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The corridors of Castle Caelin were silent as Knight-Commander Kent passed through them. A pair of his men, posted at the entrance to the dining hall, straightened at his approach and saluted. Despite the lateness of the hour, they both seemed alert; he inclined his head in acknowledgement and was satisfied to see that they did not relax again until he had passed them by.

He was not officially on patrol, but, having made great headway on the mountain of supply requisitions on his desk, he had decided that it might be prudent to take a moment to look into the mysterious Bread Bandit.

According to Sain, the bandit struck in the middle of the night to steal bread from the kitchens. The head cook suspected it was one of the knights—one of Kent’s own men. A preposterous claim, of course, but despite his denial, the head cook insisted. Who else could confidently wander the halls in the dead of night but one of Caelin’s own?

It could be any of the servants of Caelin, Kent had insisted, but the disagreement continued until it was suggested that Marquess Hausen hear the dilemma himself, and judge it accordingly.

Kent couldn’t imagine bothering the lord of the castle with such a silly matter. He would believe all his servants incompetent, then—not just his overzealous head cook. Without better recourse, Kent had pulled Sain away, ground his teeth, and reprimanded his men as if they were children who had to be told that taking food in the middle of the night was against the rules.

And yet, that very night, a week ago, now, more bread had been stolen.

Since then, other food items had been found missing in routine inventory checks: apples, wine, cheese—and even a slice of cake! It had started off silly enough, with just the bread, but it was now starting to get on Kent’s nerves.

All he had to do was check the kitchens; if the person responsible was present, the mystery would be solved and Kent would have to see the misdeed handled, but if not…he would simply return to his personal quarters to get what sleep he could manage before his morning duties began.

The walk from his desk to the kitchens felt twice as long as usual. The blame for that rested squarely on the headache he’d acquired looking over the supply requisitions and schedule requests—but then, he’d known to expect it; the barely-legible scrawl most of his subordinates used would cause any reasonable person pain.

He slowed as he neared the kitchens, boots quieting against the floor. A faint sound came to him from inside and he halted mid-stride to listen.

It sounded a bit like rummaging, he decided after a moment.

He moved closer to the door and held his breath. It was unmistakable: a tin being slid over a wooden shelf, the contents of boxes and containers shifting as someone moved them a little to the right or left, the soft clanking...of—of armor…?!

It was definitely rummaging! And by the very type of person he’d sworn could not be responsible!

His curiosity evaporated. Anger took its place. If armor was involved, that meant a knight—and most likely one on duty! Saying it once to his men should have been enough! But did anyone actually listen to him? No. No, of course not. They thought they could get away with anything as long as they weren’t caught!

“I’ve come up with a trap to catch our Bread Bandit,” Sain had said to him just that afternoon. “I’m pretty sure they think I’m to blame for it—me, Sain! It is a wound to my dignity and my honor to be perceived as such. Do not worry yourself, Kent; I’ll set the trap tonight to catch our thief—and then we can put all of this behind us!”

So much for Sain’s clever trap—whatever it was! His friend had refused to say: “In case the culprit is actually you,” he’d teased. As if Kent would ever do such a thing!

The real culprit would not get off easily. Not this time. He couldn’t afford to be soft, not with this being disobedience against a direct order! His men were constantly chomping at the bit, anyway; if he didn’t rein them in now, who knew what else they might try to get away with? What kind of military would he be running, then? And how could he explain the failure to Lord Hausen or, Elimine forbid, Lady Lyndis?

He supposed some of their misconduct was due to the fact that he had been away from his post saving the world and taking rightful retribution against Lord Darin, but it wasn’t as if he could tell his men about that first part, let alone how the latter played into it. They’d never believe him.

They imagined he’d spent the previous year mostly gallivanting across Elibe with Lady Lyndis and Lords Hector and Eliwood—as if their lady hadn’t risked her life on the front lines time and time again with both he and Sain beside her! His left knee ought to have been proof enough of the dangers they had faced together—his age was far too young for it to trouble him so otherwise—but even that was not enough to dispel their doubt.

And if they didn’t have confidence in his honestly regarding the dangers Darin of Laus had posed to them on the Isle, they would never believe the other things he had witnessed firsthand. Ancient heroes and necromancers were just the tip of the lance—to say nothing of the fact that the woman engaged to Lord Eliwood of Pherae was, in truth, a dragon!

They would think he’d snapped. Kent didn’t much care what they thought of him, at least on a general level, but if they believed him mad, he’d have even more trouble keeping them in line than he already did—and that would not do.

The sound of clinking glassware roused him from his thoughts and stoked the flame of his temper anew. How could there be any stone left unturned after two weeks pilfering from the larder? They ought to at least know where everything was by now!

Very well, then. There was no use in waiting to confront them in the hall.

He pushed the doors to the kitchen far harder than he meant to, and they swung open so hard one of the large handles smacked against a countertop with a deafening crash. “What,” he snapped, “do you think you’re doing? You received a direct order from your commander and I expected it to be ob…ey…”

He floundered to a stop, the words in his mind strangling to death somewhere in his throat. The light of his candle cast, in sharp relief, the unmistakable figure of the mysterious Bread Bandit: Lady Lyndis herself.

