. Ridiculous.
He did not leave.
She could tell he was not going to leave. Not until he had answers.
Lilith studied him.
The fine cut of his coat, now ruined.
The black iron ring on his right thumb.
The way his hands were steady despite the drug, despite the humiliation.
A memory flickered.
A bridge. Rain. A voice: _“Don’t look back.”_
She shoved it down.
Mirade wasn’t here.
Which meant no one would see this.
No one would gossip.
No one would ask questions.
“Are you going to tell me your name,” she asked, “or are we going to stand here and be inconvenienced by each other all night?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile.
Something colder.
“My name,” he said, “is not something I give to people who leave me in the mud.”
Lilith blinked.
Then she turned toward the kitchen.
“Fine. Stay, then. But if you break anything, you’re paying for it.”
Behind her, she heard him exhale.
It might have been a laugh.
It might have been fury.
Either way, he did not follow her.
And she did not look back.
Not yet.
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