And she looked terribly guilty.

“F-Forgive me,” he managed to say. “You are not one of my—”

He choked back the last word of his flustered explanation. Men. He’d almost gravely insulted her.

After a low bow at the waist, he tried again, “Please forgive the intrusion and my outburst, Lady Lyndis. I—I thought you were someone else.”

“You needn’t humble yourself so,” she said, and when he straightened again, her expression looked almost predatory. “I look like a man, do I?”

“No!” he was quick to say—and far too loud. “No. Not at all, my lady.” He could feel the heat burning a path up his neck all the way to his ears, and held the candle out a little further to try to hide it.

But she laughed, the sound warm and honest. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been privileged enough to hear it; it felt like months, and maybe it had been.

Relief washed away his irritation. If the Bread Bandit was Lady Lyndis, then he didn’t have to yell at anyone. Contrary to what most of his men thought, he did not enjoy doling out punishments or catching people doing things that required them. He never shied away from conflict because to do so went against his oaths of fealty, but he did not go looking for it, either; he had better things to do with his time.

Like take in Lady Lyndis’s attire. He knew it was indecent to stare, but the floor-length cream-colored nightgown she wore was so different from her preferred daytime dress that he had a difficult time turning away. It was modest with a high neck and sleeves, but the soft-looking material held a strange sort of appeal.

Before he could think on it further and do something foolish like touch it—touch her—he forced himself to look elsewhere.

Like at her hands, which held what remained of the bread from supper last. Right; he’d nearly forgotten.

His lip twitched with the hint of a smile as she ate it. “Your reputation as the Bread Bandit precedes you, Lady Lyndis. I confess I did not expect to learn that you were the culprit.” He did not have the right to speak to her thus; it was too bold, even if they had shared a whisper of an understanding.

But she smiled at him so playfully it made his heart flutter. “Only this night,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting her head slightly to the side. “But I take it someone else has been sneaking in?”

“Indeed.” He pushed his disappointment aside; the thief wasn’t caught, after all. But at least this evening had afforded him a moment to see Lady Lyndis. He’d hardly caught more than a glimpse of her for weeks. “But it is no matter. We’ll expose the real culprit soon enough, even if I have to stake the place out myself.”

“I have full confidence in you, Kent,” she said.

“Thank you. Though I do believe I won’t do so tonight.” It was doubtful they’d even show up after the ruckus he’d made. “Considering the late hour, my lady, might you accept an escort to your rooms?”

“After I find something…sweet.” She said the last word happily, as if she’d only just understood what she wanted. “Any suggestions?”

He gestured toward the larder. “Fruit?” he guessed.

She looked thoughtful as she moved toward the door, walking on the balls of her feet as if trying to sneak around her own castle. As silly as it was, Kent found it charming. “An apple might suit,” she said, hand on the doorknob. “Or one of those purple things… What do you call them, again?”

“Plums?”

“Yes! That.” She smiled and pushed open the door.

Kent followed. The cellar door was situated at the back of the larder, built into the floor. It was made of wood and braced with iron; a heavy ring sat on top that was meant to be lowered onto an overhead hook. Lady Lyndis was perfectly capable of lifting it herself with the pulley system, but he would be remiss in his duties if he did not offer to do it for her.

“Allow me,” he said, and stepped around her to reach for the metal ring; the door opened with a groan, and he felt Lady Lyndis’s fingers brush his—a silent request for his candle. He loosened his fingers and felt her take it from him.

“I’ll only be a moment,” she said.

He decided not to latch the door; it was no trouble to hold it open for a little while, anyway—not if it was for her.

“Do you want anything?” Her eyes were on his; she looked soft in the warm candlelight.

“No,” he said, “but thank you.”  She was so thoughtful. He might have been tempted to touch her, then, just a brush of his fingers against her sleeve, but she started down the stairs before he could commit to the idea. Instead, he watched the weak light of the candle spill down into the darkness as she walked.

He had to bite his tongue against warning her to be careful; despite her thoughtfulness, she despised it when her friends thought her incapable.

She was careful, though, taking one step at a time. He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when there was a startled exclamation followed by a muffled thump.

“Lady Lyndis?” Kent called out as he lifted the door further. When he peered down the stairs, there was no light to be seen.

Her voice floated up to him immediately, strained but lighthearted: “I’m all right!” He heard the sound of her shifting, but only for a moment.

She would not lie. He knew that, and yet also knew she was just the same as anyone else and understand that even truth lived on a sliding scale.

“You are unhurt?” he prompted.

She was quiet for a moment, but finally said, “I’m certain nothing is broken, but—”

He did not give her a chance to finish. As expected, something was wrong. “Please,” he tried, already lifting the door to slide the ring over the hook, “do not move. I will be right there.”

Not so long ago, he would not have given much thought to the darkness ahead—let alone the stairs themselves—but the stiffness of his knee forced him to consider such things in detail. His descent felt almost painfully slow, but in time, he made it to the bottom safely.

“I’m afraid I can’t see anything,” he said. The one window in the larder was far from the cellar and offered them nothing considering the hour.

“I’m here,” she offered.

He turned toward her voice, hand outstretched, and felt his fingers brush against hers. “Indeed you are,” he said, relieved. “Can you stand?”

“Let’s try,” she said, and slid her hand fully into his—permission to assist her.

He pulled her to her feet, his other arm positioned to steady her in case she needed it.

Fortunately, she did not.

“I must have caught it on the edge of the step,” she said at last, her voice thoughtful. “I think—”

A tremendous crash came from overhead, interrupting her and making both of them jump.

“What was that?” she whispered, voice fluttering uncertainly. She was suddenly closer than she had been just a moment ago; he hoped she could not hear the pounding of his heart.

“Just—Just the door, Lady Lyndis,” he managed to say after a moment. “It must have fallen.”

“Did you forget to secure it?”

“No,” he said, but then thought of how he’d only barely felt it catch. “I thought I did,” he corrected, uncertain.

“Perhaps not,” she said gently.

The whole evening had been nothing but a series of his personal failures; he could feel shame warm his face and was relieved the great darkness hid it. “I will check on it.”

After he finally reached the top of the stairs, he lifted his arms to push the door open. It didn’t budge. He pushed harder, until the muscles in his arms and shoulders strained—but all the door would do was rattle a little. Unusual; it was stuck fast.

Something was wrong, he thought as he made his way back down the steps again. He could have sworn he’d settled the ring over the hook, but even if he hadn’t, it oughtn’t have locked upon closing—and should certainly not be weighed down so heavily as to be entirely unmovable…

He paused. Sain. It had to be Sain’s stupid trap!

Kent could have screamed. Instead, he sighed.

“What is it?” Lady Lyndis asked from the bottom of the stairs.

He resumed his journey with a shake of the head he realized belatedly she couldn’t even see. “Sain,” he explained.

“Oh.” Her smile came across perfectly through her voice. “He’s locked us in?”

“Unintentionally,” he had to admit, and waited until he reached the cellar floor to speak again. “He told me earlier that he’d set a trap for the thief; I should have known it would be a fool thing like this.”

“Is it foolish?” she asked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He let out a breath—almost a laugh. “Indeed, my lady. It did.” It had worked remarkably well, in fact. For some reason, that irritated him.

“We may as well get comfortable, I suppose,” she said with a little sigh of her own. “The stairs will have to do.”

It was that or the floor. Kent made a quiet sound of acknowledgement and felt around for the stairs before he lowered himself down to sit on the second step. Lady Lyndis’s hand brushed his knee a few moments later, and then he felt her sit down beside him.

“How is your foot?” he asked. The door falling had interrupted whatever it was she was going to say.

“I put a little weight on it while you were checking the door and it seems all right. Just sore, I guess.”

He tried not to sound too concerned. “Is it swollen?”

He heard the fabric of her gown shift as she moved to check. “I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think so? What do you think?”

A heartbeat passed before she settled her leg over his lap.

“Um,” was the only thought he had that was coherent enough to leave his mouth.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You have my permission.”

A year ago, he might have refused her anyway, but it was difficult to do, now, with so many thoughts of her strewn about in his mind. Hers was the only permission he need—and all that mattered in the end.

And this was innocent enough, wasn’t it?

He kept his touch light against her ankle. “It doesn’t feel swollen,” he said, fingertips stopping against the back of her heel. “You did catch it on something, though.” Her skin was scraped.

“Probably the step I’m sitting on,” she said. “The wood feels warped.”

She didn’t pull her foot back; he didn’t let it go, either. He just held it carefully, thumb brushing absently against her skin.

“Are you thinking of kissing it to make it better?” Lady Lyndis asked.

He let her go immediately and flushed at the sound of her amusement.

“Is that not a Lycian thing? To kiss such injuries to make them better?”

He wondered who had told her about it; Sain, undoubtedly. He relaxed a little, hands coming to rest against her ankle again. “Yes,” he said. “Parents sometimes do it for their children.” It was not something he had ever experienced, but it was common enough he had heard of it.

“Does it work even if you’re not a child?” she asked.

He couldn’t tell if she was being playful or serious, and knowing what he did of her…it was probably both. It seemed a dangerous thing to do alone with him in the dark.

“It doesn’t do anything at all,” he said; a boring answer from a boring man.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve tried it, then?”

Kent hesitated. “No,” he had to admit. “I have not.”

“Then how can you be so certain?” When he didn’t respond, Lady Lyndis continued cheerfully, “It must be done for a reason, don’t you think?”

He knew, then, exactly where the conversation was headed. It made him feel a little nervous—and mortified at the sharp stab of curiosity that gripped him. He knew the proper response, the honest truth; but he couldn’t make himself say it.

“I suppose so,” he said instead. It was his way of yielding—not to Lady Lyndis, but Lyn, the only person who held that kind of sway over him. “There must be a reason.”

“Let’s try it,” she said, her voice softening. “Then we’ll know.”

He lifted her foot and bent his head to press a kiss to the inside of her ankle, blushing madly. “What is your verdict, milady?” he asked. “Is it better now?”

“No,” she said immediately. “Maybe you should try it again.”

The sensible part of his mind begged him to laugh it off with a declination, but it went skittering off into the darkness the moment he felt her hand brush through his hair; once more, and without a word, he kissed the same spot.

“Still nothing,” she said, sounding playfully disappointed. “Though I imagine there has to be some truth to a saying such as that, or it wouldn’t exist in the first place.”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe higher up?”

He did as she suggested and when she hummed unconvincingly, he kept going. With her encouragement, and a moment to shift her nightgown out of the way, he kissed all the way up to the inside of her knee. Somehow, despite the pleasantness of her skin against his lips and the weight of her calf resting in his palm, his sensibilities began to return; culpability seeped in.

The kiss he pressed to her knee was long and tender. Reverent, but final; an end to the game.

“Lyn,” he whispered against her skin. He didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, but whatever it was, it would be too much. He could not ask it. How strange it was that to continue felt just as incorrect a decision as pulling away, especially with her fingers still in his hair.

Swallowing back the guilt, he let her go. It was the right thing to do, even if it felt wrong.

She took her hand back, first, and then her leg. He heard her smooth out her nightgown, the soft folds of fabric settling into place.

They sat in deafening silence together—a stark contrast to their usual rapport—but Kent did not know what to say to break it. Lady Lyndis would not toy with his feelings; it was not her way. But she had never been so bold before, either, and he did not know how to feel about it.

They had only returned to Caelin four months ago. Somehow it felt much longer; he hardly saw her anymore, busy as they both were, and in the fleeting moments they found themselves in the same room, the best he could offer her was a deferential glance or a subtle word. It wasn’t enough. How could it be?

Their travels had given them time and opportunity to grow closer. Those months had been fraught with anxiety and terror, but they had been free—and he free enough to tell her that he cared for her.

He did not miss the battlefield, but he did miss her.

“Lady Lyndis,” he began, desperate to shatter the stillness between them, “I—”

“Lyn,” she said, very quietly. “You called me Lyn. Just a moment ago.”

Something in his chest fluttered anxiously. “Yes,” he admitted, “I did.” And he’d done it with his lips brushing the skin of the inside of her knee.

She touched his arm. “I wish you’d do it more often…especially when we’re alone.”

“We’re never alone,” he said. His own men were posted all over the castle, and there were servants around every corner. They had not had a private moment since their return to the castle.

“We’re alone now,” she teased, her fingers curling around the inside of his elbow.

“Yes,” he said, resting his hand over hers. “I suppose we are.” He wondered if she was still talking about her name.

The silence was softer this time, and only lasted a few minutes until Lyn broke it suddenly, sounding surprised: “It feels better.”

“What?”

“My ankle.”

“Perhaps there is some truth to the saying after all,” he said.

She laughed, the sound soft in the darkness. “Or it wasn’t a serious injury,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you take the stairs for no reason. How is your knee?”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said truthfully.

“And if I want to?” she asked.

“It is the same as always, Lyn,” he said after a moment. It was stiff and it ached. He didn’t know what he would do when the truly cold weather arrived. Bear it, he supposed; what other choice was there?

She let go of his left arm and trailed her hand down his leg to rest against the top of his knee. He knew already that she could feel the twisted scar through his clothes, but it hardly mattered; she had seen him receive it in the first place: a javelin from above had split his knee wide open. Thank Elimine for the skyrider’s poor aim! His life was worth more than his knee, or so Lady Lyndis had told him.

“It’s too bad a kiss won’t make it better,” she said, brushing her thumb over the scar. “Is it very painful?”

“Do not worry on my account,” he tried to assure her. “It is perfectly bearable most of the time.”

“But not always.”

“No,” he had to admit, “not always.”

She took his arm again with a sigh. “Kent?”

“Yes?”

“Since we’ve returned to Caelin…have your feelings changed?”

What a question! “Of course not, Lyn; they have remained the same.” He found it hard to imagine they would ever change—not as long as he drew breath. “Why do you ask? Have I shown you otherwise?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I just—I mean…” She took a deep breath. “If your feelings are the same, and so are mine, then we should spend more time together, shouldn’t we? And if it cannot happen by accident, then we must make the time.”

“Preferably not like this,” he said—a joke.

Lyn hummed in agreement. “It’s cold down here. I’d much prefer a real room.”

“In the daylight,” he murmured, and moved his hand up into the darkness to search for her face. He found her ear first, and brushed his fingers against it and then the corner of her jaw; she shivered beside him.

“I don’t know,” she teased. She found his face, too, and in the moments that followed: the bridge of his nose, his cheek, the corner of his lips. “This is kind of fun.”

She shifted and her knee bumped his leg; he knew she would try to kiss him before she did, and was prepared for it—but she missed, nearly kissing his nose, instead. He tried to right things by lifting his head, but she moved too and his lips grazed her cheek; they had both moved at the same time—a severe over-correction.

Lyn laughed at the miscalculation and held his face in both of her hands. “Hold on,” she said, her amusement bleeding into her voice, “I’ll get it this time.”

Except she didn’t—not right away. Her forehead bumped hard against his once, clumsily, before her lips found him in the dark.

The kiss was warm and soft—and over far too quickly.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice faint-sounding even though she was right beside him. “Some light would be better.”

“Safer,” he agreed.

“At least we didn’t knock teeth,” she said, laughing again. “So what do you think? Should we make time?”

“I would like that,” he said, “very much. But…”

“But?”

He had to think of his answer, and putting the chaos of his thoughts together into something resembling order was difficult. At last he asked, carefully, “If I may speak freely?”

“Of course,” came her immediate response—though there was something timid in the way she said it.

He tried to remember that it was Lyn he was speaking to and not Lady Lyndis; they were one and the same and he could not fully separate them, but this once, he had a feeling that it was important to try. “There are…certain implications involved when someone such as yourself makes time for a—a man,” he tried, “and I do not know how much of that process you are, ah, familiar with.”

“You’re speaking of marriage, I assume,” she said, taking his hand.

He felt himself blush. “Yes,” he said, and miraculously did not stammer, “but I do not wish to speak presumptuously on the matter.”

She laced her fingers through his. “It would not be even a little presumptuous of you.”

“In that case,” Kent said, “the desire to meet alone and the willingness to arrange it denotes intention. Both our stations require formal courting, so our meetings would need to be chaperoned. And if the courtship goes well, there is an expectation that it will end in marriage…” He swallowed hard and added, carefully: “All of this depends entirely on your lord grandfather’s approval, too.”

“So many rules,” Lyn sighed. “I am beginning to detest them. But if I must follow a few more to have you, I will do so with a glad heart.”

Affection bloomed in his chest. If it weren’t so very dark, he would have kissed her; instead, he pressed a kiss to her hand. She spoke as if he mattered to her deeply—as if she loved him, a sentiment he understood...and returned. He had known the surety of his feelings over a year ago, when Laus had invaded Caelin, storming the castle before a proper defense could be mounted. His only thought, then, as fear spread through his veins like ink, had been for Lady Lyndis’s safety. He had not even worried for his own.

 Such a thing was certainly love, but he could not declare it on a battlefield or in a pitch-black cellar; she deserved more.

“That makes me very happy to hear,” he said, willing his words to remain steady.

“We really won’t have any privacy?” she asked, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Nothing like this, at any rate.”

“Then it’s good we have it now. Tell me more about this food thief of yours.”

Kent groaned at the reminder of the cellar door, which in turn reminded him of what he would say to Sain when he saw him next.

“That bad?” Lyn asked; he could feel her grin against his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “Someone has been coming into the kitchens most nights to take food. They started with just bread, so Sain has dubbed them a Bread Bandit. The head cook thinks one of my men is responsible, which is why I was near the kitchens tonight… I was hoping to catch them in the act.”

“To give them a firm tongue-lashing,” she teased.

“I wish you had not seen that display,” he admitted, embarrassed.

She laughed. “Actually, I kind of liked it; it might have been the most equal you’ve ever treated me.”

“Certainly not,” he said. “We were much more equal a few minutes ago, were we not?”

“Oh, yes,” she said in quick agreement, “when we were bumping our faces together like a couple of goats.”

Goats. He felt his skin grow warm. “I…am sorry for that,” he said. “I confess to being…rather inexperienced with such things.”

“It was mostly my error,” she said. “We’ll do better next time.”

Perhaps the darkness was to blame, but Kent felt suddenly bold. “And when will that be?”

“Right now?” She let go of his hand and shifted beside him. “Your turn,” she teased. “Let’s see how you fare in the dark.”

He found her easily; her voice guided his hands to her face and he brushed a thumb over her cheek before he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was not as gentle as the first, but easily twice as warm. He pulled back and let his forehead rest against hers for a moment, smiling.

“You would do well not to challenge me on such matters, Lyn,” he said and moved a hand to her hair to feel it slip through his fingers.

“Apparently not,” Lyn said approvingly. “How did you do that so easily?”

“As long as you will it, I will always be able to find you.”

The sound of her amusement bubbled up into a laugh, and she drew back—but returned, once, to bump her forehead against his. She took his arm and pulled it around her, curling into his side.

It was understandable, he felt; while her nightclothes were modest, they were not meant to shield her from the chill of the cellar.

“You should get what sleep you can,” he suggested; it wouldn’t be much, but she was so busy these days that even a few hours would make the day easier.

“Maybe,” she murmured, and let out a soft breath. She didn’t say anything after that, though, and he couldn’t quite tell when resting turned into dozing.

Not even thirty minutes later, he heard a sound from overhead—a startled exclamation and then shuffling.

It was the actual Bread Bandit, he realized, but it wouldn’t do him any good to shout up after them; as soon as they heard his voice they’d flee if they were smart—and worse, they’d know someone was onto them…which would make them harder to catch.

Kent spent the next few hours trying to decide how he ought to handle the inevitable reveal of their presence in the cellar while he ran his fingers through Lyn’s long hair. The fact that they were alone looked bad, he supposed, but at least the circumstance they were in was clearly not of their own making. It also helped that he was known to be stern and absolutely unyielding when it came to his principles.

He owed Sain a little grace for his accidental interference—and probably a round or two of drinks—but Kent would never tell him so.

Eventually, he heard the faint sounds of conversation above and gently shook Lyn’s shoulder to wake her. She pressed closer for an instant and then straightened so quickly they almost knocked heads together again.

As he helped her to her feet, the relative quiet was shattered by a loud, scraping groan of metal directly overhead; it was so terrible it put white spots in his vision and brought his headache back worse than it had been before. Just what he needed.

By the time the cellar door opened, they were halfway up the stairs; a moment later, candlelight spilled down the first few steps.

“A-ha!” a voice shouted. “We’ve caught you now, you villainous bandit of bread!”

“Sain,” he said flatly, “please.”

“Kent?”

He felt around for Lyn’s hand in case her ankle required it, but she attached herself to his right arm, instead, fingers curling around the inside of his elbow.

The candlelight that brightened the larder was almost painful, and Kent had to put his free hand up to shield his eyes as the head cook greeted them.

“Sir Kent!” he said. “L—Lady Lyndis?!”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Lyn was quick to say. “I—It was—” She floundered to a stop in light of Sain’s incredulous stare.

“You’re our thief?”

“No, you fool!” Kent snapped.

“You just decided on a whim to spend some time alone in the cellar with Lady Lyndis?” Sain looked both devious and doubtful. Kent hated that look; it meant trouble.

“I was hungry,” she said, “so I went into the cellar.”

Sain flinched at that—as did the head cook.

“My lady,” the cook said, wringing his hands, “I had no idea that…”

Sain patted his shoulder. “It was my idea,” he defended the other man. “I failed to consider the possibility that I might trap the wrong person.”

“It’s all right,” Lyn said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Wait just a minute,” Sain said as the head cook left to attend to his morning duties in the kitchen proper. “Why was Kent down there with you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kent asked, but Lyn answered the question, anyway.

“I slipped on the next-to-last step,” she said.

“And so your honorable knight Kent came to the rescue, but how did he know you were in the kitchens in the first place?”

Kent sighed. “I thought I heard the food thief rummaging about in the kitchen.”

“He gave me a tongue-lashing for it,” Lyn offered cheerfully.

Sain raised his eyebrows about as high as they could go without them flying right off his face. Kent wanted to smack them back down where they belonged but, remembering he owed Sain a little grace, he refrained.

“You know perfectly well I would have never spoken so disrespectfully if I had not mistaken her for one of my men,” he said.

Sain gave Lyn a long look and then turned back to Kent, then Lyn again. He looked down at himself, and to the other room where the head cook was kneeling to light a fire, then back to Lyn. The swiveling made Kent dizzy and reminded him of an owl.

“You mistook Lady Lyn for a man,” he said, obviously bewildered.

“Just the sound of her rustling around!” Kent almost shouted. His head was pounding now—and his patience utterly shot.

Sain ignored him. “Don’t worry, Lady Lyn, none of the rest of us are as ignorant of your beauty as Kent. You look especially lovely today, actually, if you don’t mind me saying so!”

Lyn obviously didn’t know how to take the compliment; she just blinked at it, and eventually managed an, “Okay.”

Kent couldn’t help but smile a little at it. “Are we free to go?” he asked Sain. “Or do you intend to interrogate us all morning after suffering a night locked in the cellar?”

“Well,” he relented, “I suppose it was cold down there. But you can’t tell me it was all bad, not with Lady Lyn for company.”

Lyn grinned and held her hands up at either side of her head to look as if she had little curved horns.

Sain blinked. “Lady Lyn?”

“She—she’s a goat,” Kent choked out, blushing madly.

“How could you say such a horrible thing?” Sain gasped. “Lady Lyn looks nothing like a goat! Kent, I knew you were lacking when it came to speaking to women, but I couldn’t have guessed you were so—so—”

“I like goats,” Lyn cut in. “They’re cute, especially when they bump their heads together when they play.”

“That doesn’t explain why you—”

Before Sain could ask too many questions, Kent interrupted him with a swift explanation: “There was some discussion of goats in the cellar: the, ah, the highlight of the hours we spent underground.”

Lyn’s fake horns disappeared and the expression that replaced her glee reminded Kent of a self-satisfied cat. “It was definitely the highlight,” she said, and lifted a hand to cover a yawn. “I’m sorry, but I am very tired.”

“Oh, of course!” Sain said with a flourishing bow. “You must try to sleep a little, if you can. Please don’t worry yourself about Mr. Bread Bandit; I’ll catch him tonight if it’s the last thing I do, even if it costs me my—”

“Bread?” Lyn guessed.

Sain laughed. “I suppose so!”

“I think I’d like to help,” she said after a moment. “It could be fun.”

“No more cellar door traps,” Kent muttered, looking over the larder with a critical eye at the frayed rope that had once hoisted the counterweight; he couldn’t imagine what else had been wrecked in Sain’s trap. “Please. This will take hours to fix.”

“A stakeout, then!” Sain suggested happily. “Well, off to bed—both of you! Though, of course, not to the same bed.” He grinned like it was an excellent joke, and Kent smacked his shoulder, hard.

“Don’t be crude,” he said as he left, even though he wished he could go back to Lyn’s big, soft bed and curl up with her under the blankets.

Late that very night, Kent waited in a dark corner of the larder for the supposed Bread Bandit to arrive. Lyn joined him an hour later, still dressed for the day. She greeted him with a kiss that lasted until Sain’s voice, floating in from the main kitchen, startled them apart:

“Partner!” It was a loud whisper.

Lyn covered her amusement with a hand, but he could still hear it when she spoke. “We’re over here, Sain.”

“Shh,” he said, and made his way over to them. “What are you up to?” he asked suspiciously when Lyn’s laugh finally leaked through her fingers.

She just laughed harder when Kent said, rather breathlessly, “We were, ah, just discussing goats again. Charming creatures, don’t you think, Lady Lyndis?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, and bit her lip hard.

“The two of you are so strange,” Sain muttered. “Only in the best of ways in your case, Lady Lyn. However, if I might make a suggestion…”

“Sure.”

“Leaving a candle burning is a dead giveaway that we’re here.”

“Ah.” Not wanting to embarrass himself by admitting why they had the candle lit in the first place, Kent blew it out right away. “Of course. Thank you, Sain.”

The first hour passed quickly, but after that, things slowed down. They could not talk due to the risk of giving themselves away, and so they had to content themselves with standing—and then sitting—in the dark with nothing to occupy them.

It would have been boring, but the darkness afforded Kent the opportunity to take Lyn’s hand without Sain seeing—and he was grateful for it.

Many hours into their vigil, they heard footsteps.

And then shuffling. Rummaging.

“Ah, where is it?” a voice mumbled.

“He sounds familiar,” Lyn whispered against Kent’s ear, making him shiver.

He agreed, but couldn’t quite place the voice.

Sain sucked in a breath as the Bread Bandit made his way into the larder, and when the figure set down his candle and moved to the far shelf, Sain made his move, snatching the light up and saying, “A-ha! I’ve got you now!”

Kent pulled Lyn up from the floor as the bandit jumped nearly sky-high and whirled around, clutching his robe to his frail form, his striped nightcap slipping on his head.

“What in Elimine’s name is going on here?!” he demanded in a tone that froze Kent’s blood.

Lyn gasped.

Kent managed to find his voice first: “Lord Hausen!”

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “Can’t an old man get himself a snack in the middle of the night without tripping over the cellar door or being ambushed by hooligans who lurk in dark corners?”

“M-My lord!” Sain said, “you have our sincerest apologies! You see, we were told that someone was sneaking in here and stealing the food at night. We merely sought that person’s identity!”

Lord Hausen grumbled to himself and reached a shaking hand up to straighten his cap. “It’s not stealing when you own it,” he said, brows furrowed.

Kent was doubly glad he had not called up the cellar stairs the night before; he could not begin to imagine the ruckus if Lord Hausen had gathered a few knights and they’d opened the door.

“Grandfather?” Lyn asked hesitantly.

“Lyndis? Ah, my own granddaughter has become a hooligan who lurks in dark corners…”

Kent belatedly let go of her hand and she went to him.

“We didn’t mean to frighten you,” she assured him. “What do you need? I’ll get it for you. I’ll even arrange it nicely on a plate and bring it up to your rooms if you’d like.”

“You’re the granddaughter of a marquess,” he said, his words unsteady. “You—you needn’t lower—it’s…” He lost his thought.

“It’s no trouble,” she tried, “if it’s for you.”

That seemed to satisfy Lord Hausen, for he told Lyn what he wanted and then wandered back to his rooms with his candle, after Kent used it to relight his own.

“Here,” Lyn said, gesturing to the cellar door. “Hold this open for me, will you? He wants one of the apples—a yellow one.”

Sain helped Kent with the newly repaired door while Lyn took the candle and headed down the stairs. Kent might have offered to go for her, but she was stubborn about following through on her promises personally…and he knew his knee would slow him down.

When she was almost at the bottom of the stairs, though, he heard a crash, and then a muttered word he couldn’t quite make out.

“Lady Lyndis?” Sain asked, nearly dropping the door.

“Hey!” Kent said, and Sain fixed his grip.

Lyn’s voice floated up the stairs: “I forgot about the bad step!”

“Ah, let me help you,” Sain said, but Kent stopped him with a sharp:

“No,” before he could stop himself.

Sain looked taken aback. “What? Why not?”

Kent wasn’t about to tell him the truth, so he just shook his head. “I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t move, Lyn,” he called down to her, “just in case you’ve really hurt it this time.”

“Lyn?” Sain whispered, and in the span of three seconds Kent watched his closest friend’s expression shift from confusion to understanding to what he could only imagine was impishness. “Oooh, I see. Don’t worry, Kent, I am, as always, your right-hand man; I will hold this door as long as it takes for you to rescue your lady love!”

Ridiculous. Without a word, he started picking his way back down the stairs. It was fortunate that this time, at least, the candle had not gone out.

“Are you all right?” he asked when he reached her.

“I think I might have really twisted it this time,” she said.

He went to retrieve the candle and set it on the second-to-last step; he’d forgotten to mention the warped wood to anyone; it very badly needed to be fixed. “I’ll get the apple first,” he said, and found one that seemed suitable enough before he returned to Lyn’s side.

After she tucked it into her sash, he leaned over to pick her up. Somehow, it went completely wrong and their heads bumped together, making Lyn groan.

“I thought you were going to kiss me!” she hissed.

“I meant to pick you up,” he explained, confused. “Since you shouldn’t put weight on your foot right now.”

“Kiss me first?” she asked.

He couldn’t help but smile when he complied—but kept it short to avoid making Sain suspicious. When he moved to pull away, though, Lyn tugged him back by the collar of his shirt and bumped her forehead against his, grinning.

She looked so pretty in the candlelight it made him want to kiss her again.

Then she bleated at him, a very good imitation of a goat.

“What the ever-loving—?” he heard Sain mutter.

“Shh,” Kent chuckled, and leaned down to pick her up.

The look Sain gave them when they emerged at long last from the cellar was one colored with suspicion. He said nothing, but that only meant he was saving all of his questions for later. Unfortunate, because even if Kent declined to answer, he would probably blush anyway, which would only invite more questions until the truth was pried right out of him.

The fool had no right to be as good at it as he was.

Sain cut up the apple nicely and arranged it on a plate while Kent looked over Lyn’s ankle. She had twisted it this time; the swelling was impossible to miss. She ignored Kent’s suggestion of fetching a healer, but did ask him to carry her to her grandfather’s rooms.

“If my lady does not mind a slow journey,” he found himself saying.

She smiled up at him. “I don’t mind.”

Sain waggled his eyebrows over Lyn’s shoulder at him before they parted ways, and Kent fought down a flush.

“I can’t believe my grandfather was your Bread Bandit,” she said, grinning as they made their way up the stairs. “Of all the people…”

“Sain and I thought it wasn’t important enough to bother him with,” Kent explained. In retrospect, it was amusing; had either of them merely brought it to Lord Hausen’s attention, the issue would have been resolved instantly! Probably.

But Kent could not regret that decision.

By the time they made it to Lord Hausen’s rooms, it was too late to give the apple to him; he had already fallen asleep. Lyn shrugged and decided to eat it herself, since it would be wasted, otherwise.

“I’ll call a healer up first thing in the morning,” she assured him as he lowered her to sit on the settee in her receiving room. “I just don’t want to bother them now, for something as trivial as this.”

“I understand,” he said, and loved her for it; she was the kindest person he knew.

“If I invite you to tea tomorrow afternoon, will you come?”

“I will clear my schedule,” he said right away, and smiled, reaching over to touch her cheek. “Good night, Lyn.”

She brightened. “Good night, Kent.”

Sain was waiting for him in his room, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently.

“Tell me about the bleating!” he insisted right away.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kent asked, shooing his friend toward the door and wishing he had thought to lock it before he’d gone to the kitchens.

“It’s code, isn’t it,” he guessed. “But what does it mean? Are you and Lady Lyndis in cahoots?”

“What kind of a silly—”

“You are, aren’t you?” he asked. “Talk of goats and such; people will think the two of you are…up to something.” Sain eyeballed him warily.

“You already do, it seems. Leave me be.”

“But I must know what it means! If I am forced to speculate all night on the subject, it will drive me mad!”

When Kent finally managed to push Sain out into the hall, he pulled his door to close it, but Sain pleaded one final time through the crack as it closed: “Kent, please! Tell me what this goat business is all about!”

“I’ll tell you about the goats tomorrow,” he said, “but only if you swear you’ll go away and let me get some sleep.”

“It is sorely needed,” Sain said, but grinned. “I promise. Tomorrow, though! Don’t forget.”

“How could I,” Kent said flatly. “Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes? Anything for you, Kent, since you’re so willing to divulge the secrets of your heart to me, your best and most trusted confidante!”

“You’re taking over for me from two to four o’clock every afternoon from now on so that I can call on Lyn.”

Oh, it felt good to say—and it felt even better to close the door while Sain stood there stupefied.

But Sain recovered fast, said a loud, “Ooohhh,” on the other side of the door, and then followed it up with a, “Kent? Why do you need two hours each day when you’ll only last five minutes, tops?”

Kent’s face burned bright red, but he took a deep breath and tried to pretend he could not hear.

“And what do goats have to do with this? Are we talking about rams, here? Rams would make so much more sense!”

He continued to try to ignore him.

“If you need any advice about this sort of thing, though, you know you can come to me! I would hate for you to make a fool of yourself your first time, fumbling around trying to please her. Why, you don’t even know what a woman looks like nude let alone where she might derive her pleas—”

Kent yanked the door open. “If you shut the hell up and stop speculating aloud in the corridor, I’ll tell you now!”

Sain looked surprisingly cheerful. Too cheerful. He practically skipped into Kent’s room and plopped himself down into his desk chair with a grin. “From the beginning, if you please.”

Kent sighed. Telling Sain would mean the deluge of “advice” from his boon companion would never, ever end; he would hear about things he had never even considered, before.

It was going to be another long night.